I stopped at a bagel shop in hopes of connecting to the Internet. After a day of clicking, hooking, and unhooking boggles and buttons, I resigned to the fact that either Hurricane Ike played havoc with our lines or it’s just another day of marginal infrastructure services in our quickly-developing, under-developed country.

While my daughter ate her Latin wrap, we shared a few bags of chips. I finally got on-line. Then when I tried to log on to this site and post another life-changing ditty, it asked me for my password. Guess where that was? Back home next to the computer that sat idly while I chomped on fattening chips. Now that would have been funny enough all by itself, except for the fact that I forgot to bring papers I needed for an errand with me on the errand; I was late for picking up my son off the bus; a hole popped open in the faucet to my outdoor hose; I forgot money when I went to pay my a bill at the pharmacy;* and this was actually the second Internet cafe I was at since the first one didn’t have connection. All of this on top of the noise still rattling in my head from every other driver (I exaggerate not) honking and honking and honking because no one on the road even moves fast enough.

As Coco peeled up the last of the bean and chicken wrap glued to the bottom of the paper plate because it was microwaved too long, I glanced over to see the book shelf where the Lexicon Library runs a small book exchange. Take a book. Bring a book. And they’re in English. I’ve never taken one since there’s never been anything I was interested in. This time there was Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. I’ve shied away from his work since it took me like seven months to read Love in the Time of Cholera. Perhaps there was a message in this book that would revolutionize my life. That’s why I was drawn to eat an over-cooked bean burrito at this bagel shop!

I told Coco how the system worked and that I had about five books at home I’ve been wanting to bring to this shelf, but of course forgot. Since she’s finally started reading books long enough to put a bookmark in, she’s quite interested in getting her hands on everything she can.

Coco: Mom, you can’t give away any books. What if I want to read them?

Me: Right.

She stuffed her 1/2 of her cookie in her jacket. It had quite raining when we walked to the car. I pulled into traffic and sat in the left lane waiting to turn. Before the light turned turned green, the car behind me honked. I swallowed and as my anger pushed up against my throat and decided this was just another thing I needed to forget.

*We pay bills at pharmacies and grocery stores here, among other places. It’s quite a monthly juggling act.

As Costa Rica’s Independence Day - and all of Central America’s - approaches, the excitement flaps in the flags and flutters in the faroles. And is a farol what you ask? A lantern that lights our way of course.

Every year school children around Central America stick a candle in a lantern and walk with a pole that looks like the crook of a sheperd’s staff on the night before the 15th. Since the holiday is on a Monday this year, school children around the country could be seen today dressed in Typico clothes while toting their farol at their side. The farol is most dramatic at night of course when the candles are more potent.

Some parents (probably terrified at the fire hazard possibilities) opt for those light sticks. Those light sticks are hard to find. My kids always end up with candles. The first year my daughter went, one of the children’s lantern lit on fire. It made the parading of children in the pouring rain along the side of the dark road that much more exciting.

My daughter’s lantern was the traditional “buy-the-box-at-the-store” and then decorate the rest at home. My son got the bottom of a box. The kids will also dance and eat tortillas and beans and rice. But come the 14th, we’ll light up the faroles right along with the rest of Central America in thanks for our collective independence from Spain. We’ve come a long way baby.

I’m giving up coffee by default. My trusty old espresso machine is spitting back at me. Instead of an O.k. cup of espresso (it’s was never that great of machine brand new), I get a ground filled cup of sludge. For awhile I put up with the grounds in my teeth, splattered all over the clock and the wall, and drank the not-quite-Greek-though-not quite-Italian cup of joe.

I even took it apart as far as I could, which wasn’t very far as I couldn’t get most of the screws out. A box of baking soda and a jar of vinegar later, same result. When I lived downtown, I found this guy who could fix small appliances. It was a great shop in the 1/2 basement on Paseo Colon. I had really old blender from the 60s that needed a new thingamajig (can you believe this is a word??!!). One of my nannies tells me there’s a guy in the next town over that can fix gadgets. So do I want to drive around a hot little town looking for a guy that might be there in some dinky shop that I have “loose” directions to that can maybe fix it after I leave it for two weeks and then drive all the way back to find out it’s not fixable?

Small appliances in Costa Rica are way over priced for the marginal value gotten back. That old blender would have cost me $200 to replace. In Hipermas, I rambled down the coffee maker isle and saw a budget version of an expresso machine for $50, which wasn’t too bad but I passed.

I think when something breaks it’s always a great time to step and back and question if this broken piece of metal, wood, or plastic was a good thing in my life anyway. I’m one of those people that are not effected by coffee unless I drink four big ol’American sized cups. I just sooooo like the taste. Since I found it was not that hard to give up and chalked one up for “probably not an addiction” side of the column.

Now, I am pulling out the good old Costa Rican way of making coffee: A bag and a wooden stand. Put the coffee in bag; boil water; add coffee. If you were Costa Rican, you’d probably add a couple scoops of sugar. It’s not a bad cup of coffee. And the cost? Get out of town! The only disadvantage is that bag hangs around wet all day, and it can get funky if not dried well. But again, the cost of a new one is probably 50 cents to one dollar.

When I do make a cup, I still use the small espresso cup for that feel. Perhaps this is what smoker’s feel like when they chew on toothpicks after quitting. I went to wash the cup and the faucet was dry. As the dishes pile up I wonder, so what now? I have to step back and figure out if water is a good thing or not in my life? Perhaps this is too much work.

I think I’ll run to the corner to get an espresso.

Addison can have a bad night sleeping with a snap of the fingers. For a few hours, there was no sound coming from his side of the bed. Then he started swallowing non-stop as if someone had turned on a little faucet behind his nose. I could tell it was uncomfortable for him. Every hour until two in the morning, he’d wake up crying or just give an out-right scream.

In the midst of feeling tired and not wanting to be a mother - or anything - and answer questions and make lunch, I saw this waterfall while I was out this morning. The sound never stopped and reminded me of the needs of my kids and how I am pulled over the rocks hour after hour. But down below the beating water, there is a calmer pool of water. I imagined diving in and letting the cascade hit on my back and the top of my head.

My attempt at an hour nap got me five minutes. Addison slept with me and just as I was dozing into that deep sleep that makes your eyes fly back in forth in REM heaven, he coughed. Water may be a strong force, but it’s got nothing on kids.

I do things I know are not good for me. Like for example yesterday, for lunch I had potato chips and sour cream. This is not part of a balanced diet. I skip exercise and go without flossing.

So now we have cell phones. Our newest treat and tantalizing temptress. Beside looking silly while we wander up and down grocery isles talking to a tiny piece of electronic equipment (need I mention how goofy people look talking to the air with a Blue Tooth thing on their head??!), the things are going to land us with so many more diseases and ailments. In ten years we’ll be scratching our heads and saying: Gee, I wonder what caused all this brain cancer? Does diabetes and sugar consumption ring a bell? Television and lack of exercise?

If you haven’t seen this video, you perhaps will understand like I did, that these little “jabber-walkies” are more powerful than we ever suspected. I’ve been reading about the tumor causing little beasts for years. I still have cell phone, though I’m considering getting a lead case for it. Watch this video and put two and two together. I was amazed. Plus I swore I’d never have left-over melted chocolate and a glass of milk for dinner again.

**Only residents are allowed to apply for a cellular phone line in Costa Rica. But do not worry, old lines are bought and sold under the table all the time until your proper cedula is in hand.

Placing clean laundry on the grass was foreign to me, until I moved to Costa Rica. Every Monday morning I can go out to my small patch of backyard in the city and find at least one or two dishtowels splayed on the wet lawn. One of the true sources of pride in this culture is clean laundry: White shirts, sparkling school uniforms, and even old dishrags.

Addison has three nannies. Each rotates during the week; each has special talents and quirks and gifts I get to watch and enjoy over the three days they spend with us. I can see over time how each woman offers my home a bit of who they are. Two of the ladies are more like grandmothers. These women come from the country and no one has a dryer. Few have washers. Plus there’s often not a lot of room or time to hang things on the line before the rain comes. Laundry is almost an artistic outlet.

The nanny on Sunday/Monday will collect the towels from the kitchen and go to the pila - the laundry sink - and apply rub this blue bar of soap all over it and then proceed to scrub it with a brush. This ritual is not far removed from washing laundry in the river and beating it on the rocks. Some of the towels get soaked for a day or two. (If the nanny leaves before getting these soaking things out on to the lawn and I miss them, the smell can get funky.) The towels then lay out on the grass for the rain to beat them into the final round of cleanliness.

When I first moved here, I may have huffed out to the lawn and thought “they” were crazy to leave the laundry in the backyard. Now I can smile and appreciate the story that goes behind it and see how I do the same things with cultural traditions I’ve learned due to history, fear, weather, and common sense. If I could take one these nannies up to live through a winter, they’d think I was bonkers with all the “tricks” I’d do so the pipes couldn’t freeze and mittens wouldn’t get lost.

If the Sunday/Monday nanny gets a load to dry before she leaves, she gleams and almost bursts with pride in how wonderful mother nature is in getting the dirt out. Her smile energizes me for the rest of the day, and I have a funny urge to go and scoop her some pistachio ice cream and make her a cup of coffee. Perhaps the nannies think I’m a bit on the lackadaisical when it comes to laundry and stain removal. But I’m thrilled to let them pick up where I drop off. Around here, there’s never a shortage of cleaning - limpiando - to do.

These girls stopped in front of my camera and wanted me to take their photo. I was filming a marching band practicing in the street. With Costa Rica’s Independence Day rolling around on September 15th, student musicians around the country are preparing for the town’s parade. The music pounded to an addictive, repetitive beat as the lead drummer tried to keep the kids in step. An instructor walked up and down the rows helping the more timid students get into the groove and hit their tambor with more conviction.

The girls giggled and for a moment, paused, and looked at me. And then through me. The neighborhood I happened to be in was rough; kids go hungry; drug use is rampant; and broken homes the norm. The pounding of the drums rose in my throat as I waited for the digital camera to flash the photo up on the LCD screen. I showed them the picture. They looked at each other and giggled just like any pre-teen would. It could have been the first time they’d ever seen a photo of themselves. I turned back to film the band, and the girls ran away, holding hands as they went.

Barely a birthday goes by without a pinata in Costa Rica. When I was a kid it was just a distant legend I’d heard about happening at other people’s fancy parties. Now we have the choice of Nemo, Barney, Cinderella, Strawberry Shortcake or Batman. In “ecological ways” I always try to make it a little different. This one held bead necklaces, blow horns and some chocolate. Enough to look like a bounty when it split open from it’s fins. First Addy went at it with a spoon, then on to a bigger stick. We propped him against the wall. I think we could have put rocks in there and he would have been thrilled. Kids are just that easy.

Living in Costa Rica is a lot like camping - camping lite. About every six weeks or so we get notified that we will not have water. Today, the water was shut off in three or four cities from 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. At least this time we had notice.

There are days when I’ll walk up, turn a water faucet and….nothing. We either have missed the announcement or there wasn’t one. Because we had notice yesterday, we gathered all the buckets, bins, and baskets that didn’t leak to store water. Everyone was sure to shower before 9 a.m. When the water is off, I see how often we use it on automatic pilot: A little oil on my finger tips - I run to the sink. I always brush my teeth and then forget when I reach for the water that I can’t rinse. Flushing the toilets? The word was out early to follow the old saying: if it’s yellow let it mellow……

Not having water gives me the chance to be appreciate this liquid because most of the time I run on automatic and don’t give a second thought of how wonderful it is. One of the reasons I like camping so much, besides the fact that it is quiet, tranquil, and smells so fresh, is that I get in contact with what little I need to make me happy. I’ve gone deep, deep into the wilderness with no more than I can carry. Water becomes a precious commodity, and I am aware of every drop I drink.

In Costa Rica, we get all sorts of opportunities to be “without” what the developed world takes for granted. Electricity pops off and on; streets are often more pothole than pavement; and it can take a year or two to get a phone line. Instead of blasting away at the injustice of it all, I find it a chance to be thankful for the simple things in life I use every day without thinking. Remember the New Year’s panic of 1999 - 2000? People obsessed about running out of water, computers crashing, and the lights going out. News reports showed people stocking up on flashlights, heaters, and gallons and gallons of water. Most people in Costa Rica just went about their day and knew the water might dry up or the lights might go out, but no one gave it much thought. And if the electricity didn’t come back on, they knew the sun would come up in the morning.

As with every case of comparing Costa Rica and developing world, I see value in both that each could learn from the other. No one was more thrilled than me to drive on smooth, paved, wide roads in the United States. But a pothole here and there is maybe a little reminder to be grateful for the part of the road that is paved. When the water comes back on, we’ll be flushing and brushing right back with the best of ‘um.

Tomorrow I set out for an all day trek to Cartago. Cartago is city about one-half hour south of San Jose. Did I mention I’m going by foot? In fact an estimated 500,000 to one million people in Costa Rica walk to Cartago every year from almost every town in the country, hoping to arrive on August 1st or 2nd for the celebration of “La Virgen de los Angeles.” People leave from their home in hopes of finding a miracle, a cure, or to state how grateful they are just to be alive.

The legend is that on August 2, 1635 a little girl was playing by a river. She found a piece of rock that looked just like the Virgin Mary cuddling a child. Of course the girl thought it a toy, so she played away the afternoon and later took it home. The following day, she went back to play in the same place and found a rock that looked just like the one she discovered the day before. She brought it home to add it to her collection; however, the first one was gone. Same thing happened the third day. So one thing followed another and the little girl brought the priest to the river. He took it to the church and locked it up. But the next day, guess what? The case was empty and the statue reappeared back at the river. Naturally, the priest saw this as a sign to build a church on the site.

As with any legend, there’s a few holes in the story. So, I’m off to see what the people have to say. With a million people all walking in the same direction, it’s going to be fascinating. When we arrive at the church, we’re supposed to walk on our knees to the end and say a quick prayer - the line is long. Some believe this pilgrimage protects Costa Rica from natural disasters, some look for miracles. I am sure there will be a few stories to tell once we return from paying our respects to “La Virgen de los Angeles.” And once my feet have recovered and our clothes have dried out, I’ll be the first to let you know about all the miracles that have come to pass.