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.