Happy Father's Day

I have four sisters. My dad has five daughters. No sons.

“Oh, your poor dad,” is that what you’re thinking? Normally that’s the first thing someone says when I disclose this tidbit about my life. As a kid I never understood it. I didn’t think my dad ever felt poor. I never felt like I was depriving my father of some part of his life.

As I grew up I began to understand the sentiment that those people were trying to convey, but I still didn’t agree with it. My sisters and I are fun, funny, smart, athletic and sure, complicated, moody, and difficult at times but nothing that should make you feel sorry for my father. Or at least nothing that should make you feel any more sorry for my father than my mother.

Parenting can’t be easy. I don’t know for sure because I’m not a mom, but I’ve heard people say that it can be quite a complicated task. I know there are probably times in the life of every parent where they fantasize about a life without kids. I know there have probably been many times when my dad wondered what he did to deserve such rotten kids, but I also know those times are far outnumbered with moments of pride, happiness, satisfaction, peace, and love.

Parenting isn’t just about teaching though; it’s also about learning. I know that my dad has learned a lot from having five strong, talented, and unique daughters. Through the years we’ve kept him on his toes and haven’t allowed too many dull moments to pass. He’s kept up with all the punches we’ve thrown his way.

I know in the past I’ve left my dad stunned and perplexed by my extreme shifts of emotions and at times he has practically drowned in my tears. Somehow though, my dad has always been able to remind me that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously because no decision we make is irreversible.

Now that is “Pura Vida.”

Happy Father’s Day.

Neighborhood Noises

A new bark has been added to the cacophony of noise in my neighborhood. For the past three days I have listened to this poor dog barking all day long. I’ve actually stopped noticing it; only when it takes a brief break to refuel for another 5 hour stint do I notice its absence.

It has become part of the blanket of normal sounds in the background along with planes overhead (yes, I’m close to the airport), a constant whir of weed whackers (not sure why lawn mowers haven’t made it to CR), and the loud chugging of engines from my landlord’s collection of restored “classics.” Those are just a few of my favorites.

Honking is another section of my neighborhood symphony. There are all kinds of honks here and most of them are long and loud. Some are super high pitched, some sound like an old train engine, some have fancy tunes they play. They are all obnoxious.

People honk here to say any great number of things. Usually on my street it’s, “I’m outside, open the gate so I can park!” However, if the person on the inside doesn’t get the job done in two seconds another reminder is released into my air space. And another two seconds later, and another two seconds after that too.

In high school, when I would go pick up a friend I would be afraid to honk in their driveway because my parents hated when my friends honked in mine. My mom would say something sharp with her tongue about the rudeness of honking and disturbing neighbors or something like that. Nowadays, teens can just text each other from the road when they're getting close so parents don't even have to know what their kids are doing let alone worry about the neighbors.

Here nobody worries about the neighbors, no matter what time of day. It’s just, “Pura vida, I’m sure they’ll get back to sleep in spite of my abhorrent 5 am horn sounding.”

This poor dog is still going at it. My former housemate from my homestay used to talk about drugging the dogs in our neighborhood that were left to bark all day. At first, I thought she was being cruel, but then I realized what she was talking about was way more humane than the owners who just leave their dogs alone outside to bark all day long out of loneliness, confusion, fright, who knows what. Plus, it will give my eardrums some peace.

So, I guess maybe it’s time to break out the arsenic.

Blackhawks Win

Today is the kind of day that I wish I were in Chicago. The Blackhawks paraded through downtown celebrating the Stanley Cup victory. The Cubs are playing the Sox at Wrigley. It's Old Town Art Fest weekend.

I watched the live feed over the internet of the Blackhawks victory parade today. They said about two million people were out in the streets. You could feel the energy of the crowd and the vitality of the city pumping through the images.

Chicago deserves a championship like that. All Chicagoans were united as Blackhawks fans this morning and now turn rivals again at Wrigley. Go Cubbies!!!

I love Chicago in the summer. There really is just no place like it on earth.

I'm off to the Caribbean coast though now to forget what I miss about Chicago!

BP Oil Spill of 2010

I am disgusted, saddened, angered, and extremely worried about this oil spill. What are the long term effects going to be? How was this possible?

I don't care who is to blame. Who is going to fix it? What can I do to help?

Most importantly, how can we stop being so dependent on oil?

Burger King Delivery

I had another Costa Rican first tonight. For the first time since arriving in Costa Rica over a year ago, I ordered Burger King to be delivered to the house. I was so ashamed at the thought but, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted it.

My friend Lauren came over to play cards and I asked her if she would judge me for ordering a BK solo order to the house and surprisingly she loved the idea and wanted in. Turns out, I had no guilt ordering in BK for two. There was just something shameful in my head about Burger King coming on a motorcycle for one person.

Also, it can be really hard to order food here. It has to be really worth the extra effort. Obviously the phone call itself can be hard because of the rapid fire questions being thrown at you in Spanish, but the hard part is actually in the address. Well, the lack of address that is. There are no addresses in Costa Rica. Let me say that again.

There are no addresses in Costa Rica.

To tell a taxi or delivery driver or even a friend how to get to my house I have to say from the Bridge 100 meters West, 300 meters South, 25 East, white house, black gate. That is my address. And it doesn’t even matter that I just put it online for the whole world to see, you can’t even find it when you’re looking for it.

People on both sides of the argument go crazy about the address system, the critics and the loyal defenders. Honestly, most of the time I don’t mind the lack of address. I like knowing the city by landmarks. Usually the direction system works how it’s supposed to.

It's hard, though, when streets are on an angle, as is the case in my neighborhood. This causes a lot of disagreement about which way is South and which way is West. Many times I’ve asked taxi drivers while I’m in the cab for confirmation of my version of my address and the answers I get are always different. I’ve even asked my landlords and neighbors who have lived in the neighborhood for 20+ years and they say, “Oh yeah, that sounds alright.” Nobody really knows.

When ordering food however, the lack of address means I have to wait with my door open and as soon as I hear a moto racing around the neighborhood frantically blowing its horn I have to run outside, out the gate, and down to the corner to flag them down before they whiz by completely. Those time when they whip through the neighborhood really suck because I have to wait another five minutes as they start through the whole neighborhood again, flying up and down the streets beeping their obnoxious little horns the entire time.

The horn blowing makes it a shameful act again as I wait on the street corner in my pajamas in front of all the neighbors checking out who's being summoned by the fast food delivery man.

The worst part is that after getting over the shame, navigating my Spanish through the ordering process, and flagging down the delivery moto, I ate too much and am now in a food coma.

My College Weekend

It’s amazing how all the world over college towns are the same. On Friday, I had a meeting for work at my new office which is on the same side of town as the Universidad de Costa Rica. After the meeting, I headed out with my new co-workers to enjoy the beautiful non-rainy day. This is especially of note because it’s rainy season here and even if it’s a pretty morning there’s almost always a guarantee of afternoon rain. However, Friday it never rained at all so people were out in full force to live it up much like the first spring day in Chicago.

It was 3 in the afternoon and we went down to la famosa Calle de la Armargura, a street that could be picked up and plopped down in Madison or Boulder and look like it is still in the right place. Armargura is lined with bars on both sides of the street blaring music in attempts to lure you into one watering hole over another.

Our drinking den of choice was Caccio’s, which like any good college bar should, specializes in pizza and beer. The beer comes in giant steins that, unbelievably, they are constantly running out of (did anyone tell them they that people who go there do so to drink beer?). The big draw though is the small, street side terrace where you can sit and people watch for hours while Lady Gaga drowns out any chance for intelligent conversation. The people watching was good though as college kids look the same here as they do everywhere else. They’re trying so hard to be unique individuals who look nothing like the millions of students who have gone before them. Oops, perhaps that’s a little too bitter old lady; hopefully the youngsters didn’t get a whiff of that as I sat on the terrace trying to blend with the cool kids ten years my junior.

Well, the night continued on, probably much longer than it should have. It’s especially embarrassing when friends join the party at a decent hour smelling freshly showered and sober. Although, I’d like to think otherwise, I’m pretty sure the six hours of drinking were clearly displayed in our appearance by that point. When I woke up on Saturday morning with my contacts still in and a full face of makeup still on I had my suspicions that it wasn’t a pretty ending.

But kicking off the weekend college style was just what I needed to ensure the rest of the weekend would be spent laying around the house being lazy. Just as I was starting to feel guilty for acting like a teenager I got an email from my sister who is 18 months my senior and she too had her Friday night makeup on until she went to bed on Saturday. I guess I have at least 18 more months until I should feel too old for weekends like this.

Lavatory Lowdown

Okay here’s an update on my little toilet problem for those of you sitting on the edge of your seats. I was actually feeling a little badly about my post on good old Mañana and his slow response time since he actually showed up later that same day to fix my toilet. I thought to myself, "Golly, gee, maybe that wasn't very nice of me to so publicly complain." Then on Thursday night, the toilet broke again and I realized Gonzalo didn't really fix it, he just gave it one of his Gonzo refurbishments.

Mind you, on Thursday night when the toilet broke it was once again at the end of an evening of despedida drinks. A small group of friends came over to have "el zarpe" after Kate's Despedida. El Zarpe is a term said in Costa Rica for the last drink, or two or three last drinks of the night. Right away my friend Christian offered to jump in and fix it, but I was determined to do it on my own. I'm a single, strong, independent woman living on my own. I need to be able to fix my own toilet. Well, after ten minutes of digging around in the back of the toilet trying to reconnect the chain I gave up. Feeling defeated, but wanting my toilet to work, I let my friend Shayne take over, who also was convinced he could get the job done. He worked on it for another ten minutes but also to no avail, which truthfully made me feel good because then I was less of a failure. Finally, Christian convinced us he was the man for the job. I knew he would be the one to fix it all along as he is one crafty Tico, but the Gringos of the group wanted to at least give it the old college try. Sure enough, Christian immediately figured out how Gonzalo had rigged the chain and after a few minutes success, though Christian warned that it would happen again unless new parts were assigned to the toilet.

Sure enough, on Friday when I got home after another long night out on the town, toilet broke again. (Hmm, do drunk people flush harder than sober people? Food for thought.)

Luckily on Saturday, I caught Mañana as he was attempting to plant yet another plant in our already overgrown garden and yanked him inside. This time he did the job right. So, really it just took ten days for me to have a proper working toilet.

Mañana, Mañana, Mañana.