Under a pile of yet unpacked books from my trip to the States a few weeks ago, I found a SkyMall magazine. FREE COPY - TAKE IT. WE’LL REPLACE IT! So I did.

After Addison thoroughly looked over the safety flight brochure that hangs in the pouch on the back seat pocket of the plane, he’d slide it into the sleeve and pull out the SkyMall. He found the it thrilling, especially photos of dogs like the cute little Yorkie in a Cool Vest, which regulates the mutt’s body heat. (I thought that was what panting was for, but what do I know?) We’d flip further and find The Pet’s Observation Porthole. This is a round plastic window fitted into a fence so the dog can safely peer through the plastic at passerby’s. There’s the Coolaroo Dog Bed; the PupSTEP for the pet who needs a little help getting up on the furniture; or my favorite: the Hidden Litter Box. It’s a fake plant with a hole in the pot, which holds the kitty litter.

With its Tuscany handfinish, our new Hidden Litter Box looks like a real clay pot, complete with an attractive, artificial decorator plant. Simply turn the entrance to the wall and no one will know (if your cat doesn’t tell)!……A set of two provides decorative balance and your feline friend with both a cozy hideaway and concealed litter box.

Who doesn’t look at the SkyMall? What a perfect location to put a magazine of products we can live without but all fantasize about having: floating wireless speaker for the pool; digital camera swim mask; the world’s largest write-on mural map; and the Multi-functional Margaritaville and complimentary carrying case (shipped for free). And the joy! these things! can bring! to your life! Exclamation points abound to excite us about less germs! Cleaner floors! Colder draft beer right in your home! And easy access storage under the bed!

I can’t look at the SkyMall too long on the plane because I get motion sick even when the craft is not moving. Just the smell of the plane makes me sick. So, I flipped the pages for Addison and pointed out every animal I could to help pass the hour and one-half we sat on the tarmac. Though I can scoff at almost every item in the magazine, there’s the little shopper in me that would just love to have the Perfect Travel Partner or the Cargo Organizer that eliminates spills and clutter! in the car.

SkyMall has been a fixture in flying for as long as I’ve suffered through economy class. Though I’ll never pick up the phone and credit my card for an upside down tomato garden or the pool and pond remote display, I’ll look. Sending things to Costa Rica, though entirely possibly, is as annoying as airline travel. Even though there are laws on “what can be brought into the country; what is to be taxed or not, and how much I can recieve” - it always costs more. Besides shipping, there’s the random custom’s tax -impuesto de la aduana - tacked on by a guy I never see who’s decided through some ancient ritual akin to Tarut reading that my package should be charged whatever moves him that day. Better to live without it.

So, I’ll keep it in a pile and every once and awhile, I’ll peek through it again. It’s almost as satisfying as having that piping-hot mini doughnut maker - the Dough-Nu-Matic right in my kitchen. Almost.

When I first arrived in Costa Rica, there weren’t that many American chains. One restaurant, on the east end of San Jose, was a fake TGIF. It was really hard to tell the difference. They had the old, wooden canoes on the wall and the red and white stripes. I went in to eat their once. After a few years, I heard that the restaurant got in trouble for using the TGIF name. Now the real thing arrived on the west end of town. I go there about once a year, when I need a place on the way home and reliable.

We were celebrating my daughter’s gym show performance - a culmination of six months of practices for an afternoon of exhibitions. Addison wanted nothing to do with the dinner. He was still pissed off from not being able to eat the little chocolate heart the attendant at the gym handed out for all the family members. It the exact size of his windpipe. He carried this grudge into TGIF and promptly whipped all the crayons and cute little coloring page on the floor. Coco managed to hold him still for a moment for a photo.

I had a bowl of soup. My nanny couldn’t believe a piece of fish was $8.00. She’d pay half that for double the serving in her town. Ah, but we were in the big city, with the lights, the traffic and the fancy restaurants. We escaped with a tab of about $20.00. I suppose that’s not bad. The food was nothing to write home about, but my daughter got to clink her glass of ice tea in a toast and relish in her job well done. I suppose we’ll end up here again in six months, as I admit a chain restaurant serves it’s purpose once a year. Maybe my son will walk right through the front doors and Coco will have mastered that front roll on the parallel beam. But I bet Addison will stay throw his crayons on the floor, and it won’t get any cheaper.

What are those important questions to ask when considering a move to Costa Rica? Location? Schools? Climate? Hospitals? Prices? How about: Where in the world am I going to shop?

Grocery shopping is about as fun as laying down roofing. But if it’s not done, we’re going to suffer the consequences. Yesterday I was down to miso soup mix, chocolate chips, and vinegar in my cupboards. I put off that inevitable trip to the grocery store because I was too tired from a few restless nights with my son who I’ve decided either has the world’s longest cold or is allergic to the entire planet. Anyway….

I get asked a lot where do I shop for _________?? fill in the blank. Organic food, imported food (which means usually brands from the U.S. or Europe), meat….and on to other items such as clothes for kids, linen, caulk, sink strainers, laundry hoses, rugs, and socks. (I’m having trouble with that one myself since almost every kid in the country needs a certain color of socks to go with the uniform.) So, I’m starting a new section - find under Catergory - SHOPPING in COSTA RICA.

When I moved here ten years ago, I never walked into a “real” grocery store. In my travels around the country prior to my immigrating to Costa Rica, I stopped in pulperias - sodas - and didn’t know where I could find black olives, feta cheese, or those chocolate chips my daughter eats with every meal. I was so terrified I’d be without the basic products I’d grown so accustomed to, I even hauled down toilet paper, bathroom cleaner, and mops.* Fear no more! It’s almost all here. And over time, I’ve been lugging less back to Costa Rica in my suitcase when I make trips to visit the family back in the homeland.

The miso/chocolate/vinegar soup was not appealing, so I trudged on over to Auto Mercado. This is the store I choose the most often to shop. Why?

1). It’s close to my home.

2). It usually has the most variety of what I want, and it saves me running around time, which is invaluable for me as a single parent.

3). I save money in gas.

Since I live so close to an Auto Mercado it’s laughable that I drive, but I knew my load would be bigger than sixteen bread baskets so I parked and ran in during the hour Addison was at gym class. Once there, it’s not so bad. I focus and do short breathing exercises and then begin the ritual of walking up and down the isles while checking my list and trying to remember all the items I’ve forgotten on the list. Auto Mercado has more imported goods than most stores. If an item by item tough price comparison was done, Auto Mercado might be a bit higher on some things, especially the imported stuff. But I do not buy large quantities and believe I get the same or equal value to other stores.

I like their fruits and vegetables section. It’s laboriously attended to, clean, and even has a small organic section. The bread has improved a lot over the years in Costa Rica. When I first came here, it was heartbreaking to buy a loaf of bread, which looked fabulous in the store until I got home to find chunks of Numar (a widely used margarine) throughout the bread - whole and undissolved! There’s finally more varieties such as whole wheat, and I’ve even seen olive pesto bread.

And I kid you not: the clerks working at Auto Mercado are always nice and attend calmly and efficiently to their job. Not one person has ever cracked their gum and basically ignored that I was human being, not to mention a paying customer, while I’ve checked out. Of course there’s a few exceptions over the ten years of frequenting this store throughout the entire city of San Jose - San Pedro, Los Yoses, downtown San Jose, Rohmoser, Escazu, and Santa Ana - but I can always count on a buenos dias and gracias while I pay. And though I’ve never used the service, they deliver too. In a few days ago, I discovered they’re even making a little effort in “thinking green.”

So take comfort in knowing that most of your shopping needs will be met. If not in Auto Mercado, you can try Mas por Menos, Pricesmart, Pali, or Fresh Market. This is a boom town, and I have a feeling even more is on the way. And when all is unpacked and put in the cupboards I can move on to those other important things like getting that roof done.

*I still search for that perfect mop as I can not quite get used to washing out the mechas - white string like mop head - by hand like the Ticas do.

On Saturday we walked back to the International Art Festival. The crowds were a little thinner than last weekend, but thick enough. Coco ate a few spoonfuls of rice just to satisfy her mother so that she could gulp down another bag of those greasy, sugar sticks.

The art, I gotta say with the utmost respect for my adopted place of residency, is well…well let’s just say it’s not cutting edge. But that’s o.k. my daughter thought it was out of this world: horses, huts, pueblos, forests, mostly acrylics, and most nice to look at. An art critic could waltz down the pathways, look into the tents and easily dismiss the work as pretty average. But for Costa Rica, this is still a big deal. I’ve been here for ten years and even getting to the arts has been a struggle. The first International Art Festival I went to was scattered all over the city. The public wasn’t allowed into some of the performances as they reserved them for school groups (I snuck in with my daughter anyway) and there was no gathering place, where the celebration all centered from like the last few years at la sabana.

Coco waited patiently for me to finish my espresso so she could get her hands on that bag of sugar and batter. On our way to the trailer of treats, we spotted these swings. Really cool swings. This was some cool stuff. Huge wooden swings hung from branches. Everyone was drawn to them. I marked this exhibition as the coolest art at the show.

We walked the isles of the craft tents as Coco pondered which trinket to buy. She was determined to spend a bit of the 5000 colones she had saved up. We had to stop for a bathroom break, (which I will spare you the torrid details of because we had to use one of those blue, temporary sanitary boxes that had not been cleaned, it seemed, ever).

She settled on a dinosaur and a squirrel.

They are going to best friends mommy, she said.

Makes sense, I said.

The woman who made the tiny creatures sat in the tent with her clay, paints, and pointy, little brushes - the artist at work. And no, she wouldn’t draw crowds in Soho or Paris, but she’s throwing her hat in the ring every day. To that I say: Bravo! Each time we create it gives us the potential to make something even grander than the day before. I bought a tiny little tiger for Addison, who was home with a cold, and cow for his nanny. When I took the clay figure out of the bag, Addison roared his tiger growl and put up his claws like he does when he sees a big cat. He ooohed at the cow and gently set it on the table next to the tiger. The cow’s head then fell off.

Makes sense, I thought as I got up to look for the glue.

The Kids in the Hall are back. Thank goodness. I needed that.

So many great people have been writing on my old site - which still is up and running - and this new one. But with this new thing, it’s like getting a DVD player and figuring out how all the little buttons work. I just figured out how to operate and do COMMENTS. Yikes. What rock did I climb out of??!!

Next thing you know, I’ll learn how to operate my answering machine.

Keep it coming.

By the way, I have to share this great site that was sent to me by a freind George. He’s right - get out your Kleenex.

Wouldn’t you like to take a cute little artist home to cuddle? Then head on over to MyArtPlot.com.

What’s that you say? The Artists are not for sale, it’s their stuff? Sorry. Scratch that first part.

There’s not enough venues on this planet that gives artists a platform to sell their wares. I know. I’m an artist. I’ve even owned an art gallery and sometimes I had to hold people in head locks and tickle them till they peed in their pants to buy something. Well, here’s place - MyArtPlot - if you are an artist, you can give it a shot. If you want to buy art too, give it a look.

Be patient with the template, I was not completely clear on the layout of the whole system, but I did not yet delve too deep. I was too excited about the sharing of ideas to wait any longer. If we all spent more time looking at art and creating art, heck, we might have world peace.

Check it out. Who knows, maybe you’ll finally sell that painting in your closet.

Coco asked me about the book I was reading called Expensive People.*

Oh, she said, It must be a book about selling people.

That’s about right. I said

Do they sell big people or kids?

Both.

How long do they keep them?

Until they’re 18 and then it starts all over again.

How do they steal them?

They take them home when they are born and keep them there.

Robbers.

Robbers.

*For the record, Expensive People was written by Joyce Carol Oates in 1968. The narrator is a boy who “explodes.” We follow the young boy as he tells the tale of the love he has for his mother, and yes father, but how these two messed up people living in organized, opulent suburbia steal the soul of their child with their addictions, lies, and ignorance. Nothing gets by kids.