Mañana mañana is the Latin term for yes, you’ll have it, but it will come tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day. Or the one after that. Every day I practice the saying, without even knowing it. As I wait for the bus, and my kids to get out of the bathroom, and for the check to come in the mail, I wonder when are ever not waiting?

A few days ago, Coco and I went to Pequeno Mundo as a diversion from waiting around and being “bored” as my daughter told me. We headed out to replace a mirror Addison had broken in the excitement of seeing his full-length reflection.

When we walked in to the barn-like store, I saw the lines stacked up at the check-out. “I hope those are gone by the time we’re ready to go.” Pequeno Mundo is the store that sells most things we can do without in life, but we convince ourselves we need them. Candles, cans of corn from Thailand, plastic bins that have misfitting lids, screwdrivers that really can’t hold their turn very well, and so on.

The lines were not gone when we were ready to leave. Trying not to get too picky, we strolled our cart to isle seven and began the wait. Then, after about ten minutes, the clerk disappeared. Then after another ten minutes, the clerk still remained missing. We were trapped. I looked up and down and every isle was packed. If we backed our cart up and started over again, inevitably the clerk would reappear, and we’d be waiting even longer in some other line. After another ten minutes, Coco said she was having fun though her legs hurt and she was hungry.

The woman who was checking out had a bad credit card or something. We never did get to the bottom of it. On the way home to get an ice cream, we got stuck behind a bus. And another one. Coco’s fun had ended back in the parking lot, and she whined about how long it was taking to get to the ice cream store.

I have a feeling all we ever really do is wait. We might as well all start practicing the patience of mañana mañana, goodness knows we all need it.

Last minute holiday gifts are a snap to find in Costa Rica. Though it may be too late to pick up an odd little reindeer made out of wood shavings, there’s so much more to found.

Hand-made wooden toy trucks and kid’s tables always find their way roadside come this time of year. And my favorite is the painted pig. Rows and rows of pigs burst out and stand curbside, waiting for a home to call their own. They are usually painted in two basic patterns: The swirly lines and the wiggly ones. And they are almost always yellow. A piggy bank I believe. I’ve never picked one up for fear of toppling the pigs out of their orderly row.

So, if that Wii just doesn’t fit the budget, or the necktie bores as yet-another-repetitive gift - go ahead - and pick up a pig on the way.

Happy Holidays.

I thought I’d seen a lot until I saw this guy. Now, he wasn’t terribly wild, I’ve seen his kind before. My kids thought it was really something. Then, just when I’d thought I seen it all….

….yhe guy on stilts gives directions to lost woman in mall. True to the kind Costa Rican character, even a guy on stilts has time to lend a helping hand. Life is full of surprises.

Going up and down an escalator never will rank as high adventure in any guide book in Costa Rica. Neither will operating a blender. But I am always amazed when I meet people that have never done so many things I easily take for granted. For them, it’s quite the thrill ride.

We checked out the new mall this weekend. It’s big. Three stories of shops. Three stories of escalators. We finally got one of our nannies to go up and down. Once. That was it though. She quickly sought out the stairs instead. She was thrilled we could take the elevator after getting our fill of balloon animals in one of the new department stores.

We’ve all got those quirky fears. In New York, I was waiting for an elevator when a woman decided to get over her fear of riding elevators right then and there. (She lived in New York. I resisted asking the obvious.)  We went up and down a few times and said good-bye. She was thrilled with herself.  I don’t know if she conquered all her fears, but one at a time I guess is we can ask of each other.

Whether in Costa Rica or New York, we’ve got to bring with us our stuff. No matter what stage of my life I’ve been in, I seem to always be hauling a cart. On the airplane, I’ve always got more to pull along than others. I’m amazed at those with the single fanny pack. I admire people who get it all in one bag. I even had a job once that ran out of office space when it came to me, they gave me a cart. Just find a space that’s open I was told.

With my car in for another adjustment, I pull my orange cart out and take it from the kid’s school to the grocery store to the pharmacy. One night, a rat crawled into my garage and must have discovered something I’d neglected to take out of the bag after shopping. The little rodent chewed a huge hole right through the bottom. Now, I’ve got to be sure I don’t put a wandering avocado on the bottom.

Few people stop for pedestrians in Costa Rica. Being pregnant or crippled doesn’t always add to the advantage either. Having a cart surely gets no exceptions. I have to fight my way across like the rest of the world as I lug my stuff to it’s next stop.

I go through phases or trying to downsize and get sleek. It never seems to work. Between diapers and snacks and water and my camera and…..I’ll be pulling more than my share for a while to come.

The mammoth mall in Escazú, Costa Rica is taking shape. We’ve been fighting dump trucks, mud, muchachos, cranes, and noise for over a year. It won’t be long and we’ll be some really happy folks chomping down some new foods; sipping tea in the courtyard, and purchasing all my heart could desire.

Rain forests, volcanoes, monkeys, and malls - this could be paradise.

At a small community event I went to, a group of women working to pull themselves out of poverty had come up with some very interesting ideas to sell things. The materials? Plastic bags - the kind we all get in the grocery stores, newspapers, and eggshells. Yes. Eggshells.

This vase was made by discarded eggshells. I’m still amazed. I wouldn’t know where to begin. And the purses are made out of those plastic bags we all curse as we bring one after the other home. I really hope she’s on to something and makes a fortune at it.

Fast and easy was never supposed to be a good combination. Except for convenience stores. We all need them. A cultural phenomena that spans the globe. In San José, you’re sure to pass an AM PM - where all the most needed-of-needs can be met.

Walking into a convenience store just reminds me of roads trips across the U.S. Who can resist that over-sugary, fake-latte coffee? Or that giant soda pop that needs it’s own cooler? It’s always incredibly busy.

Though the store is nice enough and I can get all those little things I just don’t want to stop at the grocery store for, it’s kind of best to move fast when shopping. I’ve seen cockroaches crawling upon the lettuce. And one time as I walked past, they were fumigating and I must have seen over a hundred cockroaches crawling to the gutter in search of relief from the poison.

I don’t know how anyone manages a food-related business in the tropics, or any place warm for that matter. When I do run into buy something, it’s really a run.

For rent signs are everywhere. Se aquilla. As buildings finish up a year or two of construction, other business built a few years ago put up for rent and for sale signs. I keep wondering who’s going to rent out all this space?

There will be the natural flow of one business leaving one strip mall for the likes of another. And, there will be the hopefuls that “just know” their coffee shop or restaurant or shoe store is going to make it. The funny thing I’ve always found about Costa Rican real estate, and I’m no expert - heck I’m just a mom - is I’ve watched this market create itself.

Perhaps it’s starting to change, but many who own lots or homes or business seem quite content to sit on a price that doesn’t seem to be rooted in any real market place value. In the neighborhoods I’ve lived in, I’ve inquired about homes for sale or rent nearby and just about fainted when they very often will tell me a selling price not just thousands, but “tens-of-thousands” of dollars higher than I would ever consider.

I walk or drive by the location a year or more later, and often the property is still for sale or rent. Empty. Creating no value for the owner or the economy. And I know it’s not just Costa Ricans setting these values. I’ve heard of “many-a-Gringos” placing a value on their property that would make more than anyone’s jaw drop.

I suppose there’s a bit of an extra price for living in paradise. But I like to think not.

But heck that’s just me. And I’m just a mom after all. What do I know?

Shopping has evolved in Costa Rica, but some things I think will always stay the same. Every culture has “it’s” way of letting a person shop. In Costa Rica, we are often followed closely. Not because we’re thought of as thieves but because the sales person is eager to make a sale; is often very bored; and “it’s” just the way it’s been done for years.

I needed a small table to sit next to Addison’s high chair. He loves to listen to Barney songs (millions of times!) and thumb through books when he’s finished eating. We keep his stash on a small table. I moved the existing, ugly ones into my office and thought it would be fun to buy something new.

I’d watched the construction of a new furniture store go up and saw it was finished. It had accessible parking, so one rare day without kids, I pulled in. The moment I walked in, a woman with very high heels, clicked over to ask if I needed help. A term I learned early on was: Thank you, but I’m going to look. Gracias, pero voy a buscar. The new store was empty except for a lot of big furniture trying to look very modern, hoping someone would take them home and love them.

I knew what I wanted (usually do when I shop) and if I run a quick eye over this piece or that, I can tell whether or not it would fit. The woman followed me while I scanned the entire first floor.

Click. Click. Click. Click. She followed closely behind.

Then, I went upstairs. Whew, I thought, she’s giving me space - something I can’t quite get out of me (very American, I admit). As I looked at the beds and dressers and prices, it was becoming clear not only that there was nothing that I liked, but everything was a bit more than I’d like to pay.

Click. Click. Click.

Though I couldn’t see her, the sales woman had followed me up the stairs. I’d walk and stop. She’d walk and stop. But I couldn’t see her. She hid behind walls and mirrors. Her footsteps echoed as loud as a scream bouncing off the walls of a cave.

Click. Click. Click.

I’d take two steps.

Click. Click.

I went down the steps, and I’m sure she saw her sale walking out the door.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

She almost ran down the stairs after me. I said thank you as I left. And as the door was still closing, I could here her in the distance….

Click. Click. Click as she went back to sit at her desk.