Breast Cancer awareness rolled into San Jose with a walk and festival culminating at la Sabana. Harley’s lined up; families walked a few miles; and school bands marched. Women in booths passed around those little pink ribbons.

As I watched one of those bands pass by, I noticed this colorful clown fiddling with his rubber balloons and a baseball on a string. Children approached the clown, but his white face wasn’t all that interested in jesting with them. Some kids expected balloons and stood there for a bit. Bored, they finally moved on. How is it possible to wear a ridiculous clown suit and be so unapproachable?

Perhaps cancer, and all illnesses, can be attacked way, way, way before they start. As I watched my father die from prostate cancer, I couldn’t help but wonder about all that angst and worry he carried around with him for so many years. Did it have something to do with it? I fell deeply in love with my father as he suffered so - even though he almost drove me to the brink of actually using all that duct tape he stored in the closet to adhere myself to the ceiling. I don’t want to wait that long with those still around me. I don’t want to carry my angst; my worry until it makes me sick. I want to get on a Harley and ride (or at least admire one).

I plan on starting my own cancer/illness prevention program: Don’t worry, be happy.*

Wait a minute - did somebody already say that?

PS - In case that didn’t work…..give this a shot.

Every time we go to la Sabana park, I tease the nannies that they need to get up on the zip-line. Each one laughs, yet at the same time looks up and marvels at what a thrill it would be to fly across this cable over the park.

The first platform is located at the back end of the lake near the community building. I’m not quite sure why young handsome men must always run these operations, but so be it. (Perhaps a law of physics I’ve yet to learn.)

Many years ago, I rode through the treetops in a forest outside the city of Oratina. When I reached the platform, I felt I’d been invited to a secret bird house. I was about to fly in a little bit of the heavens that the birds get to experience every day. The ride itself? Amazing and terrifying. On the first “zip” to the second tree, there was not a lot of time to think. All the worrying must be done ahead of time: What if I fall? What if I smash into the tree like Tom chasing Jerry? What if the line snaps? What if? What if?

Thrill rides are like mini-moments of what life can be like, if we suspend all those worries and live just in that moment. I suppose that’s why we climb mountains and jump off cliffs. Here’s the trick though - and it’s no Secret: We manifest how we live in the moment. Wow. That’s a lot of responsibility.

At the end of our walk in la Sabana, we watched one of the outfitters as he scaled the cable backwards. Hand over hand he pulled. His mentor stood below him on the path next to us and yelled up at him to “dig deeper” and “push harder.” The first 100 meters went pretty fast, but at the end, a slight incline made the last 50 meters so much more difficult.

The thrill of the adventure quickly wears off. The real work starts when we return to level ground. Climbing backwards up a cable is nothing compared to facing the morning again, and again, and again. Atop the platform of life we stand with the choice to soar like a falcon. Now that’s an adventure in paradise.

I thought it would be a good idea to take the kids to the zoo. Zoo Ave. is a zoo and ecological reserve located in La Garita, Costa Rica about 30-40 minutes from San Jose, give or take traffic. I’ve taken my mother, father, and sister here. It’s a great way to walk through the fresh air and get a close up look at a lot of species that are otherwise difficult to see in the jungles.

The kids were thrilled to be in the car, and we arrived full of hope and promise like Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon the candy house. After paying the entrance, I would have thought I was walking through this lovely zoo with a witch and a warlock.

The macaws greeted us on the first trail. The Zoo raises funds to help educate the public and also offers services to rehabilitate wounded and discarded wild animals that at one time someone thought would make a good pet. The moment we left the parrots, the trip went down hill.

Coco, who’s danced in this zoo like Dorothy on her way to Oz, suddenly at the age of seven decided she was scared of 3/4 of the animals. That doesn’t leave much room for fun. When we approached the crocodile snoozing in the sun, she cowered behind me and refused to look.

The nanny, Addy, and I decided to enjoy the view and stared at the thing. It looked artificial. Finally, we saw the nose holes move in and out and we moved on to the deer. Addison wasn’t impressed. We moved on.

After the titi monkeys - an endangered monkey in Costa Rica - Addison had a melt down. Coco perked up a bit at the monkey exhibit. And then we approached the ostrich display, she wandered around with a stick and poked at the fence. If I hadn’t pointed out the avestruz, she’d have missed them.

And I'm here because???

I wondered that until we hit the end of the zoo. They've added a cute little soda. With an espresso machine! Perhaps it was a long way to come for a coffee, but what better company than a peacock to share a morning with. No matter what my kids think.

I can’t believe I’ve lived in Costa Rica for eleven years, and I’ve never been to the Ojo de Agua. It’s like living in the three miles from the capital of Luisiana and never driving down to actually see the State building. Those are things for school field trips.

Water therapy is great for Addison. The big bonus is that at Ojo de Agua, the water comes from an underground well. It’s water you can drink. No chlorine. It’s not from the tap. It’s the really good stuff from inside the earth before we humans screw with it.

It cost $1.00 to park and then another $5.00 for two adults and one child - Addison at three was free. My English speaking nanny loves to reminisce. She took us on a stroll through the park. Up a ramp was the actual Ojo de Agua. It doesn’t take a good hard look to see that it is not a real eye of anything other than a slab of cement. However, throughout Costa Rica, these springs erupt and have been trapped by entrepruenerial minded people.

From the vista of the eye, there are pools for swimmers, kids, and aerobic enthusiasts. First thing you notice when I touched the tip of my toes into the water: It’s COLD! Spring water is like that. The round pool is for kids. Though a bit short for Coco, she warmed up to it a little bit. Addison was into it. I was a bit concerned about that peeling paint on the bottom. Though, as my nanny noticed, there is not a tiny bit of mold anywhere. (She also said they come with crews at night and clean the entire place with chlorine, which also concerns me.) Be that as it may…..

We moved from pool to pool; snacked; and packed up for home. It’s always like that with my kids: short and to the point with a simple outing gets as much juice as an expensive, over-done day where I’ve spent too much money and go home regretting it. There’s a “man-fed” lake, which was green and funky. But what “man-fed” lake isn’t? I guess there are tennis courts, boating, and picnic areas, we partook in none. It was all I could do to dry the kids off and get Addison home before nap time so the nanny and I could have a break and eat hot dogs and tortillas in peace.

I’ve gotten out of the habit of reading a daily newspaper. There’s one reliable English language newspaper source in Costa Rica called the Tico Times, which comes out once a week on Fridays. On Saturday at the grocery store, I decided to flip through it to see if I wanted to spend the 600 colones (about a $1.20). The price has gotten a little steep, and with kids, I often end up using it for to hold flower clippings or to catch glitter on crafts without ever getting to the articles.

To my shock, amazement, and thrill there was an add for a theater production of Hamlet. Big deal. Been done, right? Millions of times shall we say? But in Costa Rica? In English! It was as if I was in third grade and someone had told me Bobby Sherman was signing his life-size, pull-out poster down at the corner drug store. I had to go. A few years ago, I saw King Leer by the same British company and was in heaven, regardless of how many characters ended up dead.

Target I miss, but theater I long for like my the smell of my high school sweetheart’s grandmother’s pegorie’s cooking in her oven. It’s something I don’t get enough of anymore.

There is a lot of theater in Costa Rica in Spanish. The problem is my Spanish isn’t good enough to understand the yearnings of Stella or the despair of Willy without getting a headache. I miss a lot when sentences wrap around emotions. And that’s kind of the whole point of theater: wrapping our emotions around language long enough to figure out a little piece of life. Or at least get a good laugh and not be with the kids for a few hours.

This Hamlet production was showing at the Eugiene O’Neil Theater a part of the North American Cultural Center in San Pedro. The center is subsidized by the U.S. It has an art gallery, library, language classes, and other performances in music and dance. I asked my daughter if she wanted to go and even though she’d never heard of the play, she said no because she’d be too scared. (How did she know there was a ghost when she knew nothing about the play?!)

I picked up my nanny (a fine date that, yes, does speak English) and drove through the rain through downtown and into back neighborhoods to land perfectly upon the Center’s front steps. A guy said he’d watch my car (one of the few car-parkers that put’s a price on parking is the theater and event guys - but still, it’s worth the $2.00 he charged). We got in line early and sat front row, center. I held up my camera to take a picture of the stage so Coco could see it, and a guy behind me said, “You’re not going to take pictures all through the performance are you?” I’m not a theater critic for the New Yorker and thought I’d dressed rather “theater-ish,” but I’ve been around enough to know not to take photos, leave my cell phone on, or crinkle little wrappers of candy during performances. Since brevity is the wit of the soul, I surprised myself at how quickly I turned around and told him of course not! I guess neither one of us thought the other too rude as we then had a cheery conversation on the troupe and the other performances they’d done. It took about ten minutes for my mind to sink into the language. Once there, it took everything in me to not slap my knee and chortle at the incredible brilliance of the play.

And yes, almost everyone ended up dead. I think it was a bit of a shock to my nanny. Since it’s one of the longest plays, I got home really late for a mom with a son that likes to get up between five and six. Hamlet could only bring on the most of interesting of dreams. I couldn’t wait to find out.

The rest is silence.

What park with a lake would be a park with a lake without ducks? We just happen to have funny ducks with red, bumpy, rubber-like things on their heads. These happen to reside in la Sabana in San Jose. It was a beautiful, crisp morning so I challenged our group to get ready: Fifteen minutes we leave! Off to see the ducks!

Since it’s only an eight minute drive from my house, we arrived with plenty of room to park. A man with a few missing teeth, wearing an orange vest, held up a stick to signal to me that he’d watch my car for us. Coco delighted in throwing the funny ducks bread, and Addison just tried to eat it.

We wove around the path and tossed each pack of ducks we passed a few tidbits. We sat down for a break on a log and a woman selling fresh fruit cracked us open some agua de pipas and Coco devoured a bag of chips. Ten minutes later, Addison was crying; Coco’s feet hurt; and we were running out of bread.

Usually I like to research just about everything I see. I don’t want to know anything more about these ducks. They’re perfect - whatever they are - and they’re troupers because the water they live in is green, some of them have wings with no feathers, and people pick and pester them all day long. Yet season after season, another crop of chicks swim about in the murky waters.

Coco shared her last piece of bread with a little girl who’s father was “texting” on shore. The child tossed the whole slab of bread in. The father didn’t look up. We packed up and went on our way. The kids waved goodbye to the ducks and the girl. As I pulled the car back into traffic, I tipped the man with the stick as much change as I could find. He waved his gapped smile and wished me a blessed day.

Amen.

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.

Costa Rica’s Independence day rolls around on September 15th. Our freedom came without much fanfare. In fact, the story goes that a guy on mule delivered a note to the powers in charge that said: You’re free from Spain. Still tied to Guatemala, it took a few more years to then break off from Guatemala and declare itself a complete sovereign nation. All of Central America celebrates the 15th of September as a day of freedom.

On that day in Costa Rica, each school child is required to participate in civic activities. There’s a parade in every town and scattered barrios. In August the Costa Rican flag begins to wave on street corners as vendors hope for early sales. The kids take to the street and prepare to march.

The surrounding Central American countries developed armies. In 1948, Costa Rica put down all arms for good. I can’t think that has something to do with it’s unique position of peace and relative prosperity amidst nations of indescribable poverty and violence.

I like our little army of drummers. It helps us keep time with our own beat.

Coco was just too small to go any further. The swimming hole in the river was blocked by a long path of boulders, rocks, and mud. When she left the door with her friends to walk to the water, I put on my sandals to follow. Instead of going to the spot I was familiar with, the children turned to the right. I lost sight of them all. I jogged and slipped in my shoes, trying to keep up.

Hidden down those gorges and steep roads is a refreshing Costa Rican secret: The rivers. I am not talking about the rafting rivers, those are big and well-known and a true adventure if you’re into paddling and pounding the rapids. Further back in the more ordinary campo are the rocky, cool, refreshing rivers of Costa Rica, rolling their way to the sea. Most Costa Ricans know of a river near by where you can hang out for the afternoon among the rocks and water. Getting there can be a challenge, that’s a big part of the secret.

I kept Coco in sight and saw her slip a few times in those silly Crocs, which were worse than my sandals to walk in. The parent in me wanted to call out: Get back here! You’re too little to keep up! Then the adult in me said: She’s in your sight, so perhaps it’s better for her to find it within herself to stop. The group turned a corner. When I came around the bend, I couldn’t see any of the kids. Now the parent-in-me was telling the adult-in-me that I was stupid and should have listened to her. I heard kids giggling and talking but didn’t know where to turn. I continued down the steep road (you know the kind you have to walk perpendicular on to stay erect) and came to a ledge with no kids in sight. Now the parent-in-me was panicking. My daughter is not swift around water and has no experience in rivers.

I walked back up the hill and saw a path on the other side of some barbed wire. I crawled through and watched my sandals disappear every third or fourth step in mud. Now I began to plead with God and anyone who would listen: Please don’t let Coco go near the water. Don’t let her slip. As I passed through another barbed-wire fence, I looked up and saw children, one of them belonged to me. Although the rest of the kids were adroit and nimble in these woods, I quickly counted heads and found all in tact. I called out to Coco. Her face relaxed in relief when she saw me. She was covered with mud.

Once at the river, it was another 100 meter walk over the river and up rocks and boulders. I told Coco to stop. The other children went ahead. We sat on a rock; she began to cry. I told her I would take her if she wanted to go, but let’s look at the path ahead. She mustered enough courage to cross the river, gripping my hands as we stepped against the current. As she watched the other kids play up in the swimming hole, she cried because she wasn’t having any fun. I told Coco I remember being small, like she is, when I was young. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up I told her.

We threw rocks in the river. The foliage and fresh smells took over. I could have sat there for hours. Coco kept looking up at her friends. It wasn’t easy for her to decide to leave and climb back home. She gave me a fist full of rocks, and I promised I carried them home for her. I have been facing the fact that my children will die every day since conception. An automatic “worry-wart” must have been implanted right along with the new DNA unfolding in my womb. I’ve had to make peace with all the dangers that lurk everywhere in our lives: Bathtubs, edges of coffee tables, swallowing pennies, sticking fingers in sockets, drinking the dish soap; running into the street; strangers with candy; falling down the stairs; car accidents; bacterias……..need I mention more?

On the steep climb back up that slippery hill Coco told me as she walked down the hill, she had two voices going on inside of her: One telling her to stop and one telling her to go. Funny I told her, I think those same people live inside of me.

We held hands and hovered over to the side of the road as a group of fast ATVs sped by. Wet and spattered with mud, we got in the car for the long ride home.

At 8:45 a.m, we hit the streets of San José to join the thousands already on their way to Cartago. With extra shoes in my back pack, some water, and a raincoat, my nanny (turned faithful guide for the day) and I, embarked on a walk to give thanks. I learned it’s all about thanks.

It’s easy to find the way to Cartago: Just follow the flow. We hopped into a stream of people from Tilarán. A town north of San José. They’d already been walking for six days. As we moved through San Jose, the vendors were setting up for sales. Pharmacies sold band aides and aspirins; corner grocery stores put out cold water; and guys parked trucks loaded with fruit along the curb. After an hour of walking, we began to clear San José and entered the crowded suburb of San Pedro. Two hours into the walk, we bought coconut water and drank without stopping. Though people talked as they walked, it was amazingly quiet. Mother’s pushed babies in rickety strollers fathers caressed infants to their chests, and old couples walked hand in hand. I could hear the determination in the steps of the sneakers and the scrape of the sandals. After leaving San Pedro, we sat for a break. People we had passed earlier now passed us by. It felt good to take off my shoes. Everyone’s feet hurt. Along any point in the road, people stop and rub out the cramps and bandage blisters. The Red Cross is stationed all along the route. We packed up and prepared for what my guide said was Ochmogo: the big hill through Tres Rios. We ate food on sticks when we could and kept walking. Everyone just kept walking. After five and on-half hours, we arrived in the courtyard of the church. We walked to the entrance of the church and chose to finish on our knees to the shrine of the La Virgen de los Angeles. Before leaving, I was told it is important to bring a list of those you want to pray for, those that need special help. My nanny got on her knees and pulled out a photo of my daughter and my son. This trip was for Addison and to help him walk she told me. She took out the framed photo she’d hauled all the way down in her backpack and held it over her head as she crawled to the altar saying prayers for my son. The tears of all those around me became mine. Everyone who’d come to this place came to help someone else. They came to give thanks for the blessings already in their life and to help those they loved. This little statue, La Virgen de los Angeles is the mother of Costa Rica, the patron. In the basement of the church hang little charms: limbs, eyes, torsos, children, breasts, feet, …replicas fashioned by a jeweler of the body part cured after coming to Cartago on August 1st-2nd. The walk is a gift of time, energy, and finally deep gratitude for life, including the life of peace in Costa Rica. I saw people all moving together for a few hours, doing nothing more than walking in hopes of all arriving at the same goal. Unlike a marathon or a mountain climb, anyone can join in step and give this walk a try. It’s the people’s marathon I guess. And what better thing to carry on our backs than gratitude? That’s something that will really cover us when it rains. A special note of thanks to all those who wished me well. I carried you with me.