Back Again!!

New York! What can I say about New York?! I feel like I was, and I suppose I was, visiting an old friend. An old friend who has improved, is friendlier, brighter, bigger, and even more fabulous than when I saw them last. That was 9 years ago. Six weeks after 9/11. New York was bruised, damaged, violated then. All is better now. We take better care of her and don't take her for granite. She never did take us for granite. We were what she was all about. The people, the diversity, the appreciation of having the world at one's fingertips, all enclosed in a rather neat and convenient package. New York. Foods, lights, noises, the smells. The welcoming smell of the chestnuts roasting on the tops of the food carts, the dusty, tar-ry smell of the subway as the warm wind is pushed ahead of the trains, the smell of autumn in Central Park. Italian food wafting across the street. The many faces all displaying their own version of beauty. Museums with anything you can imagne right there for you see. Art, displays of human bodies, window shopping, celebrities having afternoon coffee just like the rest of us. Pampered puppies, ladies in stylish finery, taxis, traffic, music on the platform at 32nd Street. Institutions like Macy's, Times Square, all right where I left them. And landmarks as well - The Empire State Building, The Statue of Liberty, new ones like Time-Warner Building. The list goes on and on. New York. What else does one need to say?

Frank is one of my dearest friends. We had a great catch-up dinner at "East of 8th". I could not keep my voice from cracking or my eyes from tearing up as I told him I had the thoughts in the past that I was afraid I would never see him again - I thought our paths would probably never cross. I am glad I was wrong.

Old and new friends at Musical Mondays at SPLASH, down in Chelsea. Michael, Jordan, Jhett, and Ron! We had a blast! Broadway tunes on the big screen, happiness was overflowing. What a treat!

Art and architecture

Ran into Joel Burns who was in town to do the TODAY Show. He is the gentleman who did the very emotional "It Gets Better" video. He is from the Fort Worth City Council and is truly a gentleman and fine person. I could not thank him enough for his contribution and compassion.

JUMBO-TRON in Times Square. I am behind the second planter from the left with a small bright light in front of my face - I was taking a picture of the jumbo-tron taking our picture. Michael is to my left. Amazing technology!

The Empire State Building

The Village - typical street scene

The Village

Lions in front of the New York City Public Library at Bryant Park

Store Window

5th Avenue in front of The Metropolitian Museum of Art

HOT DOG!! Get your dirty-water hot dog, here!!!

There was the morining I got on the "C" train at 135th street. She jumped on, slung herself onto the bench and immediately began digging in her bag for lotion. She caught me watching her and returned my smile. The lady was so comfortable where she was. Her dark skin was shiny now. Her face was broad and friendly. This was a ritual done many times-riding the train was a much a part of her total being as taking a deep breath upon awakening in the morning. There was the man at Port Authority, friendly and helpful who gave me very easy directions for my next bus. The waiter from Russia - big smile, black hair and blue eyes who told us 3 times how happy he was to be in the United States and especially New York. I could go on and on. The small things I remember and will hold as dear memories. This is truly a city which keeps inventing itself, yet remains the same. A million tree campain by 2012 is underway for the 5 Boroughs making it greener - the electic/hybrid buses help too. The Bloomberg Islands all along Broadway make the Big Apple much more user friendly. My trip was fantastic. My friends are doing well - better than when I left them. They all seem happy and healthy. New York, I hope it won't be as long until next time and I want you to know, you never, ever let me down.

Are We Conditional - I think so...

I just don't know what to think about all of this. I do see both sides- I'm a reasonable man and I think that two blocks away is far enough. Yep, I'm talking about the mosque in NYC. We are in a midst of a civil rights verses respect from two different perspectives of perspectives.

Our Constitution guarantees our freedom of religion. But how many people, and you may have met some them throught the years, I have, want all of us the freedom of "THEIR" religion. Us, not them. Our team. Our agenda. Our beliefs. Our party. Our way of doing business.

Does our Constitution have "conditions"? I think we think it does. Not just with religion, but with basic civil rights. I grew up in the deep South during the 1960's when the Vietnam War was on, Dr. King and President Kennedy were assassinated. I think I remember the funeral of Kennedy on the TV; not sure. I witnessed first hand segregation and secretly questioned why was it like this. Why did we have freedom and justice for all if the colored people couldn't walk into the front door of the Dr. Eddins's office in Monroeville? Why were there different water fountains? Our local laundy had seperate washers and dryers for them. Did they have something dirtier? Of course not. If I dared asked about that out loud, I would be strictly put in my place with threats of a spanking and, "You should know better than to ask something like that". I knew this answer from previous inquires into topics not understood but merely accepted among the tribe. People didn't understand. I think we still don't. I was very confused then and I am now. Have we evolved at all? Learned any lessons? Can't we just get along? Yes, we can.

When our school desegrated I was going into the 7th grade and our school system had taken the black peoples school 1 mile north of us and was going to use it as the Middle School, grades 5, 6, and 7. We were mixed, now. I remember, we stood around looking at each other for a couple of days, shy around each other really, and before you knew it there was no difference. No fights. No fear. No problems. We were fortunate. We were a small community and that played in our favor. Once the dust settled, we gave the African-American teachers the same respect as our White teachers.

I'm not a Muslim. I don't want to be. And honestly, I don't know much about that religion at all. I was raised Christian, have read many written works on different religions and philosphy. I need to continue to inform myself. I feel in time, the same dynamics will occur with the mosque as occured on the playground of my 7th year in school. We'll look around at it, realize there's nothing to be afraid of, release the fear, and gain an understanding and acceptance. Respect will then ensue.

Jeweled Combs

This morning on my walk through Moravia, it was not much different than from any other day. The traffic had died down, busses had ran their principal morning routes, stores were opening. The usual.

Toward the end of my walk, I passed by an old house. This house is painted green and was probably part of a coffee plantation long since covered over with houses and small businesses. The porch has antique, Spanish tiles laid as it's center diagram. I bet these tiles weren't antique when first planned for this house. On this porch, sweeping feverishly was an elderly lady. I used the term "lady" for in a split second anyone could see that is what she was. Her hair was white as cotton and brushed into it's fashion for the day, kept in place with several jeweled combs. She had on beautiful dangling earrings and a matching necklace. It looked as though it had been a souvenir from past travels. A simple white blouse with colorful trim and a pale blue skirt was her chosen ensemble.

As I past her, I spoke, "Buenas Dias".

She looked up quickly and smiled a bright, cheerful and sincere smile and responded joyfully, "Buenas Dias"!

She kept sweeping and I kept walking. For a few more steps.

I turned around, and asked her pardon for interrupting her sweeping, (manners and humility go a long way in the Costa Rican culture), I asked did she know how much the house was across the street; pointing to a small house with a "SE VENDE" sign in the front window.

Smiling and leaning over the bannister of her porch, she said, "No sir, I don't know the price of the house, but if you call the number listed, I'm sure they can help you".

She talked a bit more about the house, and the neighborhood. Her Spanish was perfectly spoken with the same careful diction of my high school English teacher, Miss Francis Odom. I could not understand every word she said, but it did not matter. I wanted to hear her speak.

I thanked her, wished her a good day to which she wished me a good day as well.

I continued my walk and she began sweeping again.

In the first place, I was pretty certain she did not know the price of the house across the street, but that is not why I asked her.

I just wanted to hear her. I wanted to engage her - and myself. I got what I hoped for. I got sincerity, communication, a lesson in Spanish. A positive interaction. It changed my attitude.

This morning I drove Dennis to work. My impatience was toyed with as I dodged cars, got cut off and just watched what I consider to be the lack of and inconsiderate driving habits. I hate traffic and have little patience for it. My worst comes out in the passive-agressive business of driving. Until I decided to turn and ask the lady about the house, my attitude was still out in traffic - I was walking around like I was driving. Shake it off!! Get over it!! It's not personal!!

I needed that sincere, joyful "Good Morning" from the lady with the jeweled combs to get myself back to a better attitude with which to start my day over. I'm glad she likes a clean porch.

You just never know...

Friday night I was over at a dear friend's house with other very, very dear friends, doing what we do best; cooking, eating, drinking, talking and discussing. We always have a great time together - always. Laughs abound.

We were all sadly touched by the tragic murder of a friend of ours. Ezri.

Ezri was not someone I knew well, in fact, I knew him and socialized with him through another friend, Andrew who was sharing his home with Ezri for the time being.

Ezri, it turns out to be, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This hurts. This is so, so sad. I know this happens all over the world everyday in every unimaginable way, but when it hits home - it hurts you.

Naturally our conversation came around to Ezri and the events of the week. He is remembered fondly, often, happily, sincerely by many, many people. With Facebook connections, I had no idea how many people I knew, knew him. All the comments are sincere condolances of "missing a dear friend"...." May you forever rest in peace, Ezri. You will be missed.

Which brings me to the topic of " You just never know..."

We don't. We don't know. Wish we could. With all of the astrology, tarot, palm reading and ouija board technology put together, but we just don't know. We don't know what will/will not happen, when it may, what if, etc. All of us agreed that one needs to make the best of one's time on this earth, because you just don't know. We batted this topic around for a couple of innings and eventually it turned to ENCOURAGEMENT. We all began to encourage each other in the talents we have all seen in each other:

"You really should __________________ you're so good at it",

"Well, you need to pick up the________________again. You are marvelous when you play".

"I've read some of your stories, keep writing".

"I know, I just don't _________________".

"I would if ________________________".

Fill in the blanks with whatever works for you and/or any damn excuse you can think of which NONE of them make any sense.

And I'm talking to ME. I HAVE NO EXCUSES.

I have all of the encouragement anyone could ask for. I have the support of Dennis. I have the prodding of my friends. And most of all, I have myself to answer to. I have the time, the resourses and I have no excuses.

What do I want to do about this? Run out and save the world? Step in Mother Teresa's shoes?No. But, I will write on this blog at least twice a week. Observations, gripes, praises, gnashing of teeth and soothing of the brow. Whatever. Just write something. I will paint more pictures - my way. I will read. I will find work I enjoy, damn it!! I will not waste time. And I will always take a camera with me on my walks. You never know.

I'm putting this out in writing to myself. I will open myself up to me and put away fears as best I can for that day. I will be honest as I can be with myself that day. I do not want to hurt anyone's feeling, but I will say things that are on my mind if I so wish, in my fashion, and apologize not. I have the blessings from the universe. I have me. I have the support, the love and heart of a special person.

We will see what marvelous things come to me. You will hear about it here first.

Catching up...

Well, it's been a while since I posted last. A lot has happened as a matter of fact. I was in Alabama for Thanksgiving and got to spend some great time with friends and family. It was cold then, but not as much as it is right now. What a blast from the North!! It's even cold here in Costa Rica.

Thanksgiving was good. Pretty typical with my neice and her family coming from Florida, my brother and his wife, Mom, Dad and myself. Not a big crowd, but a crowd none the less. My brothers kids couldn't make it. They live in Missouri, Utah, and Arizona. Maybe next time.

Dad and I got a couple of ballgames watched and enjoyed watching Alabama triumph over Florida State, setting them up for the ultimate trohpey.

It was good to see all the old gang from Foley and Fairhope. I tell ya...Fairhope, Alabama gets prettier and prettier. Met a nice guy there named Jim Tripp who is a artist. His speciality is wind art, for lack of a better term. He finds driftwood, carves a little, maybe paints it a little, finds its center of gravity and puts it on a whittled point. It moves around in the wind as stones and feathers keep its balance on the point. He gave me one. I really enjoy watching it.

Dad and I watched a few ballgames and we all took a few naps. It was good to be home.

The shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico around the 'Bama coast is like no other!! and I got a fair share of it. Got some shopping done and news was caught up on. Everyone seems to be doing well.

Christmas was back in Costa Rica. We had a nice quiet day and dinner with friends. Who needs anymore than that?

New Year's Eve was spent at Lisa and Tom's house in Escazu. They live way up a mountain and have the most beautiful view of the Central Valley from west to east. The skies cleared up and at about 11:45 the fireworks started. San Jose does not celebrate with a single or central display of fireworks. All of the municipalities have fireworks, your neighbors have fireworks and it just goes on all around you. As Tom was showing off his display of fireworks on the hill below the house, his neighbors above him started theirs and then the folks to the sides began as well. The Central Valley was absolutey shimmering for miles and miles as the fireworks welcomed 2010!!

I feel like this is going to be a good year and there are several good years ahead. It has been a long time since I've had such a feeling of security. I'm no fool. Anything can happen, but I do have a great sense of hope and growth coming our way; Dennis and I.

I have a great partner. I have a good relationship. My needs are more than met and my health is good.

Thank you, God.

Jim and Elena

Jim and Elena Buie are friends of ours from Wilmington, N.C. Great folks!! It was a pleasure to have them as guests. We ate, toured and soaked in hot springs while they were here. It was a good time, for sure, for sure!! Anyway, I emailed them on Sunday morning to make sure they got back to Tarboro all right. Thankfully they did, but the adventures did not end when they got on the plane. Any of you out there who travel to any extent, especially by air, then you know the trip isn't over until you are in the house, unpacked, and kicked back in your own space. Let me interject that she speaks Spanish and he speaks English, so when they got married, each had to learn the others language.

So, his reply back to me is the story which follows:

Arnie, I didn't mean to write a short story but it is almost comical to re-hash the events of last night. So get a cup of coffee and enjoy…

Thanks for checking on us--as it seems like always; nothing went according to plan. They put on that damn bus and we had to wait for all the slowpokes. Since we boarded the bus first, we were last off. Several international flights arrived at the same and there were a ton of people waiting to clear immigration. Many people didn't/couldn't read the signs and the citizen lines were bogged down with people having to fill out forms and process visas and such. I didn't declare any food because all we had was some of the cookies from El Salvador. I thought that if it was cooked or packaged, it was OK. When the agent asked us if we had anything to eat, we said just some sweets--you would have thought we were cocaine smugglers. She said you have to declare anything eatable! She wrote "FOOD!" on our form and let us go. By the time we got to luggage claim, most of it had been claimed. Then we couldn't find one of our suitcases. We waited and waited and then the belt stopped and I thought they had lost it--but being the savvy person that Elena is, she said, "wait here," and darted like a rabbit looking at other luggage that people had claimed. Sure enough, one of the passengers had it and Elena just grabbed it! The lady said, "That's mine!" but Elena just ignored her and we finally got out of baggage claim.

I had forgotten that we had been labeled food smugglers and we waited in line until we got to the exit. Then agent gruffly said, "You have to pass through agriculture inspection!" We go wait in line there and then the agent calls us forward. We show him the cookies and a bag of chips he says, "No problem--do you have any other food?" Elena pulls out a package wrapped in plastic that looks like a ham and both the agent and I hear "Salami!" I was not aware of any other food so I had not declared it! I got upset with Elena and told her she should have let me know she had meat with her--in that moment, I thought she had bought something from the market with Dennis the night before or you guys had given her a gift of local meat of some kind. In the mean time, the agent had pulled out a huge knife and was slicing the wrapping and jabbing it with the point of the knife. I was fuming mad with Elena because these people mean business and we could have been fined or held up. By this time it is around 10:00pm, we're tired, and I am not thinking straight--we had been in Washington over 2 hours and we were still at the airport. My plan had been to be on the road by 8:30 pm and no later than 9:00--I am a naive country boy! Then it dawned on me--Elena had said "Ceramic!" I never the saw the way the lady package the piece of pottery that Elena bought on the way to Arenal and it really looked like a ham or a piece of wrapped meat. I told the agent it was a Ceramic piece and he said, I thought she said, "Salami." I said, "Me too!" I asked Elena why she had given him the pottery when all he asked was if we had any more food. She said she had been nervous and misunderstood. Then I felt bad for getting upset; but the "Salami" thing was a surprise and it held us up for another 15 minutes.

Then we get to the transportation area at last but we didn't have our cell phones with us--I thought the hotel would have a courtesy phone to call for the shuttle. I asked Elena for coins and she gave me all she had. I called the hotel and got the wrong Fairfield--I used the last of our change but got it right the second time and they picked us up. We pulled out of the hotel parking lot at 10:30 pm. There is a toll road that we had to take from the airport and I got a dollar from Elena to pay the toll--it was exact change only and we had spent all of our coins on telephone calls! With no other options, I ran the damn light and we'll deal with that tomorrow. Stopped for gas and a cup of coffee and we got home around 2:15 am. The drive home was not bad and we may have gotten home an hour later but I am not sorry that we flew out of Washington--it was just another adventure!

I had just gotten out of bed and sat down to send you a message when I got yours--so yes, we are home safely! We are the ones who owe you guys the thanks!! Putting us up, feeding us, taking the time to be our guide and taxi, the meal at Café Mundo, the trip to Arenal, the wine, the smoke, the hot springs, the gifts--it just couldn't have been any better!

We appreciate your hospitality and you are welcome at our home any time!

Jim & Elena

Alabama Walking

With a cup of coffee under belt and a faint light on the eastern sky, my Dad and I would begin our walks in Uriah, Alabama. My visits home are always marked with this occasion.
In the winter, we would be bundled against the cold and the pace a little quicker. In summer, with a slower pace and bug spray smeared on all exposed skin between our necks and ankles, we would soon be solving the problems of the world.
Parking in front of the Old Blacksher house and heading south, our trek would begin with a silence as we woke up to the day. Going past the small part of town which was as close to urbanized as the town would come, our strides would fall in cadence with each other and by the time we have passed the baseball field and high school, our conversations would begin. We would start to lament about politicians, wondering “how in Sam Hill educated people could make the decisions they do” regarding our national policies. His stout Republican ideals and my more liberal views would always take us to opposing opinions and another side of an issue to be considered and discussed.
In short time our steps would be crunching on the gravel road running behind the Garrett property. It is a ten acre parcel of land with a huge white antebellum home sitting right in the middle. It is a beautiful old house that although having long since lost its luster, still clings proudly to the dignity it once had. On most summer mornings, Ben House would be picking beans or peas, cutting okra or gathering tomatoes in his roadside garden all the while swatting gnats and sweating from the viscous humidity. His work shoes would be muddy and pants wet from the knees down from the early dew coating everything this time of year.
By the time we reach Highway 21, the sky has opened to the day and life is stirring at small town speed. Taking a break in front of the Baptist Church, passers by on their way to work and drivers of logger trucks loaded with paper wood would throw up a hand in greeting. We’d continue across town, with Dad choosing the way he preferred depending on how well he felt that morning. Some folks would be sitting on porches with coffees in hand and sleepy grandbabies in welcoming laps as we strode through town.

“Mornin’, hi’ ya’ll doin’?”
”Doin’ awright. You?”
“Yep – good as can be expected. Goin’ to Mobile on Wednesday for a check up”.
“Let us know if you need anything”.
“Awrigh, see ya later, then”.

These short, common exchanges between folks you just spoke to yesterday are a part of how it’s done there. The communications of a small town don’t need a lot of rhetoric to get the message across that one is thought of, cared about, and missed if out of pocket too long.

Passing the ancient magnolia tree in the yard of Ms. Mary I might ask, “How is Miss Mary?”

Dad might reply, “She’s doing good. She decided to stop driving and seems to be slowing down a bit, but she’s doing good. Me and your Mama went to her 93rd birthday party a week or so back over at the Methodist Church. A lot of her family was there, Laura asked about you”.

Soon we have completed the circle, we have passed the water tower with the town’s name painted on its tank, we have seen flowers and weed brambles along the road, crops growing and yards tended to. There was Hootie’s Barber Shop, not yet open, but with the first early customer waiting patiently in his truck reading The Monroe Journal. School busses have begun pulling into the local school to empty its contents of children who begin running and greeting playmates before classes begin. The cotton gin, in the fall, would be filling the air with its dust and that wonderful, dry smell of cotton so special to the area. By the time we have almost completed our trip, I have caught up on who’s living in Miss Jones old house and who’s building the big new place out by the Nipper’s pecan orchard. Sandra Kilpatrick has moved back from Georgia and is running the café now and the feed mill is closing down if Mr. Reed doesn’t get out of the hospital soon - he’s been in bad shape. The people who have died, divorced and moved on have been discussed. Who has a new baby always brings a smile and a surprise to my spirit.

By the time we return home, another cup of coffee and a simple breakfast of biscuits and Conecuh Sausage hit the spot perfectly. It’s time to relax a little. Dad grabs a morning nap in his recliner while I talk to Mom up in the kitchen. I will spend some time with her later in the day, allowing her to decide where she might like to go, or what she might like to do. I feel better having heard of folks I’ve known all my life and I begin to feel the familiar connection to where my life began and am grateful that my life is good.

The Little Theater Group Road Trip

We had a blast!! This is the group from The Little Theatre Group, who went on the road trip to Playa Hermosa and Hermosa Heights. We were treated great by the staff at Hermosa Heights and the owner, Rich. The food was good, the pool was fantastic and the beach only about 2 blocks away. Anyway, we all got up earlier than early to get on the road for this 4 or 5 hour drive and began the fun. We mostly arrived at about the same time, got our luggage loaded into the rooms, took a quick dip in the pool and then the real fun began. All of our props, techie stuff, and scenery had arrived so we all got busy putting together, organizing, putting our heads together to make it all work and Lo and Behold!

It did!!

We did a run through, grabbed a bite to eat, went over lines and discussed entries and bows a little further and before you knew it, SHOW TIME!!

Our first night went very well and we all were pleased. The second night, we played to a full house and we hit the mark!! Everyone did an outstanding job! The hob-nobbing afterwards and the pool party after that was such a great time. Lots of stress was relieved as we swam, talked about the play, had wines and bocas, and best of all - laughed! Threw our heads back at stories current and past and laughed!! Good for the soul!

Ann, Vicki and Mary. Ann is my fellow actor and director. Quite a talent, I may add! And a heck of a lot of fun to hang around with, as well!!

Vicki is my director and fab-u-lous to work with. Ann, Wayne and I are doing, "Twilight Zone". Thank you for all you did, by the way.

Mary was our techie with 3 plays in one, DVD's, CD's, and sound for each - well she had her hands full!!

I missed getting pics of Wayne, my fellow actor as well and Tom, who is with David in "Death Knocks".

Susan, our actor for "Sorry, Wrong Number".

Randy, producer and active member of the group.

Starting to unload the show!!

David, setting up the props

Lisa, President of LTG and fearless leader of this gang!

What a hamm!!

Speaking of hamms!!!

Beautiful Playa Hermosa

Hermosa Heights, where we stayed and staged our play!

Very, very nice pool and cabana

The countryside in Guanacaste.

Driving....and then some!

I have discovered that my happiness is very dependent on traffic. The less I am in traffic, the happier I am. You can hang your hat on that.

I am pretty well traveled I have experienced many different driving styles from Alabama to Boston; I have driven and been driven all over the United States, Europe, and some Central and South American counties.
There is one thing in common with all traffic – everybody just wants to get there in their own way - with their own methods in mind. That’s just a universal fact since we started moving around eons ago.

Driving in the U.S.A. is boring for the most part. I’m not talking about scenery and majestic cities; I’m talking about the actual act of driving. The roads are in good repair and generally well marked. We are Google Earthed, GPS’ed, and mapped out the ying-yang. Well, it’s just almost too easy. Traffic congestion, removed, of course-that is its own monster. I still get a little shocky when I think about the Belt Parkway in New York and those long, long backups on Rockville Pike in Bethesda, Maryland.

There are however, some minor irritants in the midst of American Drivers and one I will mention here is the left lane driver. You know, you gotta get somewhere, times a ticking, and you’re driving along on a nice four laned highway fully equipped with a middle turn lane, it’s well marked and traffic moves along at a good speed. UNTIL….the 60 mph has suddenly dropped to about 37 mph because some driver in the left lane, who is looking straight ahead, sipping on a Big Gulp and munching Slim Jims, is so totally unaware of the bottleneck he is creating. The guy on your right, who is rightfully going slowly in the slow lane, is riding right along with Mr. Left Lane’s rear bumper and so now you’re trapped. Nowhere to go, no way around….aaarrgggh!!!! It can suck the serenity right out of my best day. Now, I do know a woman who used to get so upset about this, that at the first available chance she got, she would cut around, cut back in front of the offending Mr. Left Lane and make sure they got the signal of her pointing to the right lane in an attempt to “make them aware” and then speed off. In my opinion, if they cared in the first place, they would already be in the right lane so the lesson is mute, plus, aggravating though it may be; it just isn’t worth making an ass of yourself just to prove a point to those who don’t care in the first place.

I lived in Sicily for almost 3 years. That was the most impressively disorganized driving I had ever seen. It is like Santa Claus brought everyone a car for Christmas and they all started driving at once. Another way to describe it is to go outside, kick open an ant hill and watch them run around like crazy. That is driving in Italy for the most part. If I remember correctly, the rules of the road are: 1) if one is going down hill then one has the right of way. After all, the car one is driving may not have brakes, don’t forget to blow your horn as you approach intersections just to let them know you’re coming through and may not have brakes 2) if you flash your lights or blow your horn first, then you have the right of way, (How in the hell would you know who blew a horn first! They all do it all the time!) 3) if your bumper is ahead of the person’s bumper who is ahead of you, then it is NOT your fault….and finally, but not in the least, is rule number 4) if you are going down the road and a goat herd happens to be in the way, and you hit and kill an animal (hope it is an obviously old animal) then you must pay for the animal itself as well as any offspring it may have produced. My question to the court is: How does one calculate how many offspring an animal may produce? What if the goat is gay? Or it happens to "‘ho itself out" just to make a good profit for the herder? How do you make a defense on that?

Now I live in Costa Rica. Driving here is its own monster. There are many cars here in the Central Valley. SUV’s abound, small cars are very, very well used here. Produce trucks, semis, busses and motorcycles of all sizes crowd the two lane streets. There are no multi-laned freeways, the best is a four lane and that is not the norm for most of the highways here. Most streets are mostly marked with lanes and turn signals, sometimes not, and there are potholes galore. As soon as they get it patched it comes right back. Reminds me of when we used to pull weeds out of the farmer’s fields in Alabama- for every pig weed you pulled there were two more waiting to show up overnight!

Driving in Costa is the ugly step sister to an otherwise calm, quiet, reserved culture. I mean Costa Ricans will stand in line at the bank for forty-five minutes to conduct a 3 minute transaction and never make a face or show any sign of impatience. That would be considered rude. But they will run over you in the parking lot, believe-you-me. It is said, that the pedestrian is the most endangered species here. It’s true! People run, I mean even the elderly, will break a trot to get across a street. Cars go so fast and whip around corners like nothing ever could or would happen to be in the way. Just yesterday a little old lady was crossing the street when halfway across, a car whipped by her so fast and close it blew her skirt up. The driver was probably a young man and gave no thought to it what-so-ever. She shook her fist at him - but I can think of another part of her hand she could shake at him!

Another driving habit they have is putting on the flashers and just stopping in an active lane of traffic-maybe to buy produce, maybe to chat on the phone, maybe just because. It makes no sense to me. It causes a lot of inconvenience for the rush hour commuters. It seems dangerous, too especially when a passenger is getting out of a car. But they seem to accept it among themselves. You have to expect some of this type stuff in a city and especially a city with a different cultural environment. Acceptance is the key to serenity......

We all have driving stories to share and when I think of all the close calls that occur each and every day, well it amazes me how me made it this far. Sometimes you just have to wonder. We keep complaining about the other guy and what an idiot he/she is and we shake our heads and wonder how the law can let some of these yahoos run around loose. But we keep moving around and always will. Be safe!

Mrs. Haverson

Mrs. Haverson was a woman of bulk. But that is not what you noticed about her at first. Her eyes did not twinkle; her hair was neither shiny nor styled. Her skin had no luster. What you did notice about her was a sadness, not a self-pity sadness, but a tiredness as heavy as she was.
I met her on a hot, sticky Alabama morning. One of those mornings that begins almost as hot as it left off yesterday. The evening had lost the battle to cool things down. I do remember this well. She was in Bed Number 8 of the ICU at Southern Alabama Regional Hospital. I took her breakfast to her. After we exchanged the usual pleasantries and I got her all set up, I left her room and she to herself with her breakfast. I had work to do: Doctor’s orders to transcribe, labs reports to post, seven other patients who demanded some sort of attention, and my own breakfast to tend to. It would be a long, busy day.

Mrs. Haverson was admitted to the ICU with a number of problems, mostly metabolic in nature. Her feet and legs had just enough circulation to prevent a total mummification, her hygiene, at best, had been an attempt, her diet was whatever she could get with government subsidy. Probably cheap sweets, peanut butter, canned foods which could be heated or not, and most likely purchased at the local dollar store where fresh fruits or vegetables were lacking. She was an obviously poor woman, and had been for years.

As I worked with Mrs. Haverson, I began to like her, but still there was no actual communication between us other than on a professional level. I washed her face, helped the nurse assigned to turn and clean this lady who had gradually lost most of that ability a few years earlier. Time spent with her, at this point, was totally in the line of duty. I shared a couple of laughs with Mrs. Haverson as we began to get to know each other. The short discussions when I took in a meal tray, the quick “How do you do’s” as I checked her blood sugar levels, the vital signs check at least TID (three times a day) added up to a comfortable rapport. She never complained. She never asked for more. And she had the sweetest voice.

Eventually she was moved out to the step-down unit. She was getting better, but still not able to take care of herself. The social service workers- the home health care folks were summoned to start the routine process of “taking care of someone”. I was off the day they moved Mrs. Haverson into the step-down unit and immediately missed her when I walked into the ICU after having been off for 3 days. Our shifts were 12 hours long, so we did get 3 day weekends every week and a half. It just so happens that I did get to visit with Mrs. Haverson before she was completely discharged. I got assigned to the step-down unit for a couple of days; a bit less intense than the ICU, but a busy place nonetheless.

“Good morning, Mrs. Haverson! So good to see you again. Nice to see you are improving and have been moved out of ICU. That means you’ll be going home soon!”
Mrs. Haverson, returned the greeting, but did not seem particularly proud of this upcoming fact. While her health was stabilizing, her tiredness was still very apparent.
Finally, the day before she was to be discharged, at the end of a busy shift, I stopped by her room. I don’t remember exactly why, but I did. I guess I consciously made the decision to chat for a moment with Mrs. Haverson. After all, it had been almost three weeks since I had met her and I loved that sweetness she still had in her voice.

I asked her was there anything I could get her before I go, and then I said, “Where are you from, Mrs., Haverson?”

“Mississippi” she says, and mentions a small town I had never heard of, but she tells me “it’s in Central Mississippi”. She goes on to say, she had been very poor as a young girl, “But everybody was”, she added.
Mrs. Haverson goes on with stories of picking cotton, milling sugar cane, hard winters and life on life’s terms. Many of the same stories I witnessed and heard from my parents and their parents, she retold as her own. I sat on the arm of the side chair and just listened. She had never spoken to me so much.

“Do you have any children?” I asked.

“Yes, a daughter”. Her face became a little longer, her eyes a bit distant as she pulled up memories. And all at once…
“I haven’t seen her in twenty years, and I’m not sure why”.
She finally said.
“She had a little girl, too. I have never seen my grandchild. I tried so hard to be good to her and give her the things I never had. She had her Daddy’s hard-headedness and after he died, I couldn’t do anything right by her. She took off when she was about seventeen, didn’t even finish high school. I heard she headed to New Orleans. I went down there and looked and looked, but I could never find hide nor hair of her. The police weren’t much help back then. I was never much on church, but I prayed to God to please take care of my Baby, if at least He couldn’t bring her back home”. She paused for a moment and with an even softer tone, she said,

“I heard through some distant cousins I had in Metairie that they had seen her a couple of years later and she had a little girl with her. That’s how I know about my grandbaby. They said the little girl looked like me in the one few pictures of me I do have. She might’ve been pregnant when she took off…but she had no reason to be ashamed. Things were different then”.

I just sat there listening.

“I didn’t get a good start with life and Lord knows I made my mistakes”, she started again.

The late afternoon sun slanted in through the blinds.

“I know I can’t do nothing about it now, but if I could go back, I would’a got both of us outta that town and away from that man I took up with after my husband died. There wasn’t much choice. I had to feed us. He was pure meanness, he drank a lot and no tellin' what else. I’m sure he’s why she took off like that. I was suspicious of other things happening…I guess she had every right. I should have done better by her".

And with that, and a heavy sigh, Mrs. Haverson had finally got it said and done. She seemed lighter. I guess those words had weighted a ton.

She just kept looking at her hand resting on the table pulled across her lap. Then she slowly looked toward the window. She was silently crying. She was sorry for things, for memories, long since pushed into the past. I would never know, nor anyone else for that matter, what all had happened in this ladies life. I didn’t need to know more.

My shift had ended. I got up, patted her hand and said, “Mrs. Haverson, I need to go. I want you to have a good night, now. I’m off tomorrow and the next day, but I will see you soon as I get back to work.”
She said ok and with that, I went home. I thought about Mrs. Haverson over the next couple of days. I just did. When I got back to work, Mrs. Haverson was totally discharged from the hospital. I guess the Medicare and home healthcare had been approved. I gave her a couple more thoughts and went on with routine days.

About three months later, Mrs. Haverson was readmitted to our little hospital. This time she was in a coma, the breathing tube prevented her speaking if she had wanted to. She looked, to me beyond just sick. There was some suspicion as to why she was here this time. Rumor had it she had been poisoned – with rat poison. The “companion” she lived with, a skinny, greasy haired man who used one of those electric chairs, would come by and see her once in a great while when she had been admitted before, was now just sitting there looking at her. No expression - didn’t seem to care. Just looking at her.

I just couldn’t help but wonder...

Mrs. Haverson finally passed away. It seemed a lonely passing and obviously I have thought of her over the years. The day she told me about her struggle is one of those times I will always hold special. I am glad I was somewhere I needed to be and especially so for those few minutes, on that hot Alabama afternoon, that I got out of my way and sat and listened to someone. It made all the difference for both of us.

Antigua, Guatemala ~ Wonderful!!!!!

Well, Antigua wasn't high on my to do list. But after Dennis surprised me with a weekend there - my opinion of this city moved WAAAY up the ladder. I highly recommend this place. It is full of history, charm, great restaurants, friendly people and a safe and secure atmosphere. I cannot say enough good about it.....

Look it up on Wiekipedia for history and details about it. As we turned off the main road, Antigua still had not presented its personality. The colonial structure of "Behind Walls" is apparent in this photo. It's walking around that you see the details that make this place really magical.

The fountain at our hotels entrance.

The arch in the background is a landmark in Antigua. It was constructed to allow the nuns to move unseen between the monasteries on each side of the street.

Of course with the Catholic/Spanish history of this city, there are churches and cathedrals everywhere. Some in ruins, still used, or very elaborate.

For scale, these angels were a bit larger than life size.

The markets are plentiful and full. Lots to look at, explore, admire, and desire. All for a "very good price, my friend...."

Roasting corn

This is the Tanque de La Union. It was a gathering place for washing clothes in one of the city squares. Notice how smooth the rims of the wash basins are - all made of stone, not concrete.

Typical dress and style of the Indians. Very colorful and pretty. She came running up to Dennis and said, "Yo lo vendo". ( I will sell it to you). Undoubtly she has heard her father say this many time. So cute.

Very colorful busses and let me tell you...these women can put anything on their heads and go on with it. One lady walked by with a basket on her head and chickens sticking their heads of the basket. She happened by too quickly to get a picture.

These ladies are actually cleaning, picking, and spinning cotton into thread. They will make the blankets you see in the foreground.

Sausages in tomatoe sauce, refried beans, potatoes, great food everywhere you went. We had lunch under the trees in a church yard. The best fried chicken I have had since I was a little boy and my grandmother fried it up. Fresh!

On the Cerro de Cruz. Overlooking Antigua.

Another great trip. On our way back to the hotel on our last day. We turned a corner to see a blind girl down the street begging for change. And further down were two old, and I mean old ladies, walking arm in arm, taking the tinest steps possible. We dropped some change into the cup of the blind girl, and as we passed the two elderly ladies we noticed they had very little in their lives as far as possession go. Dennis turned back to give the ladies some change. As he caught up them, I saw him give the ladies a bit of money. They had to turn their heads way back to see up to Dennis's face, they were so small, like two little birds. One of the ladies placed her small, wrinkled hand on Dennis's as she took the money and asked blessings on his act of generosity. Dennis said you could not believe the look of gratitude and thankfullness expressed in their wrinkled eyes and almost toothless smiles.

Dennis started back my way. As he was returning, I saw one of the ladies share her money with the blind girl and told Dennis to look back. They were splitting the money between them. It was a very moving and emotional sight.

That's not a souvenir, that is a memory.