Costa Jill – Page 16

Slice of Life – Costa Rica

Everyone’s eventual question concerning my life in Cost Rica is “What do you do all day?” They assume that life in an exotic tropical paradise must be different than theirs. A fairy tale? One without stress? Well it’s not. But it is different. Here’s a little slice of it.

At dawn the howler monkeys do their alpha male “Don’t try to join my band and eat our breakfast. Go find your own.” aggressive give and take hooting. No more sleeping for me.
I get up and feed our two new mostly Lab puppies, grind some fresh organic Costa Rican coffee beans, their rich aroma blending with the heavy loveliness of the ylang ylang drifting over the balcony.
Drinking my coffee on my balcony aerie overlooking the Pacific Ocean’s Whale’s Tail (see my blog photo) is the perfect and only start to my every day.
Within minutes the sunrise-washed blue sky turns gray with rushing clouds. Rumbling thunder shakes a huge rain down in front of me. The rainy season is upon us.
Will I make it down the mountain road to yoga class before it turns into a gooey clay mess that turns the tires into slick glazed doughnuts? Nope. My heart pounds as I take my foot off the brake, go with the slide, and miss falling in the ditch by inches. Can’t go back up until things dry out.
One must always keep a backpack in the car filled with necessities in case you can’t get home (whether bad roads or broken down car) – towel, toothbrush, sunscreen, hat, bathing suit, book . Add a hammock and surf board and you’re covered for awhile.
It’s still wet after yoga. With time to kill I stop at the bomba (gas station) to fill up, but the gas tanker has been delayed too. Maybe manana. This Central American country is a drastic mix of Third World and modern. In the tropical heat everyone is at least two hours late. Ah, except the buses. They’re always on time. Don’t ask why.

Well, that’s the morning. Can you tell that patience is truly a virtue to cultivate if you’re not a native. Ticos have it naturally.

Dear Regina Perry or My Historical Fiction

Having returned to the back jungles of Costa Rica, I’ve had to deal with no and slow technology, and other losses in my life slowing me down. I’m clawing my way out. Just got hooked to internet at my house – a feat of unusual difficulty. Yippy. I’m ready to roll on, though not speed.

I open my computer to a writer friend’s announcement of a blog posting. She’s been out of commission for awhile too. she explained her reasons for having the blog and all it entailed, from why she started writing to how she got published. We’re members of the same excellent writing group. I loved the story, especially since she’s a good writer and friend. Check it out at reginaperry.com

So I’m reading along and nodding my head, oh yes, oh yes. I’ve gone through the same evolution or mutation. Started writing memoirs. They are so cathartic and freeing, but not for publication. The truth can be insulting, incriminating, hurtful, embarrassing. First I tried just changing the names to protect the innocent. Hah, that doesn’t work. Then I changed the places. Not enough. Now the characters. I now call my writing historical fiction. I can add, pad and subtract from the truth, but it’s still based on it. I’ve got a good group of Costa Rican stories finished or almost. But patience. I’ll soon be ready to try for that publication, too.

And thanks Regina Perry for getting my ball rolling again.

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs

Yes, three dogs lost in three months.

First it was Matu on Xmas Eve – a quick growing cancer. I was having a crappy holiday to start with.

Then Buck did himself in. Those damn black labs are the biggest chow hounds they lose all sense of reason. Ate a content-filled plastic bag that got stuck and damaged his organs beyond repair.

My damn burst on the last one, Foxy, who was run down on the road and flung over the cliff.

The news was too much, especially when added to the recent loss of other friends of the human kind. I cried. I grieved.
I’d been putting off editing my story “Puppy Love” for the last month to post on my blog costajill.com. Such a procrastinator. I worked through my grief and got it posted.
I offer it as a memorial to these wonderful friends – both dog and human.

Slithery creeping age. Live it. Love it.

With the arrival of Medicare, this my 65th year is slithering over me. If I could, I’d lose myself in drink or drugs, but the former gives me migraines and the latter, senility. I’m alternately freaking out by or blithely accepting my certain death, and thanking god (just an expression) there’s no eternity. Just contemplate it. Existing forever. Now that scares the shit out of me. I may not believe in god, but I believe in the instinct for survival. I believe in the spark of life that never goes out as it transfers from one life to another. It’s all in the interpretation, right?

I’ve learned that living my life, not as an earth mover, but doing one small act of kindness at a time, amongst all the other acts of living, is good enough, though infinitesimal.

One day I struggle on, sitting in the same little corner day after day, phone silent, inertia keeping from action. I sigh and do another Sudoku, read another newspaper, check for email, listen to NPR, eat crap.

Then something snaps and everything’s easy again. I’m back to feeling vivacious, vital, vigorous. I’m writing, doing yoga, communing with friends, eating good, and happy.

And that’s life, good, bad and indifferent. I’m living in the moment as long as it lasts.

Flying Dreams

Finally, I’ve had a fully fantastic flying dream. It’s been a long time. Dreaming is my other reality and a very important part of my life that just ain’t happening much these days. And flying – I’ve only had a smattering of those since my youth. Friday night we were camping at Rocky Ford on the Myakka River, FL. I was watching a bright moon pass over as I finally fell asleep.

Then my mother, my son Ray and I were puttering in the kitchen of an old Florida house, wide veranda and open doors drawing in the breeze. I noticed a strange shudder ripple the water in the sink. A quake? I looked out at a massing black funnel cloud barreling towards us, drawn by huge gusts of wind. Leaves, branches, soon, up-rooted trees flew by. The house rattled, banged, shook loose from its moorings (I know – Just like Dorothy’s in the Wizard of Oz.) and started spinning up through the air.
I grabbed mom’s hand and yelled at Ray to grab the other. As the house started dipping and diving towards earth, I saw a man standing, staring up at us, hand like an antenna raised high, fingers wide. As we slid down and off the veranda, the man reached out, until our fingers touched, hands linking, and pulled us back to earth like errant floating balloons. A fearless exhilarating energy infused us all in the moment.

Welcome back you crazy dreams. I’ve missed you.

Solar in Florida

I’m excited. Florida is finally a first. Really Gainesville. My son’s town. It is the first city in No. America to put into place, through the city-owned power plant, a feed-in tariff. Anyone can produce energy from renewable sources (mostly solar in Florida) and make a profit by selling it back to the power company. They would be paid a premium for doing so.
Our very own Fl. senator from Sarasota, and my neighbor, Keith Fitzgerald is co-authoring this bi-partisan bill with P. Kreegel to make it statewide. This would be a great step in the direction of achieving the goal Gov. Crist has made of getting 20% of our energy from renewable sources by 2020.
This will only raise bills a few cents, and depending on the amount of solar energy produced, it can become a profitable business. One man, according to the Sarasota Herald Tribune, can make $14K with 100 solar panels.
Hey California watch out. Florida might sneak on past you on energy saving issues. I’d love some feedback on feed-in tariffs.

Costa Rican Refresco Recipes from Florida

Dragged myself away from my cave and computer to glorious weather. Started watering thirsty plants and you know how one thing leads to another in the garden.

My mulberry tree is loaded with fruit. A couple of ripe little black jewels peeked out at me and popped right into my mouth. Yup, it is my favorite fruit; hairs, stem and all.
The bougainvillea I just planted next to the walled garden has looked so dead. At close inspection, it’s covered with tiny buds. The way time is passing it’ll be climbing the wall with the others in no time.
While picking the last Meyer’s lemons, the scent of delicate new citrus blossoms drifted into my nostrils.
After sadly sifting the frozen buds of the mango through my fingers, I walk around the tree to find lots of live ones.
Riding my bike up to get the Sunday paper, I spy another young cyclist stealing carambolas off a neighbor’s tree. I almost join him. And that brings to mind the first recipe. One of my favorite drinks. Talk about refreshing!

Refresco of Carambola

4 – 6 carambolas make a pitcher. Use lots of water to dilute this tart and tasty fruit.

Cut off the ends and black edges of ripe fruit, and chop into chunks.
Fill blender 3/4 full with fruit and 1/2 full with water. Blend on high.
Push through a Costa Rican colander (fine sieve).
Add water and sweetener (sugar or agave nectar) to taste.

And that leads to my other favorite.

Refresco of Jamaica (Roselle Hibiscus)

Cover a large pot full of jamaica (roselle) bracts with water. If you don’t have them in your garden in CR you can buy them in season (now) at the farmer’s market in Uvita.
Bring to a boil. Turn to simmer for 45 min.
Mash all the gorgeous red juice out of the soaked fruit through a CR colander and into a pitcher.
One pint of concentrate makes a big pitcher of juice. Add water and sweetener to taste.
You can freeze pint containers of concentrate for later.

Both of these drinks are loaded with Vit. C and jamaica has lots of calcium. Enjoy.