I followed this man with avocadoees on his head for a quite a while. I couldn’t help but notice that his sweat and his deep breaths to keep up his step added a sense of beauty that took me by surprise.

There are parts of San José, that if broken down ascetically, are what a critic could call unsightly or down right ugly. Yet in each snapshot of life, there is something beautiful to behold.His efforts could make the harshest of critics take note.

Plus, five avodaoes - and they were a pretty good size - for 1000 colones (about $2.00) was a very good price.

Every time I leave Costa Rica, I am reminded how small the country is. Flying over the tufts of trees in an airplane, the country looks soft and warm to the touch. And it is. But it doesn’t take long to soon leave the small country (about the size of West Virginia) behind. Yet, wherever I go, Costa Rica is admired, especially for it’s biological resources.

These photos were taken 5000 miles away from Costa Rica. The beauty of the plants look so exotic outside of their realm. I have had many of the plants I see right in my own back yard. And when boarding the plane, it is interesting to watch those that will see the country for the first time. I remember when I did. For such a small country, it packs a pretty big punch.

I reached out and touched it. Didn’t want to. Had that squeamish reaction, and I squealed just like a child. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Funny thing is, those things we fear are never worse than we imagine in the first place.

“It’s purple!” my daughter yelled as we drove in the car.

“What?” I asked in a bit of panic I was about to hit something purple.

“The trees!” she said. I looked up and sure enough, the purple blossoms - of which I do not know their name - have started to come in. They follow the pink and the yellow. The purple were so high up and blended so softly with the blue sky, it was hard to get a shot off. (Plus the fact that I was driving and I deemed it best not to dig out my camera from the bottom of my purse and continue on to my destination safely……).

We found this yellow blossom, clinging to it’s last days of glory as the wind whips off petal upon petal. Coco and I stared up at the sturdy yellow blossom. “Now we’ll have to wait a whole year until we see it again,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “But just think of all the new seeds out there finding their way to life.” The wind blew a strong gust, we laughed as we headed for the house.

Coming to terms with Barney has been a long road, a journey of acceptance. He’s easy to single-out, pick-on, and laugh at. Just his color gets parents going. The room is often split: There are those that will cry out that the program is too simple - we should be challenging kids; there are others that have a pile of Barney stuffed animals, books, videos, and many more trinkets in their kid’s room.

Addison loves Barney. He dances to the purple sensation and repeats all the songs. In fact, Barney was one of his first, super-clear words. How can I get mad at IT now? In Costa Rica, these figures on television are adored from Barney to Mickey to Pooh. The money is not, and cannot, be spent on all the commercial products like in other countries, but a cheap backpack is never far from reach.

As my two children get older, I do things that the “pre-mother” person would have been amazed at. Surely I would sided with the “corporate greed taking over our kids’ minds” and “isn’t is talking down to kids?” argument. A few years later, I cannot say I love Barney - fond of perhaps - but I can sing all the songs (in English and Spanish!). And I even must admit I’ve danced to the purple dinosaur more than once.

Traditional holiday photo turns out just as expected. In the heat of the moment - every year before gifts are ripped into - things tend to get out of hand. Sensing I’ll loose that “Christmas Card” look, we pile in front of the tree for that special shot.

A few years ago, Addison wanted nothing to do with his sister. This year, that theme continued. However, he was extremely unhappy when I set up the camera for a self-timed photo. He thought I quite taking pictures - of him - all together.

As you see, this was the result. But it didn’t last long as his attention quickly turned to all that stuff waiting for him under the tree.

Hope your holiday - in whatever shape or form chosen to spend it - connects you to a joy that will last the whole year.

Going in with a budget to spend on holiday gifts, I felt strong and determined to stick with it. Over ten years ago, Christmas in Costa Rica was pretty quite - the loudest noise coming from the fireworks at night. Strolling down the street, one would pick up trinkets and toys, or clothes and candles, from a muchacho. Today, the malls are grander and the shopping a hot ticket. The new entertainment of the last few decades fills the parking spaces by 10 a.m.

A few days ago, I ran off to the mall before it opened. Though I had no idea what to get the kids, I marched in determined to keep that budget. Then in a toy store where all the items over the years begin to look the same, I pushed my little cart right in front of things that were perfect. I mean perfect. It didn’t take long to start justifying going over my budget: I’ll eat a 1/2 piece of toast for breakfast for a month and skip the coffee. I’ll squeeze another month out of that mascara. Oh, but won’t Addy have fun with this!

I lugged home a bag that was heavy and awkward. I am not sure if I’d won or lost. The budget took a hit and perhaps I’m too weak around the edges to resist toy stores at Christmas. It will take little time to blast through the presents Christmas morning and kick around spent wrapping paper. After the rush, we’ll get hungry and tired and the wait for next Christmas will start all over again.

(Photos of the thrilling event soon to come!)

Dressed to the nines, my daughter and I set out to the mall. It was time to do a little Christmas shopping. With leather jacket, and hat, and painted nails she looked like a girl, quickly growing up. “Wait I have to get something!” she yelled before we left.

She came back down the stairs with a stuffed kitten. She said she couldn’t go shopping without it.

As we walked into the mall, I looked down at my growing, modern girl, tossing her stuffed kitten in the air. She’s nine. And four. And will be twelve - oh so soon enough.

The rain has been swept away by the December winds in the Central Valley of Costa Rica. The dry season means a lot of great things, including getting reacquainted with our beautiful sunsets and airing out the nooks and crannies of closets. I always find this change of season also brings along with more drama than I’d been expecting.

Happily, I’ve returned to hanging up laundry as it now dries in a flash. As I was slipping shirts on hangers, I heard a scream that was the kind reserved for major child drama. I turned around to see a red-faced Coco with a dead guinea pig hanging from her hands.

If you’ve ever been in a car accident, you will know there is that time that slows down - as if it spins in slow motion. When I saw the dead animal, I saw the rest of my afternoon play in slow motion before me: Tears; wailing; heartbreak; shovels; dirt; digging; a funeral. Coco cried so hard she started to cough. If I didn’t get the nuts and bolts of the burial moving forward, I’d be wiping back tears all afternoon and non-stop questions of that dreaded “next pet.” I had to move fast to move on.

“Let’s get a towel,” I said, afraid of what can happen to a warm, dead body when it’s dangling from the hands of a desperate child. Maisy was the last in a lineage of nine guinea pigs. Though we gave away most, three remained. The mother of Maisy died in June of last year.

“I need new pet! Who’s going to be my pet?” she said between choking on her spit. While my daughter was trying to fill the whole of a broken heart, I couldn’t help but think about taking back a cute little balcony I have - with a view of the mountains. It was the only place I could put the critter and not attract rats and thousands of cockroaches.

It didn’t take long to process the death. I told Coco we should work on being grateful for the life Maisy gave us. We can’t think about new pets when we have to say goodbye to our old ones. It seemed to work. She went off to play, coming back once and awhile to check on the burial plot. After searching for 1/2 with my shovel, I finally found a place in my small garden that wasn’t root bound. I soaked the ground with water and chopped back roots to make a place, I’d hoped was big enough. (Thank goodness it wasn’t a rabbit, or it would have never fit.)

I got a Bible my grandmother gave me; a rosary my father had; and a Virgin Mary Coco got from one of her nannies. I guessed Maisy was going down as Catholic - or at least a good Christian. She was loving and shared while on this earth. Coco and I stood at the grave. Then, I heard this non-stop crunching.

“Do you think could stop jamming those cookies in your mouth while we have the funeral?” I asked her.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said, but not before shoving one more in her mouth. After setting the bag aside, she bent down to say her goodbyes. Then, I said a few words. We hugged.

“Can I go play?”

“Sure,” I said. I took the shovel and covered up the rodent. She was so much bigger than I’d remembered. I covered the grave with plants and rocks and set the Virgin Mary on top.

That night, I sat on my balcony. Over the time the guinea pig had lived on it, I hadn’t noticed my distant view of the mountains had been taken up by palm trees. It’s almost hard not to have a view in Costa Rica. The one shown in the picture above is a view from someone else’s home, but one can look up or down and easily see the majesty of any mountain side or top - wherever we are in Costa Rica.

Oh well. I sighed.  It didn’t matter. I could stare at the same tree and never see all it has to offer. The wind blew and the leaves rustled. I looked down upon the grave and said: Thanks Maisy. May you run with all the other guinea pigs in the sky.

The last thing I wanted to do was go to a birthday party. But then I remembered some one’s voice telling me in the background of my brain: Sometimes the not-so-easy stuff is where the most joy will come from.

So we went. And of course the kids had fun. Who wouldn’t? Coco conquered the giant slides. Addy attacked a medium-sized one. And the fun was fun. Then as I went from one corner of the warehouse to the next, checking on each child, I noticed that they were not only having fun, but making quick friends, sharing presents and snacks. If we’d had stayed home, it would have been a battle for how long the television could stay on. Or, Addison would have attacked his sister a few more times - as he’s decided to do lately - and actually ripped chunks of hair from her scalp.

The bags of candy were shoved into the refrigerator (a must in the tropics); kids took baths; and kids konked out. Ask me again, I still wouldn’t really want to go, but I most likely will. And, I suppose I must admit, going up and down the slide with Addison was rather delightful. Perhaps I’m getting closer to being the kid I always wanted to be.