A Costa Rica state of mind

   This weekend is proof that prayer works.  My second son graduated with
dual degrees in physics and mathematics from Santa Clara University.  Much of his family gathered to celebrate his success.  After years of stress and strife
between families, this weekend proved to me once again, that God exists.
     Wednesday last, I was stressed out, left out and blue just thinking about how
all of us would survive 3 dinners, one department reception, graduation (which began at 8:30 a.m. and lasted over 3 hours, with close to 1000 names read, was 
outside in the hot, 97* California sun) AND a post graduation lunch under 50 white gleaming tents with all the grads and their families. 
     During all this we were cordial, smiling and proud of our graduate. We celebrated with his friends and new boss. With his lovely Laura. We missed his brother and family. My father. My mother. But still we managed.
     We rose above all the heartache and hard feelings. All the tempers and thoughtless words. All what was and what wasn't. We put all that aside to pat and praise and puff up about our graduate. We spoke pleasantries to each other.
We were calm. Collected. The best of humanity. We were stupendous in our 
efforts.
     I know that prayer works because throughout the last week I have focused 
my words to God on compassion. Forgiveness. Love.  I have friends who prayed for us. My heart was at peace. All is calm. All is bright. God is here.
     

Mother's Day and Costa Rica

     Today was a Costa Rica day.  Blue, blue, cloudless skies. Gentle cooling breezes. Birds singing, playing, dancing in mid-air.
     And Alex.  My son.  The one who traveled down to help me settle into Quepos. 
He was here, in my new house in old Leawood, for lunch. Al fresco. With his books and computer and phone.  He came to see my 87 year old father.  To celebrate the graduation of his long time friend, to hug family and celebrate Mother's Day.   He looks handsome and smart and alive. Ready to start his life as an adult. I am so proud. 
He will soar. You will hear about him. He is going places.  But to do this, we will always
be saying good-bye.  There are too many good-byes. Not enough hellos. 
 I'm better with hellos.  
     Life isn't about staying put.  It's about adventure. The unknown. The growth that comes from trying something new.  It's about raising a child and watching him soar.
It's about pride and laughter and sorrow and tears. Coming and going. Group activities and solitary time. Life is about love. 
     Today I watched my son impress my father.  I watched him bring joy to an
old man's eyes.  Saw a heart soar. Like the birds dancing in mid-air, he brought wonder and awe and delight to my dying father.  Today, in old Leawood, I saw my son come full circle.  I saw someone with confidence and gentleness and old world manners. The young man from last September, helping me get settled in a whole new world,
has become a man. Ready for his whole new world. 
     Mother's are constantly saying good-bye. We open our arms, choke back our tears and hold on tight as long as they'll let us.  We sing and watch with pride as our children dance in mid-air.  And wait for the next hello.
       
     

People

     Three of my favorite people are no longer in my life. Death and distance separates me from them. Their memory lingers in my mind long after the sun goes down.
Each of them gave me the gift of love that I now carry closest to my heart. 
Today, while Adele sang on my Pandora Radio station, I remembered. 
Their smiles and their laughter. Their way around the kitchen.  The way I felt in their arms.  So loved.  I am blessed for knowing them.  They are missed.
     Yesterday, I was blessed to have six other favorites around my table. One is new.
The others' represent my youth and the treat that comes with having people in your
life for over 40 years. The laughter is always present.  We all know our way around a
kitchen.  My childhood friends have maintained our friendships. They hold all our secrets and our sorrows. We have days that we remember and days we'd like to forget.
We didn't know then, we we all gathered, that we would still be connected after all these years.  We know now that we will still be connected when our time here ends.
We are each other's memories and each other's friends.
     My new person is an answer to a prayer. She is a blessing in my life and the life of 
those she loves.  I can't wait to have 40 years with her.
     There are people in all our lives who have touched our hearts in ways that linger
on throughout time.  My goal this year is to be one of those people. To love my
people so well that I linger on their hearts.
     Be well my friends. 
     
     

Eleanor Rigby

   
     Where do they all come from? 


Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,
Lives in a dream,  
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door,
Who was it for?
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?




     I went south for the solitude. In my solitude was a loneliness.  My loneliness held an immense desire to be healed.  I wore a face that I thought said all was well with my world.
     I am home now. For a minute. Where all the loneliness came from.  My face is my own now. Free from sorrow and sadness and sad songs.  Friends are telling me I look younger, prettier, more rested. They think the length or color of my hair makes me seem this way.  But I know different.  I know something they don't.
     I am at peace.  Healed.  No heartache. No angst. Purely and simply at peace.
My time in Costa Rica gave me that.  Long quiet walks. People with goodness and
kindness and joy in their hearts.  Helpful people. Smiling people. Content. 
Wanting nothing but needing everything.   
     Now in this Lenten season I am reminded of the solitude that Christ experienced 
in the wilderness.  I wonder if He was lonely. Perhaps He maintained such a prayer life that He never felt it. Perhaps the beauty of Capernaum was enough.  
     Enough to provide the peace He would need to endure the thorns. The thirst.
The excruciating pain.  

     While I would never put myself in the same boat as Christ, I will share with you my thorn story. This is the path from my first house to the river that Lucy loved to swim in. One hot hot morning, Lucy finished playing catch with me early and made a 
B-Line for the river.  I grabbed up Gizmo and followed Lucy down the path.
Unfortunately, I tripped on a big rock, and not wanting to drop Gizmo, put my hand 

on this tree. Like the new photo on the first page, this tree is  the joke of all children in Costa Rica.  Evidently, when you fall into it as I did, you never do it a second time!  Boy, do I understand that!  The smaller thorns went deep into my hand, leaving a painful poison that lasted for several days.  They were impossible to dislodge and I was instantly reminded of what Christ went through. Those thorns on His head must have been tortuous. Yet He endured. He exampled how to be alone without being lonely. How to wander around town making new friends. Why endurance, even with a thorn in our side, is a virtue. And how to be grateful for all life gives us. 
        
     

Birth Control, Barack and Babies in Quepos

     While the debate swirls among the political's and apolitical's among us
regarding who should pay for birth control, my mind returns again and again
to the streets of Quepos.  Every day as I wandered the streets, I was amazed 
at how many 15 and 16 year old girls were pregnant.  Walking with either their 
mother's or boyfriends, they would proudly strut their stuff, bellies popping out from
under their short shirts. Here, there are no concerns of who pays for birth control.
Nobody in the lower classes use birth control. By the time sexual awakenings
occurs in these girls, they are long past the time to be taught about birth control.
They give in to their needs like Romeo and Juliet, with the consequences not death, 
but life of continual poverty. 
     I was having lunch one day and a fourth grade girl, a cutie from France, struck up a conversation with me.
     " I know what sex is.", she said looking at me without inhibition.
     "Oh, how did you find out?", I said.
     " Well, my mom tried to tell me but then she said I should just go to school tomorrow and see what the teacher said.  The teacher told me that it's when a boy and a girl in high school kiss so much they make a baby!", This darling 9 year old was looking to me to confirm or deny the information.
     "Well," I said, "kissing is a lot of fun but you can't make a baby from kissing.
And you don't want a baby in high school.  They poop all over you and throw up
on your favorite dress and they cry all the time."
     "Yuck!  Papa! Papa! Did you hear that?"  she said as she ran back to her table.
I was struck by the absolute contradiction of it all.  Here in this predominately Catholic area, the schools aren't dealing with the facts of life. The parents are obviously uncomfortable talking about it.  The centuries of Ticos having babies once they hit their
sexual stride in their mid-teens, hasn't changed. It's such a fact of life that people go about their business because this IS what is normal for them.  They wouldn't use the birth control if the nun's were handing it out at school.  
     What results is often 4 generations of families living under one roof, about the size of the old fashioned 7-11's that we used to walk to for ICEE's.  Nobody is smiling but every one seems happy. Or maybe just content.  They all get along.  A Tico never argues.
They all help each other out without expecting anything in return.  They work hard and play hard.  And church is packed on Saturday night and at the three services on Sunday.  They linger afterward to catch up with those they didn't see that week. There's ice cream and often empanada's.  All is well.  As I watch the families walk toward home after an hour or  more hanging out in the church,  I continued to be amazed at how peaceful they all seem. 
      Two grandmother's, one grandfather, a 20 year old son, the pregnant 15 year old, a boy about 10 and a baby.  Walking up the street toward their neighborhood just passed the main street.  The main woman, about 40 but looking 10 years older, 
picks up her pace just a bit.  She needs to catch up so she can shepard them home,
cook dinner, change and head off to her night job at Si Como No.  A local hotel with a busy clientele.  There she will work until after midnight, then head home for a few hours sleep, rise at 5:00 a.m. and start all over again.  She is the main breadwinner. Her oldest son can occasionally pick up work but he generally just hangs out.  
     It's the women from 20-65 who earn most of the income in Costa Rica.  The men haven't been involved since they made their first baby back in high school. Unless they live in the villages on the palm farms.  They are proud to be providing for their families and seem not the least bit lazy.  
     So when I hear the news about all the fuss regarding birth control in the 
United States and who should pay for it and where it should come from, I am curious as to if the men in charge of our country and churches ever stop to consider how our society would be with so many more children to feed.
     If we can't talk about where babies come from in 2012,  why do we even bother
fighting over how to stop them from coming?
     I challenge each of you to take the time in the next week or so to discuss babies with your children of all ages.  Let them know about the perfect timing of children. Give them
an opportunity to live unencumbered for a few years into their 20's.  Share your joy about love with them, even if you feel uncomfortable doing so. 
  It's time we moved forward into this millenium able to speak freely with our loved ones.  Wouldn't it be a good first step?
      
      

     

Finally!

     I have finally found a chair to sit down in.  I can't believe it's been so long,
over a month, since I have said, "Hi".  So many of you have been so gracious
with your compliments and encouragement. Thank you for that. And I have missed writing.
     I was forlorn as I boarded my puddle jumper in Quepos to catch my flight in 
San Jose, which took me to Houston and after running with too much luggage, 
four overweight bags and two carry-ons, finally touching down in Kansas City.
Mi amigas, Erica and Roxanne, were waiting there to drive me to my car, which
was parked in my friend's garage.  Unfortunately, the battery was dead.  Erica is 
a great sport and offered to drive me to my Dad's house.  AHHHHHHH! Home Sweet Home at Aberdeen Village on the Independent Living floor.  It was great to see Dad
and be hugged by my nephew  so late into the night. After months of sleeping like a dog on a log, I fell into bed only to be reminded that this was the same bed with the same mattress that I slept on in junior high!  Lot's of tossing and turning going on!
     My trip home was full of adventure and fun.  The first hysterical thing was watching a darling Tico boy, load my overweight luggage onto an old wobbly, rickety cart and go bump, bump, bumping around the pot holes.  It was refreshing to have so much help from strangers as I tried to maneuver the bags through the snake line and up to the counter.  I was leaving two days earlier than my original ticket said and got myself into the First Class line, expecting a smooth check in. Imagine my surprise when the agent, after giving me my boarding pass said, "Ms. Curry, that will be nine hundred and forty cents."  "What?"  I exclaimed!  "Well, we are so sorry but you have 3  more bags than allowed and both of those bags are overweight."
     How could this be?  I specifically bought a first class ticket once I realized that I 
that I would be able to take two bags on for free and that my two extra bags would cost $100.00 total.  My reasoning was that I had to get these bags home as they held clothes that I didn't need in Quepos but would eventually want them in Kansas City.
While packing, I had to separate out many items that wouldn't even fit in the bags.     
No worries!  I am always willing to pass on clothes I can't fit into or no longer wear and as I continued to pack, I simply pile to pass onto my local friends.
There!, I thought.  It will all fit. I was able to  make room for all the gifts I was bringing back.   
     Back to the agent at the counter, imagine the look on his face when I shrieked,
"WHAT?  $900.00!  WHY IS IT $900.00?  I'm flying first class so that I won't be charged for 3 extra bags, only 2 and I thought it was only $50.00 per overweight bag."
     "Well, Ms. Curry, first of all, you are not flying first class, you are flying coach."
"COACH!!!  That's not right!  Look right here on the confirmation I have from your airline on my paper here!!!!!"
     "Well Ms. Curry, that's your confirmation from two days ago on the 16th and on that flight you were in first class.  When you changed your dates, you lost your seat."
     "Lost my seat? I paid extra for first class because I needed the extra bag allowance.
Why did I lose my seat?"  
     "We-e-e-l-l-l-l, Ms. Curry, there aren't any seats in first class on this flight when and there weren't any in first class when you switched your ticket two weeks ago and the airline policy is to charge coach passengers $200.00 per extra bag and yadda yadda yadda for every overweight bag and there are airline taxes for leaving Costa Rica and airline taxes for landing in the United States and I am working overtime so they have to make extra money to pay me and these 2 bags here are very overweight so the airline is charging even more for that. I am so sorry for the inconvenience.  I could check and see if we could put you on our flight leaving tomorrow."
     " Tomorrow????? My father is sick and my son's getting married and I have to get home and run all over town finishing my Christmas shopping and trying to get a job and trying to find a house and move in with my Dad and then 3 days later move into my friend's house and then move into a hotel where I have to spend Christmas Eve alone without my children and then 2days after Christmas I have to leave Kansas City and fly to Chicago for my son's wedding.  I can't leave on any other flight but this one.  Can I fly stand by for first class?"
     I need to fill you in on something happening at this time of my encounter with the
Continental Airline agent.  The line behind me had gone from a family of five, to a long snake winding around those silly line dividers.  I saw many, many faces pleading with me to stop talking and move on.  I felt self conscience and suddenly in a hurry to pay my fines and leave.  The agent was most apologetic for all the money I was spending to get my bags home and suggested trying to ask his supervisor if he could reduce the cost.

      Coach proved to be as crowded as ever but I settled in with a good book and a friendly seat mate and it was a pleasant ride home.  Houston, however, was a different story altogether.  The plane was stopped within jumping distance from the jet way and we had to wait 10 minutes for the guy to flashlight us the final few inches.  Then they were late opening the airplane door and since I was in coach, I had to wait a few minutes to disembark.  By now, my connection time had shrunk from one and a half hours down to one hour. Rushing through an airport with two many carry-ons and holiday travelers was an exercise in studying Eric Dickerson run through the lines on SMU's football field in the late '70's.  Of course baggage took for ever and there were no Red Caps to be found and I was on the last plane to Kansas City in the entire airport.  As I struggled to load my overweight bags onto an overpriced, undersized rental cart, I caught the eye of a great looking, well built man in a uniform. Four swoons later I was able to help him to help me push and pull my bags through customs. I reached into my wallet to thank him and only saw one bill.  It was Christmas and he was going home after months and months at war.  I shook his hand, said Merry Christmas,  as he told me he needed to run to catch his flight home to his wife and daughter.  As I turned to wave goodbye, I was filled with pride in him and delight in me as I saw him look down and realize that I had given him a hundred dollar bill  The look of gratitude and surprise was worth every penny.
     It's a new year. Shouldn't generosity prevail?

Home for the Holidays

Feliz Navidad    Merry Christmas   Happy Christmas
I will resume the blog next week.
Have a joy filled, peace filled weekend.