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.

The big purple ball I used to exercise Addison deflated. I dunked it in the pool in search of holes but couldn’t get it to stay under water. I brought it to the tire expert guy down the street. He got it inflated, but the air only lasted a week. I received a new nozzle, which also failed. I originally brought the over-sized thing down from the States when I was pregnant in hopes of birthing on it or at least stretching my back. I did neither of those things since non-stop contractions made my pregnancy a “sit down only” affair and the thought of going anywhere near a ball as I suffered through labor would have made me hurt anyone in shouting or kicking distance.

When I bought the purple ball in a Pilotes kit at 4 months pregnant, little did I know it would become such an important exercise tool for my son who would have Down Syndrome. The nannies and I gave it our best effort to use the squishy thing, but Addison kind of sunk into it. Plus he protested a lot.

I passed an exercise store in a strip mall called Plaza itzcatzu and saw huge, inflated balls inside. The kind man in the store was fluent in English. Addison tried out the tread mill and flirted with the entire sale staff by blowing them kisses while I decided on my purchase. As I continued to talk, I told this man how sometimes I get judged because my son doesn’t walk alone yet. Most of the time I pay “no-never-mind” but there are moments I have a harder time shaking it off.

My nephew didn’t walk until he was three and one-half. There was nothing wrong with him, he told me.

It was just something nice to hear. A bonus that came with the big red ball. The ball barely fit in my two-door car. Once in the living room it looked right at home beneath the shadow of our mother earth lamp looming in the distance. One can never have enough orbs floating around.

It just doesn’t stop. Cranes go up and build and build and build over on the west side of San José. Just when a new crop of buildings are about to wrap up it up, a new bunch starts. I don’t exactly remember the ins-and-outs of “urban sprawl” in the States, but now I think I’m witnessing the Costa Rica version.

All of these photos are within a mile of each other - as the crow flies. Since the reality market is a bit in the doldrums, it is hard to imagine who is going to rent all these places? It seems as if paradise is immune to market whims. I know this is not exactly true. For sale signs and for rent sound are everywhere I look. Perhaps developers initiated a project before the market took such a dive.

In the mean time, it is interesting to watch tower after tower go up. Down the way from me a mall is adding a parking lot and some new shops. When I first arrived in Costa Rica, I could never understand how the stores made it. No one seemed to be heading to the shopping center and most left without purchases in hand. Today, cars straddle the grass and park on the sidewalks to get in. People are loaded with goods in hand when they leave. If I need to go, I make it early.

So for awhile we have to live with cranes, bulldozers, and muddy streets as the cement mixes and the nails fly. Cows and goats will have to move farther out to the country as the grass is gobbled up by commerce. This part of Costa Rica will never look the same again.

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.

This big ol’ hardware store moved into San José about five years ago, more or less. I must admit it was a relief to finally have a large hardware store to wander about in. I’m used to doing a certain amount of home repair by myself, and a one stop hardware store is just easier for me when I need to get a big plank of wood for Addy’s new therapy swing, a swath of rope, screws, and a brick of cement for the guinea pig cage.

This EPA came to Escazú on the West side of San José about three years ago. It took over a location being constructed by the WAlmart owned Hipermas. Hipermas deserted the location because during construction, it began slipping off the cliff. An engineering boo boo of enormous magnitude. Imagine picking up a broasted chicken and suddenly falling into a raven 500 meters below. Not pretty. Lots of people lost money on that deal. So it sat for awhile and little by little the shell of the 1/2 built shopping store was removed. EPA scaled back the building enough to make it stable. About a year later, there I was, milling through the wide isles looking for the tools that make my life run a little easier.

I think in reality, EPA saves me gas when I have to buy these few odds and ends because otherwise I have to go to different stores (all over the place) for many of the items. I believe the corner hardware store will always thrive in Costa Rica because this culture is accustomed to buying three nails and one screw at a time at a little place in town. (I love that about pills too. You can actually go into a drugstore and just buy four aspirins if you want.) The little ferreterías are cramped and it is always a good place to challenge my Spanish because I have to remember words like nail, washer, screw, bolt and that “thingy” that goes around the other “thingy.”

My daughter whined as any child would with boredom and repeated frequent requests for M&Ms and/or a plant. But she gets to push her own little cart, which satisfies her until we get to those plants. How can I leave without a pink impatiens or a heavenly hortencia? We never do linger too long at EPA. Those florescent lights give me a headache and the air conditioning makes Coco’s eyes water. After picking up that last screw, we make a run for the cash register. I mean, it did fall off a hill once. I’m not taking chances.

Garden schlock lives. In any country. It’s a comfort to know we can travel the world and find a similar, yet customized, variety of large and small creatures that dot the yard and garden landscape. In Costa Rica, our garden critters tend to be cement. Large, heavy beasts of some sort. Then there’s the shrines and fountains, but that’s another story. This cute little elephant that Coco adored while waiting in the car for me as I sought out that wonderful coconut water for Addison was priced at about $170.00 Who in Costa Rica can afford that? With most Tico salaries coming in at about $400 to $600 a month, extra socks are hard to come by.

Garden beasts and goblins must be an extension of some deep instinctual need to either rekindle the bond with animals we once had - OR - it’s really just another way of pissing on our territory like the dog or the deer or cougar when they stumble upon a tree in their neighborhood: This is my territory. Just letting you know. Sniff if you like, but head on out after you’re through. This spread is MINE.

Even over at the little soda that sells coconut water, papaya, and watermelon, the old man who tends the till had a tiny version of schlock. In the pile of coins, a little pig snout looked up at me. I too have my animals strewn about the garden and looking back at me as I type. I take comfort in my ceramic critters. In fact, I’ve read that some of them bring on luck. I could sure use a shot of that. And it’s a lot better than pissing in the yard. What would the neighbors think?

I sat down to get the passports in order: Two for each kid - one from Costa Rica and one from the United States. One for me.

Where’s the one for me? Inside the little packet where I ALWAYS keep the passports locked up, mine was missing. As my heart began tapping hard enough to hit my rib cage, panic set in. My mind was already trying to figure out when I was going to go to the U.S. Embassy to get another one. Could it be issued on time? But I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning because Addison needs that special note because he’s a a special child…oh and how much will it cost…oh my, it’s going to be hours wasted sitting in the Embassy. The Embassy is…..is…..yuck. The people there really try being nice, but everyone knows it’s this necessary evil we all have to endure to prove we exist by getting forms and stamps and permissions and little books and signatures…..Oh dear, I’ll never get it all done.

So, I went to a fruit market. Although the worry-wart inside claws at me to look through my office just one more time, I know it’s better to remove myself completely and let the subconscious simmer, trusting the answer will bubble up. Addison needed agua de pipa - coconut water - which he drinks about four times a day. Every town has a market that feels like an adult candy store. Just the colors are soothing. And I tell you this about Costa Rica (yes, I know there are exceptions) but almost without fail, I get this warm, cozy feeling every time I am served by a Costa Rican vendor. This even happens at Taco Bell. I mean, those times when we resort to fast food, I find myself actually looking forward to placing my order.

The waiter at the cafe calls me joven - young lady (see if that doesn’t make your day!); the gas attendant calls me reina; the Taco Bell cashier call me amor. I suppose this should raise the ire of my feminist side, but why? There’s so much good intention behind all these little greetings, I’d be the one missing out. By the time I left the fruit market, the three women and I had bonded over honey and coconut. The Spanish flew out of me like a native. I waved as I left and said I’d be back. Tenga un buen dia!

My passport! It’s on a shelf where I set it with the good intention of then moving it to the safe place. My passport now sits all cozy next to the other four. Addison is flush with pipa, and I can get back to that packing.

Que dicha! Gracias!

When the day starts, I know a lot of us wonder how we are going to get it all in. After too many activities and too many things to do and not enough time for myself, I got one more thing in by heading to the grocery store to get some essentials.

I wasn’t alone there. People crammed the check-out lane and scanned isle seven for the right pasta noodle. I guess this is a new wave of entertainment. I was a little disappointed when all the nice ladies that hand out samples of food and drinks were no where to be found. Those little cubes of food and tiny cups of juice can really jazz up a Saturday night at Auto Mercado.

I tipped the bag boy a hefty 500 colones (about a dollar), hoping it would make his night. The rain had let up and it was getting late - around 8 p.m.

We sure know how to party around here.

Since my daughter was now privy to Queen, Carole King, Rusted Root, Prince and many other fine artists I grew up with over the years, we decided it was time for her to have her own radio. She had a bit of money saved, and it was burning a hole in her pocket. I told her I’d chip in the difference if we could find a CD player for a reasonable price. A few miles from my house is a large, tin, barn-like structure that sells stuff. Lots of stuff. It’s called Hipermas.

Until I figure out on-line banking, Hipermas is the best place to pay my Internet bill. Go figure. But that’s how it works in our town. We got a cart and wheeled over to the electronic sections. Buying electronic gadgets in Costa Rica is like settling for microwaved coffee from yesterday when you’d prefer an espresso: really disappointing. AND always over-priced. Need a blender? Get ready to drop thirty dollars easy (and more if you want one with a motor in it!) Coffee maker? It might be cheaper to do Starbucks everyday (no - we don’t have a Starbucks yet). And if the machine breaks who is going to fork out the money to ship it to the dealer and fight with customs to get it back into the country?

When I first arrived in Costa Rica ten years ago, it was almost impossible to return something. Luckily, times have changed. IF you have the receipt, AND the item is returned within a few days. (Although I know keeping the receipt is a must I am not sure what the exact policy on how much time you’ve got to exchange things, but unless pain is a distinct pleasure in your life, returning something past even a week or two could be as excruciating an exercise as root canal without anesthesia.)

Hipermas is owned by Wal-mart - another reason I get sick upon entering the store. There’s just something so, so, so fake and “un”right about the whole set up. When I can wrestle my bank into submission, I will hopefully be able to pass by the store all together. Until then, I know I’ll end up there occassionaly.

We got the radio home and took out one of her favorite CDs by Coco Lee. No lights blinked. The CD just sat there. I unfolded the instructions. There was nothing about first-time use. I opened up the lid and inspected the inside as if I knew what I was doing. Tried again. The CD made a scratching sound and the motor moaned. It didn’t take Navy Seal instincts to know something was wrong. We tried other CDs. Same result. I packed up the machine carefully in the styrofoam and plastic wrapping and promised Coco we’d go back to the store in the morning.

There I was again: looking pale and pushing the enormous cart up and down the isles of the whale store. (The logo for Hipermas is a big, blue whale.) The young man in electronics tested the machine and got the same results. As I waited for him to get another player down from the shelving 15 feet above our heads, the nanny was communing with another family who had a daughter who had Down Syndrome. We do this is stores and at restaurants. “We” Down Syndrome families seem to seek each other out and bond closely in a matter of seconds. Addison blew kisses and waved to the group.

The exchange proceeded without any problem. In fact I was surprised at how nonchalant everyone was about the whole thing. When I showed my receipt to the check-out lady, she waved her hand at me as if we were “tight” friends. “No problem. That’s just fine,” she said, not even bothering to look at the factura. Back at home, Coco sat on her bed as the night came to an end. She held up lyrics to a song and sang. Although all I had was a little transistor AM/FM radio that looked like a flying saucer when I was her age, the music coming over those airwaves was something that always saved me and lifted me up, especially when the world let me down, or when I felt empty as if all the color had drained from my skin. Keeping my daughter away from Wii and Nintendo and television feels like it has paid off in moments like this: when the simplicity of music is taken into the soul and discovered with open eyes still untainted from too much distraction. The music, no matter how cheap or tinny, old or new, will always help keep the clowns at bay.

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.