Bath Tub Adventures:From Insomnia to World Travel

Not being able to sleep tonight, I decided to run myself a bath in hope it might relax me. In general this works for me, yet it took a little while before I could drag myself out of bed to do it. It is a similar experience to being cold when half asleep and the blanket is out of reach. You curl yourself up tighter and tighter and linger between being asleep and awake, sometimes for hours, rather than stirring yourself enough to get the blanket and be done with it. After some bargaining, I was finally able to get myself up and moving.

As hoped, the bath was very relaxing. I was able to manage some success at my own, unskilled form of meditation and soon was at the edge of sleep. As I pulled the stopper, I found myself losing touch with my peaceful state and so turned my attention to the water draining in order to ground myself in the experience of the present. In watching the water swirl at the drain and feeling it slide so gently away from me I began to think of what is was like to be the water. I became aware of the drastic and sudden shifts that this tub full of water had gone through and would undergo in a very short period of time. I started where my awareness of my own journey with this water began, resting so quietly and peacefully, snuggled together in the tub. And now, on such short notice and without consultation, I had pulled the plug and the water had no choice, through the force of gravity, but to leave. Watching the little water funnel that was forming at the drain, I wondered if the water was fighting to stay in the tub. I pictured the next phase of it's journey, which was a free fall down a dark an dirty pipe and into the city sewer. This was all quite horrifying to me and and not very relaxing so I asked myself, "is a different way I can look at this?"

In so asking, I remembered a time when I described to a dear friend the lesson that I had learned while trying to save a bug from getting caught in my shower water and being washed down the drain. As the bug tried to walk up and away from the droplets of water, I attempted to shield him until he could get to a safe place. Repeatedly, he would reach a place that, if it would just be still, would suffice. But, repeatedly, the bug's anxiety got the better of him and he would move his legs around frantically, trying to get to even safer ground. The bug was too frightened, and could not be still. Eventually, he danced and squirmed himself into a flow of water that was just too strong and it swept him down the drain. In telling my friend this lesson about stillness and my sorrow about not being able to save the bug (silly I know, but at times these things trouble me deeply) her eyes watered and she pointed out what a beautiful gift the bug had given me. She expressed her gratitude to the mystical forces in life that are able to give a bugs life meaning and create a value from it's death, by placing a man there as a witness who, simply by witnessing, learns the lesson of stillness.

Recounting the power of this experience, I decided that this is the way I would view the water as it left down the drain. I would see the water with gratitude and and attempt to find a new understanding of the water's purpose and path. This brought my focus to the larger picture. It drew my thinking both backward and forward in time simultaneously. I was now aware of the the water before it came into the bath as it warmed in my hot water heater while at the same time being aware of its path down the drain and it's eventual journey to the ocean. This water, with which I just shared this space had, only hours ago, been who knows where sharing space with who knows who. Over the course of just a few days it will run through pipes, roll down rivers, fall into the ocean, crash in it's waves, be sucked up into the sky, travel in a cloud, rain back down on the earth hundreds maybe thousands of miles away, gather in a reservoir or someones swimming pool or...you can see the endless possibilities.

When told in the form of thoughts, and using only words to tell it, it is complex and would take pages, no volumes to describe. But, as an experience, it was almost instantaneous. It was when I got to what should be the more disturbing thoughts that I had my epiphany. It was when I got to the part where this water gets dirtied and purified over an over again through washing bodies and sliding through sewers and being drank down and peed out, that it struck me, I am made up of 75% water. This is not water that I am born with and stays in my body throughout my life. This is the water that travels the world and makes up 75% of other people and cascades down immense waterfalls and baptizes babies. Seventy-five percent of ME will be somewhere else in only a matter of days. This means that I am, in fact, connected to everything. And, while my conscious mind and non liquid matter stays in one place longer and doesn't experience the drastic changes that the liquid part of me does, the majority of me is actually departing for and returning from amazing, horrifying, exhilarating world wide travels almost constantly. As exciting as this was to discover, I was mostly grateful that my conscious self could go and tuck itself comfortably in bed while parts of my liquid self would be in the not so glamorous portion of its never ceasing adventure.

Shadow Expression

At a conference I recently attended, focused on using writing exercises to tap into the unconscious, I was given a directive to take a minute to write whatever came to my mind. This is what I wrote:

"In my rage, I pulled so hard that his arm literally ripped away from his body and hung limp, held up by his skin that now served only as a sack. I collapsed in sorrow at the sight of what I had done. I couldn't stand the thought of who I was and thought I may never stop crying for the rest of my life."

It's a little twisted, but it is what came to mind. I see it as the juxtaposition of the rage and total empathy within me. The sorrow that the conflict brings and the struggle to let the two live inside me without trying to extinguish them. All based on a notion that I am to embrace all of the parts of me, because those parts of me are what make a whole ME. With different parts, I'd be someone else. Sometimes, I think that would be fine. I will end one day anyway. Why not today? But today never seems to be the day and so I carry on, and sometimes I don't mind.

Farewell Puriscal

As I prepare to leave Puriscal, you can imagine that the feelings are bitter sweet.  I am, of course, so happy to come home and see those whom I love and have missed so much.  Unfortunately, for that reward, I pay the price of saying goodbye to the wonderful people whom I have met and with whom I have worked while I was here.  

It was a beautiful morning, with the most blue sky showing as has probably been exposed since I arrived.  The sun was warm and the air quite fresh.  I soaked it in as I walked over to the Nursing home for one last round of morning exercises and excellent company.  The morning was different than usual as the staff were preparing for a fiesta to celebrate father's day.  We gathered for exercises but some were restless with anticipation of the party and did not want to attend.  Two of my favorite fellows opted out which I think was, at least in part, due to the difficulty of saying goodbye.  It made exercises a little flat, but we all pushed through it.  I took a moment to feel proud of the solid exercise routine we have developed over the past 4 weeks.  When I first arrived, though we were given general instruction as to what to do, the course of the exercises was quite rough and a bit all over the place.  With practice, I was better and better able to group exercises together that made sense, and to start with proper warm up and stretching and then build up to the more taxing exercises.  

After exercises, I sat with Rosario for quite some time and gave her a really good foot rub.  She gave me her usual instructions, "that hurts there, softer here, harder in that spot."  Her memory is short enough, that to her, this was just like any other day.  She asked me several times if I'd be there tomorrow, which is the normal line of questioning.  I reminded her a few times that I would not but chose not to tell her over and over again.  After a while, I took a seat with Guido and we talked about the whether and how much sun there was and a little about my trip home.  

The time passed both slowly and quickly.  Soon it was time for the party and we all meandered out to the  Salon were the party was staged.  There was a DJ playing Latin Dance music and as everyone took their seats for lunch, the staff surprised them each with a can of cold beer.  The room was so filled with excitement.  Guido used is best charm in an attempt to persuade Ashling to hide a second can for him under the table cloth, but she would not yield.  Lunch was soon served and it felt very exciting and special because we weren't in the usual dining hall.  All of the tables had white linen table cloths with bright orange accent runners which enhanced the mood greatly.  Since I knew I would be eating my last lunch with the staff at the CCS house shortly, I declined to eat but helped out by feeding Maria so that the staff could relax and sit down for their own lunch.  It's certainly not something you think about regularly, but it gave me the opportunity to be grateful for the fact that I can feed myself.  How vulnerable one is, when they are relying on someone else to not only remember and be willing  to feed them, but to do it with care.  I hadn't ever really considered the complexity of eating before; the importance of offering the right sized bites at the right frequency with a pause for a drink periodically; and tipping the glass at just the right angle so that enough liquid will enter the mouth, but not too much.  The preservation of ones dignity through wiping food off off of the face as it accumulates, but in a soft enough manner so as not to let the skin become sore.  Those who are parents have also learned these things.  

Once the meal was done, the dancing began.  I danced a bit but must admit, I was feeling a little too sad to muster the energy needed, besides, it was almost time for me to leave so I took the chance to make my way around the room and say goodbye for the last time.  In preparation for this, I had gone earlier this week to the photo shop and had several prints of different people made.  I handed them out to people individually, and told them how much I enjoyed the time spent with them and how much I would miss them.  The pictures were received warmly and the exchanges were so sweet.  It was so hard to walk out the door when the time came.  

When I returned to the CCS house, everyone was gathered for lunch and we enjoyed some story telling while we ate. When lunch was over, the staff presented me with the customary DVD, commemorating my stay.  I shared a thank you card with them and we all expressed our deep appreciation at having shared such a beautiful and meaningful time together.  Some of us then sat down and played the guitars and sang for a bit and then posed for some farewell photos.  As we sat around together singing and playing, a storm swept in and the rain began to pound the metal roof as lighting yielded thunder to serve as our percussion section.  I knew this was Costa Rica's grand farewell to me and I felt ever so grateful.  

When I leave the CCS house in the morning, It will be very sad as, though I have not mentioned this before, we learned upon arrival, that the CCS house in Puriscal will be closing its doors on September first.  Just as many of us have been effected in some way by the economic downturn, so too has CCS.  They are having to close 6 of their placements in order to stay solvent.   Because of the low capacity and low attendance at the rural sites, those are the placements that will take the hit.  There are already plans to re-open in 2012, but in the meantime, they will have to give up the lease on the current house, and all of the staff will be forced to find new jobs.  As I leave, I must face the fact that this is a permanent goodbye.  The salve is the memories in my mind and the love in my heart that I will keep with me forever.  Thank you to everyone who shared this journey with me whether in person or through my writing and photos.  Your participation is a gift to me, that will help give life to this experience, long beyond this time during which it has occurred.  May this be only one of many.  

The Latin Lover

During my stay here in Puriscal, I have been attending a Latin dance class at the gym.  It's an aerobics class that uses latin dance as the method.  The first hour and 15 minutes are filled with very fun, fast paced, kick your butt moves from the dances Salsa, Cumbia, Merenge, Paso Doble and one other that I can never remember, much less do.  After the workout portion, they move to couples dancing, at which time I get the most intense workout of the night, as I sprint for the door and down the street so as not to be asked to dance.  Over the past 3 weeks, while I have been doing this, I have been attending this class with some of the women who are here in the CCS program with me. They have done their best to get me to stay (I may be exaggerating slightly here) not because I'm some suave dancer, but simply because the women out number the men by some 3 or 4 to 1.  Tonight was the first night I attended by myself and thus thought myself "off the hook" for the couples section of the class.  As I casually strode over to the edge of the floor to gather my water bottle and wipe the flood of sweat from my brow (al la Martin Ribeiro), I was approached by the hottest, and I mean THE HOTTEST women in the room.  I glanced at my watch to offer the time, which was surely what she was seeking, but much to my dismay (and might I say horror) she asked me to dance.  Well, as you can imagine, my trip to Costa Rica, along with other events in my life over the past few years, has bolstered my confidence quite a bit.  This, I knew, was an opportunity to take that confidence out for a test drive.  So I took in a deep breath and I looked her straight in the eyes and said..."But I don't know how" and then stared blankly back at her, without a movement.  Some have fight, some have flight and I have freeze.  And so there I stood, staring and dazed, until finally she grabbed my had and drug me onto the dance floor.  As the music began, suddenly everything I had been learning for the past few weeks came rushing back to me and I began to dance around the floor like I was born dancing and I was sending her into complex spins and....eeeerrrrrr.....sorry, I just fell into some kind of little fantasy there.  No, what actually happened was, I danced like the gringo that I am and she taught me a spin or two, and we were both pretty much relieved when the song ended.  I thanked her warmly and she politely replied.  Then, having learned my lesson, I grabbed my things and sprinted to the door as I had been wise enough to do in weeks past.  

There is a part of me that wishes I was Rico Suave and would just expect to be in such situations and know that I would handle them without freaking out.  But the bigger part of me feels glad to know who I am, without wishing to be something I'm not.  As such, I am able to be in  such situations which, in the past, would have eaten me alive, and just enjoy them for what they are... totally fucking hilarious!

More Gifts from Monica

My back has been hurting me pretty bad for the last couple of weeks.  It doesn't seem to matter what I do, it keeps getting worse and worse.  A combination of a so so bed, being on my feet most of the day, a significant increase in activity over my usual routine (without enough stretching in between) and sitting on furniture that doesn't have quite enough back support for me.  Last week, Monica noticed me stretching and asked if my back was bothering me.  I told her a little about the problem and she offered to provide assistance if I wanted her to.  (Don't forget, Monica is the Physical Therapist at the nursing home.)  Her offer was tempting, but I felt a little awkward so I declined.  She told me that if I changed my mind, not to hesitate to let her know.  Over the course of the next few days, my back got worse and worse, or maybe I just got tired of it hurting so bad.  I was doing everything I knew to improve it including: stretching, icing, 4 advil every 6 hours, and using a pillow as back support whenever I sat down.  Nothing seemed to be working.  Monica had asked me a few different times if I wanted her help, so today I decided I would take her up on it.  

I thought she would just guide me through some stretches and exercises for 20-30 minutes and send me on my way to do them on my own.  Well, no.  She had me meet her at her house.  From there she walked me over to an office that she shares with several doctors and a couple of other physical therapists.  She asked me a few questions about my pain and then proceeded to do a full treatment on my back.  She hooked me up to a machine that sent small pulses of electricity into my back.  A little scary at first but overall pretty cool.  She then used some kind of wand type thing to rub the painful area and then she massaged the area for another 20 minutes or so.  While she was doing it, It felt better, but it wasn't until I got up that I realized how much better it truly was.  

Given how much time and energy she spent on my back, I was relieved that she had me come to her office because this way, I knew I would be paying her for the service which I seemed important to me given the extensiveness of the treatment.  Except...when I tried to pay, she adamantly declined and insisted that it was a gift that she wanted to give me for all the work I had put in at the nursing home.  It was hard not to push back, which I did a little, but she made it clear that she did not want a payment and so I wanted to be gracious in accepting her generous gift.  I told her that I felt so much better, which I truly do and thanked her for her generosity.  Again, I feel so blessed.  

An interesting side note about my back pain.  The second day that I was at the nursing home, I was going around trying to work up enthusiasm among the residents to come do exercises.  I came across a man, Guido, who was not interested and explained how his back hurt too much.  Sor Julia jumped in and told him that I would massage his back before and after the exercises, to which he agreed.  He toddled his way over to the exercise room and I gave him a good back rub.  My efforts proved worthy, as the next day, without much prompting, he joined us again for exercises and another back rub.  By Friday, he told me, as he came in for exercises, that his back felt better and he didn't need a massage that day.  He has been coming to exercises everyday now and has not complained of his back since.  By Tuesday of that 2nd week, my back began to hurt.  As it got worse, I felt myself walking differently upon first standing and was aware that my motion was much like Guido's.  That little, stiff in the lower back shuffle thing that you often see old men do.  Some might say that I ended up with Guido's back ache and that's why he doesn't have it anymore.  If so, I don't mind because it has left him able to come in and do exercises with us everyday and he has become a good friend.  We have had great times together, including a day when we sat for a half hour or more, and just bounced a ball back an forth between us and laughed and enjoyed each other's company.   I'll have to find a way to set what's left of the back ache free somewhere over the gulf of Mexico so that it won't come home with me, but it won't find its way back to Guido.  

 

Generous Gifts

Today was a day of many gifts, as have been many of the days I have been in Costa Rica.  Today, in particular, stands out because many of the gifts given, came from one particular woman and her family.  Monica is the Physical Therapist at the nursing home.  she has been very kind to the volunteers and has helped us a great deal in knowing what to do with the residents.  Last week Monica decided that it would be a good idea to take some of the residents for a walk around the block.  As far as anyone knows, this is the first time they have done this.  They generally do their walking inside the gates of the facility which has a very nice garden and many corridors around which to walk.  We were very excited to get to go outside the gates and so we embarked on a beautifully successful walk.  The next day, since the first had gone so well, we went around a second block and lengthened our trip considerably.  Upon return, everyone was in good repair and very enthusiastic.  So, the following day, Monica announced that we would all be going to the plaza.  Everyone was so excited.  We gathered up as many volunteers and staff as were available and set out for the plaza in threes, 1 staff per 2 residents.  It was a long journey and some tired a bit but, upon arrival, everyone felt so good.  We sat on the benches and were approached by so many members of the community, who chatted with the residents and were so kind and friendly to los gringos (me and the other volunteers).  After a little rest, we went shopping.  The residents purchased various things from food, which the kitchen staff prepares for them, to hats to shoes.  Everyone had a great time, and I am certain slept very well that night.  

Today, Monica announced, again, that we would be going to the Plaza.  We gathered ourselve up again and set out, and this trip didn't seem nearly as far or difficult as the first.  We rested for a shorter time upon arrival, and then proceeded with the shopping.  Some chilis picante por Izidrio, los zapatos por Guido.  "The day couldn't be any better," or so we thought.  Monica gathered us all together again, for what we thought would be the journey home.  After all, it was time for lunch and everyone was getting a little hungry.  As we walked along our way, just a few blocks off of the Plaza, a little girl opened a gate and darted out saying aqui, aqui.  I turned to see what Monica wanted me to do.  She responded, telling me that it was her family's house and to enter.  We walked down a little path, and as we rounded the corner, I could see several tables set up for lunch on their patio.  Her family all rushed out and helped everyone find a seat.  They then brought out a beautiful lunch that they had prepare which, they served with such hospitality.  A young woman appeared and interpreted for her for the matriarch of the family, who announced; "Our home is your home.  Please relax and enjoy the food that we have prepared for you."  If the meal weren't enough, when we had finished eating, they served us each an ice-cream cone for dessert.  It really was a most beautiful time.  I feel so blessed!

Costa Rica's Second Language

Every town has a multitude of noises that make up its soundtrack; the roars, rumbles, mumbles and wooshes that one hears in the background, much like the sounds of waves, gulls, and children at play when visiting the beach.  While every such soundtrack includes at least an occasional car horn honking, when I first arrived in San Jose and then Puriscal, I noticed that the sound of honking horns was far more than occasional.  It was so constant that I experienced it more like a heckler in the audience, disrupting the performance, than a key voice in the choir.  I wondered, 'what is the point of honking if everyone is honking at the same time?'

I was here only a few days when, out of the raucous cacophony, I began to hear the music.  A second language if you will.  Slowly, by observing the specific instance of a given honk, I could make out the intended meaning.  While, in the US, the honk of a horn is often quite  hostile, I found that here, it almost never is.  One afternoon, as I walked down a narrow road, I heard a honk that said, quite sweetly, "be careful, I'm coming up behind you."  At rush hour I observed the gentle patience of drivers saying, "go ahead and pull in here, I'll give you room" as well as the greetings of people who were driving in from the city to their friends who were walking home, "its good to see you my friend, after such a long day."  I watched a pedestrian, who was about to step off the curb, receive the caution, "don't step off just yet, I am rounding the corner."  And as we drove up a windy mountain road today, the horn of our faster car, forewarned the slower truck ahead, "I'm coming around." Upon being passed, the slower truck graciously replied..."you've cleared me, it's safe to move back into this lane."  Don't get me wrong, I have also heard the occasional angry outburst as well, "move it over buddy, you're blocking the lane" and "hey jerk, you just cut me off."  But every language has its swear words, just like music has its minor chords.  It's all part of the art of expression.  And just as each violin in the orchestra plays different notes, so too does each honking horn sing different lyrics that, when listened to closely, are all part of the beautiful music.     

Peace Out

One of our cultural activities last week took us to the University for Peace (UPeace).  It is a University that I had never heard of, but one that everyone should learn about.  It is a University, conceived by a former President of Costa Rica, dedicated to the study of creating a peaceful world.  With his idea, the President approached the United Nations and asked for full endorsement.  The UN passed a resolution affiliating itself with the University and so the plan was executed.  It opened in the 1980's and offers 13 different Masters degrees in subjects related to peace and conflict resolution.  Some of the degrees offered are: Natural resources and Peace; Environmental security and peace; International law and human rights; Gender and peace building;  and Sustainable economic development.  

The University enjoys guest lectures from Nobel Peace Prize winners and is now affiliated with universities in something like 5 or 7 other countries around the world including one in Washington DC.  

It is set in the rain forest, outside of the capital of San Jose.  When we arrived, it was truly like being transported to another world.  It was so quiet and, yes, peaceful.  It would seem that the vision included an understanding about the type of environment that would be most conducive to the type of thinking involved in imagining a world at peace.  It has a very Eastern feel to it, like Ghandi himself could come walking out.  There is a very small tree there that Kofi Annan planted about 5 years ago.  Somehow, that felt exciting to see.  I could imagine him there planting the tree and addressing the students.  I could also imagine the tree growing over the years and becoming an ancient holder of wisdom.  The university also had a visit from the Costa Rican President this year which was very exciting for them.  

Many of the graduates go on to work for the UN.  It's a one year, intensive study program at a cost of roughly $20,000.  The University then helps graduates find employment through their UN contacts.  All study is in English because they found that this was the most commonly studied world language and so it opened the University up the most broadly to students from around the world.  It's a tempting endeavor.  

With the daily onslaught, by the American media (and many of our own politicians), of images of hate, war, murder and destruction, it is comforting to know that there are significant efforts being made toward peace.  As one of only 3 countries in the entire world who is completely without a military, Costa Rica is a perfect place for such a University to exist.  

I'll post some of the pictures that I took while I was there.  I wasn't able to get many, as we got caught in a deluge and had to run for cover.  I was soaked to the bone.  An experience required, at least once, when visiting a rain forest.  It was thrilling.

For more information on UPeace visit www.upeace.org.

Won't Be Forgotten

When it was time to leave for my trip, it occurred to me that it was possible that after 4 weeks away, Rose may not remember me much.  Given her fragile memory and "in the moment" existence, it wouldn't be all that surprising.  I know that I hold a very special place in her heart, and in that 'you become a part of someone' way, she will never forget me, even if the day comes that she doesn't recognize me when I walk in the room. 

What I have decided now is that Rose had her own concerns as to whether or not I would forget her.  In response to that fear, I firmly believe that, she found a way to transform her spirit and channel it into the body of dear Rosario, who resides at St Vicente's Nursing Home.  Each day as I walk through the gate, I hear from across the court yard, "Mateo, venga.  Necesito un beso." (Mat come here, I need a kiss.)  She grabs my face tightly with a grip that defies the ability of the frail body that is attached and pulls my face in as we kiss each other on the cheek.   We visit for a few minutes, though quite honestly I don't know exactly what we are talking about.  (Though I do know that at times, she is being quite suggestive.)  I explain to her how I have to go to get the exercises started and she puts on the fake tears as if I am so neglecting her.  I flash her a smile and she can't fake the tears any longer.  Her face lights up as she instructs me to give her another kiss.  She tries once more to entice me to stay but when I say she can come with me to the exercise class, somehow she is suddenly fine with my leaving.  She is satisfied by my promise to return before lunch for a little foot massage, and says "Ay munueco con lose ojos azule."  (roughly: oh you doll with those blue eyes.)  If I had a dime for every time Rose has said this to me, we could all retire.  I walk away knowing, I am not forgotten, nor will I ever forget.  

The Road To Barbacoa

Yesterday I ventured out on foot in search of a view of the Pacific Ocean.  I had been told that there was a mountain top in a neighboring town, Barbacoa, from which, on a clear day, the Ocean could be seen.  The road from Puriscal to Barbacoa is a winding road with many ups and downs.  Some of the hills were so steep that I could stand at a 45 degree angle to the road and not be the least bit strained.  You can imagine the views to be seen from a road that runs up and down the mountains of a country that is primarily rain forest.  

Half way to Barbacoa, I came across a motocross event.  Hundreds of people from the surrounding community were gathered there to watch.  It was set up right along the main road and for anyone who grew up where there were water holes that people go to for swimming in the summer, it felt a lot like that, with cars parked randomly along the roadside and people coming and going.  

When I finally got to Barbacoa (only 4 miles, but don't forget those hills) I was pretty exhausted. I dragged myself into a store and bought a bottle of water and a banana.  In my best Spanish I said, "De donde es la vista de la Oceana Pacifica?"  The woman looked at me puzzled so I repeated myself to which she replied in her best disgusted voice..."Just say it to me in English would ya."  So in the end, she told me I'd have to go another 2 miles up the road and I just didn't think I could do it so I decided to take a rest.  I was standing out like a sore thumb because they are not used to getting tourists in Barbacoa, so I went across the street and entered the catholic church were I felt I could rest without being too conspicuous.  The church was ok from the outside. The siding was sheet metal, but they had made two bell towers in the front to give a better shape than just a big square metal building.  When I walked inside, I was blown away.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  I won't bore you with a description here, but when I get to it, I'll post the photos I took on face book and you can see what I mean.  

So after about a half hour I decided to head home.  I dragged myself up and the mountains again.  As I approached the last major climb into Puriscal, I thought to myself, "I don't think I can make it."   and like a miracle, a Taxi pulled out of some loan driveway out of nowhere.  I, without shame, jumped up and down and yelled to him that I needed a ride.  So, for the last       1 1/2 miles, I rode comfortably in the back of his jeep.  All total, I walked 6 1/2 miles.  It was a great adventure.  Thanks for sharing it with me.

Gratitude

Each day at the nursing home adds a new adventure.  The Nuns there have taken to us and are spending more and more time with us.  Sister Julia Maria asked me on Wednesday if I wanted to try doing everything at the nursing home, to which I agreed.  So my first assignment was to report to the home a half hour early to make beds.  She joined me and began to show me the specific steps required to ensure that each bed has what it needs for the specific resident who sleeps there.  Most beds are made the same but some have different or additional items.  Also, she had to show me things like how to get the sheet to stay on the bed.  It requires tying the corners together at the top and bottom of the mattress.  She also took the opportunity to teach me some Spanish and quizzed me as we worked on each bed.  The pressure was intense.  As one would expect of any good nun worth her salt, she did not tire of quizzing me and did not give me any breaks.  Now I know "primero es una sabana y segundo es un movible, trecero es la covia doble y fin es la colcha."  Es bueno no?

In addition to helping with the beds, many of us go out and help in the laundry while the residents eat their lunch.  In the laundry I met Sor Diguniro.  At first she wasn't sure what to have me do.  She has since figured it out...in spades.  She has had a new bigger, better project for us each day.  On the first day, she rewarded me with some breadsticks out of her own personal stash.  On the second day, we were all served a pitcher of fresh mango juice and some crackers.  Every day that we work, all of the Sisters go on and on about how hard we have worked and how we should go and rest because we deserve it.  They're acknowledgment is so genuine and they are so appreciative of us.     Their appreciaion is striking to me, given that they work like that all day, every day with no days off.  What a generous position to take, to view us as working hard, even when we are doing only a fraction of what they do, and will continue to do, long after we have gone home.  To me, that's gratitude!

Clean Your Plate

As a child, most of us were told to clean our plates.  We were forced to sit at the table until all the food was gone and were told sorrowful stories of children in Africa who were starving.  As adults, it took us a while to realize that just because it is on our plate doesn't mean we have to eat it.  We blamed our hefty waste lines on our parents, and revolted, giving ourselves permission not to eat every last bite .  We began to experience pride when we were able to leave  something on our plate and vowed not to pass the guilt and poor health consequences along to our children.  

This new American standard is very apparent here where the garbage is divided into two cans, one for food waste and one for paper waste.  After every meal, the food waste container is bursting.  It becomes almost impossible not to notice how much food is being thrown away. Some nights, it would appear that as much food goes in the waste bucket as was eaten by the 12 people who are staying here.  In other words, enough food to feed roughly two Costa Rican families.  Not kids in Africa, but kids right next door.  It's eye opening to say the least.

All this said, I do think we were wise to abandon unhealthy habits. I would not advocate that we return to our guilt ridden days of youth when we ate every bite of what was in front of us without regard to our satiated bellies.  Instead, I propose a new next step.  Rather than forcing whatever is on our plates into our mouths, how about we only put on our plates, that which we will eat?  

Recapturing my Youth

Well, for those of you who don't face book regularly, I will begin my blog with the quote of the day.  It went something like this.  (read it in your best Valley Girl voice) "Like, everyone is staying in town today.  Well, except the old people...(room gasps)..Oh, sorry Mat, I didn't see you sitting there."  

And so the day began.  Yesterday the blind led the blind and today the old healed the old.  The work with the seniors at the nursing home was, again, very rewarding.  All was going well until I referred to them, as a group, as Viejos (Old People).  Anyone reading who knows Spanish is already cringing.  Sister Julia Maria was gracious,  but quick to correct me and let me know that the proper word is ancianos which means elderly and obviously sounds better than old people.  Strange that this is the less offensive word when you imagine that it must come from the same latin word from which "ancient" was drawn.  (not a confirmed origin)

Following our placements, the CCS staff drove us to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica, to see el Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold).  The drive over was very nice.  It's took about an hour and wound us through beautiful mountains.  We haven't seen the sun or blue sky since we arrived Sunday, due to the rain, so you can imagine how green everything is.  The museum was very cool, a collection of gold figurine artifacts that give insights into the influences on the Costa Rican People over the years.  

Since it had been established that the "old people" wouldn't be staying on, I had to do what any self respecting old person would do...prove them youngsters wrong by staying.  The city was very cool.  Much like any large city and then very different at the same time.  I took several pictures and, as soon as I get over my lameness, I'll post some of them on face book.  We returned to Puriscal via bus which cost us a whopping $1.50 US. 

Until next time...

The Blind Leading the Blind

Well, here is my first installment of my Costa Rica experiences.  It's been a whirlwind so far but all is going quite well.  In the last two days, I have had an orientation, a tour of the town, a stretch class, a dance class, a cooking class, a private session learning a Costa Rican song on the guitar, and began my volunteer work.  All in all, they are keeping us very busy.  

The accomodations here are comfortable overall.  I did end up on a top bunk, however, which I was hoping to avoid.  I have two roommates in a room that is about 8' x 12'.  The overall house is nice though, with a beautiful view from the patio. I'll try to post some pics on Face Book soon.  

My volunteer placement, while not an assignment working with children as I had expected, was great today.  I am placed at a Nursing Home for the elderly which is run by the St. Vicientina Nuns.  The men and woman living there all have varying degrees of cognitive and physical ability.  They were very responsive to having people come in to help them.  Our focus is on leading them in exercises and games and then spending one on one time walking them in the garden and talking with them.  

One particular female resident was quite smitten with me.  She kept calling me over to help her with her exercises and would smile the biggest smile whenever she would catch my eye.  She is in late stages of dementia.  The staff told me that they were surprised to see her so happy because she is usually very cranky.  I felt very lucky to make the connection.  

The highlight of the day was when Sister Maria asked to take Cecelio for a walk.  He was using a cane so I took his arm to help stablize him.   As we walked, he kept pushing us more and more toward the wall.  I tried to guide him a little by pushing against his arm but he was persistent and I didn't want to be rude.  Finally, he pushed me so far over that I couldn't fit between him and the rail we were walking next to.  He kept walking and headed straight for a tree.  I decided that I had to take an action so I grabbed hold of him and steered him away from the tree while I held up the branches to keep them from scratching his head.  Moments later, we passed by Sister Maria who casually told me "El es ciego"  (He is blind).  Needless to say, I stopped worrying about being polite and guided him much more assertively, happily, with no further incident.  

Pura Vida!