Back in 1986, I barely spoke or read English. I had just docked into American waters oblivious to signs and newspaper articles. The inevitable sense of doom was overwhelming. I was 11 years old and I pretty much felt like I sucked at everything. Add to that, the inability to communicate in the native tongue, and you can bet your ass I was concerned. I didn’t even know what ‘fuck you' meant. Sixth grade came and with it a gravitational pull towards jean jackets and stonewashed jeans…and glasses. Fucking glasses. It was not fashionable to wear glasses in 1986. In fact, it was the “Golden Era of the Nerd”. You wore glasses you were a geek. Add to that the fact that I could barely mutter my home address, and yep, I shit you not; I was a geek and a mute.
It was the late 80’s and it was all about metal and freestyle - rocking jean jackets, spiked hair and Nike sneakers. As part of my introduction to the school system in the US, I was placed in the bilingual section of the curriculum, which consisted of another 6 kids. Though these kids had been born in the States, their English was pathetic at best, hence their placement into the club. I needed to learn to speak English pronto damnit! How the hell was I supposed to talk to these girls? Sign language was not an option, unless I wanted to get my ass kicked.
Enter the “60 Book Club”. Simply, you had to read at least 60 books and provide a book report for each. At the end of the year you would be rewarded with a “membership card” and public recognition in front of the entire school. God, I was such a nerd. Nonetheless, it was my ticket out, and I planned to capitalize on it.
The books available at the time ranged from “Pygmalion” to “The Karate Kid” to “A Raisin in the Sun” and so on. I dedicated myself all year to reading these books, and writing book reports for all. I stumbled at times – the pressure of all this reading combined with the combustible atmosphere that is junior high made for quite the cocktail. I was a nerd, plain and simple – but my ambitions were high, and I knew full well that this year of devotion to books would serve as a stepping stone for the rest of my life.
Last week of the school year. 64 books. A cheesy ceremony where I wore my Dad’s old suit, and my god-awful glasses. I had arrived. 64 book reports. A shiny membership card and the official stamp of nerd. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as this spurred me to continue to read and read some more. It certainly didn’t help me in my affairs with the female population, but all roads must be crossed twice sometimes. Inevitably, you find your way.
Perhaps I’m still that kid in my Dad’s old suit. 64 books. I should find that card and frame it.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Finnegans Wake
I have spent most of my adult life doing two things in particular; reading and writing. As far as reading is concerned, I've taken on them all rather successfully; from the Bible to Hemingway to Kerouac and down into Shakespearean territory. Now granted, I have run into fits of despair and may have destroyed a copy or two of Naked Lunch - it all comes down to the following story. A colleague of mine in Galway, Ireland, sent along a book to another travelling colleague of mine, with the sole purpose of it arriving in my hands safe and sound. I was unaware of what book I was to receive. I simply knew that a book was crossing the pond; something unexpected, perhaps something with a greater amount of substance than anything I've ever encountered.
James Joyce.
Yes, James frigging Joyce. I've never read anything from an Irish author in the past, and as fate would have it, James Joyce will be my first rendezvous. In particular, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. A rather complicated work of fiction known as one of the most difficult in the English language. It arrived Monday, and as of yesterday, colleagues at work were calling me a dork, for even attempting to comprehend it. Finnegans Wake, from word of mouth, defies regular storytelling. Its approach is strictly stream of concsiousness; a never ending loop.
Perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew, but this is a legit challenge unlike any other. No cliff notes or abbreviated summaries will be employed. I will commit myself to this book and no other, for the next few months. 628 pages, to be dissected; my own notes scrawled upon scraps of paper, napkins, whatever is close. It may drive me crazy, I may lose whatever I have left of hair... I will report back with my findings. James, we have a date.
James Joyce.
Yes, James frigging Joyce. I've never read anything from an Irish author in the past, and as fate would have it, James Joyce will be my first rendezvous. In particular, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. A rather complicated work of fiction known as one of the most difficult in the English language. It arrived Monday, and as of yesterday, colleagues at work were calling me a dork, for even attempting to comprehend it. Finnegans Wake, from word of mouth, defies regular storytelling. Its approach is strictly stream of concsiousness; a never ending loop.
Perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew, but this is a legit challenge unlike any other. No cliff notes or abbreviated summaries will be employed. I will commit myself to this book and no other, for the next few months. 628 pages, to be dissected; my own notes scrawled upon scraps of paper, napkins, whatever is close. It may drive me crazy, I may lose whatever I have left of hair... I will report back with my findings. James, we have a date.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sometimes We Become Muddled and Lazy
I often wonder why it is that people wait for an unfortunate event to occur, before they take action. The action I speak of focuses on each one’s legacy. What will you be remembered for when you leave this Earth? How will your children remember you? Will your friends recall stories and memories from long ago where you played the main character? I know…many questions. Perhaps as one gets older, these questions creep in much more often than not. I am fortunate that my folks are both alive and that my younger brother is alive. I do not take them for granted. I speak to them at least twice a week. I reach out to my closest friends as much as I can.
When I ask these questions from others, the answers are often muddled and lazy. “Yeah you are right, maybe I should call him.” “It’s been about three weeks..I think.??” It never escapes me, how important family is, how important those few I call friends are. Life is busy, I know. It’s easy to fall into a quagmire of inactivity; a despondent state of affairs.
A dear friend of mine was here this past weekend, and we chatted about simple things. We talked about the past and brought up fantastic and incredibly funny stories. It didn’t escape me then either, how important those memories are. Years have passed and once in a while, a window opens, when you are reminded, purposely or not, that action must be taken. We must do what we can, while we can.
Legacy.... May your actions and memories linger in boisteroius laughter and joyous admiration, when you are no longer here.
When I ask these questions from others, the answers are often muddled and lazy. “Yeah you are right, maybe I should call him.” “It’s been about three weeks..I think.??” It never escapes me, how important family is, how important those few I call friends are. Life is busy, I know. It’s easy to fall into a quagmire of inactivity; a despondent state of affairs.
A dear friend of mine was here this past weekend, and we chatted about simple things. We talked about the past and brought up fantastic and incredibly funny stories. It didn’t escape me then either, how important those memories are. Years have passed and once in a while, a window opens, when you are reminded, purposely or not, that action must be taken. We must do what we can, while we can.
Legacy.... May your actions and memories linger in boisteroius laughter and joyous admiration, when you are no longer here.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 7)
March 17 - Leaving Samara. Sad morning, but hopeful that our travels ahead remain full of adventure and steady doses of ice cold beer. As we bid adieu to Samara, we see Napoleon and Pollo driving by us on the other direction, frantically prompting us to yell out to them in unison.."Pollo...!!!" He waves smiling, as if to say, "see you guys soon". Beach bums, gotta love 'em and their unyielding spirit of doing absolutely nothing but enjoying life. We could learn from them.
Onwards we go, north, closely hugging the coast, taking in the ocean scenery, passing small villages, dirt roads, kids kicking soccer balls, the vastness of the Pacific. We make it a point to stop at random beaches along the way, Playa Garza, Playa Rosada.. gorgeous pieces of the Pacific. Then...we hit the mother load; miles and miles of unpaved road, gravel, rocks, the works. The caravan slows to a crawl, to avoid a flat. Jason's lulled almost to sleep with the constant rocking. It feels..endless. The journey takes a strange twist when the Caravan finds itself head on with a semi flooded road. I get out and go in the water with a branch to check its depth. The last thing we want is to be stuck, but we must push forward to our destination - Playa del Coco. The girls get off the Caravan and I instruct the Jason to charge ahead, like a battalion with bayonets..."Chargeeee". Our vehicle makes it through the water unscathed, and the rest of us make it via a walk ramp, safe and sound.
Soon, the road becomes paved. We stop for snacks along the way, replenish our beer stash and on we go. Finally, we reach our destination, and first stop by a soda for some much needed lunch. From there, it's on to the apartment that will become our base of operations for the next three days. Welcome to Playa del Coco.
Onwards we go, north, closely hugging the coast, taking in the ocean scenery, passing small villages, dirt roads, kids kicking soccer balls, the vastness of the Pacific. We make it a point to stop at random beaches along the way, Playa Garza, Playa Rosada.. gorgeous pieces of the Pacific. Then...we hit the mother load; miles and miles of unpaved road, gravel, rocks, the works. The caravan slows to a crawl, to avoid a flat. Jason's lulled almost to sleep with the constant rocking. It feels..endless. The journey takes a strange twist when the Caravan finds itself head on with a semi flooded road. I get out and go in the water with a branch to check its depth. The last thing we want is to be stuck, but we must push forward to our destination - Playa del Coco. The girls get off the Caravan and I instruct the Jason to charge ahead, like a battalion with bayonets..."Chargeeee". Our vehicle makes it through the water unscathed, and the rest of us make it via a walk ramp, safe and sound.
Soon, the road becomes paved. We stop for snacks along the way, replenish our beer stash and on we go. Finally, we reach our destination, and first stop by a soda for some much needed lunch. From there, it's on to the apartment that will become our base of operations for the next three days. Welcome to Playa del Coco.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
My Attempt at Poetry
Lost in Writing
Scattered papers, shapeless stars
Endless words, unscripted scars
Numerous tales of woe and disaster
Life in effect seems ever faster
Bringing its noise to a sudden halt
It resonates in the ever after
Where I discuss my melodrama
I choose death before dishonor
Yet everything at last fades
Into silence, endless shades
Rebelling as I speak
I sense this world to be unique
Yet at the peak of its own fate
Lies the line between love and hate
The mind is muddled with hysteria
The body rots and life gets wearier
Laying upon this bed of leaves
I dare to challenge your beliefs
From here and everywhere
Undeniably aware
Unequivocally rare
The room now fills with air
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 6)
March 16th - Woke up at 7:30am, wanted to head out and walk on the beach, clear my head and take it all in. Already the heat was evident, a gorgeous day. Took my sunglasses and camera and out the door I went, headed straight towards the beach, intending to at least walk the entire right side of it.
The water was calm at this time, while everyone still slept, recovering from the prior night's debacle. It was a tranquil walk, and I felt very relaxed; listening only to the sound of waves and just taking everything in; breathing deeply and feeling lucky to have come to this part of the world. My only encounter eerily enough was with a vulture who sat steadily on a rock and saw me wander around. I managed to take a picture of it, which I'll post later. It was as if to say, if you decide to die, I will have you for lunch. I picked up some gorgeous seashells and headed back after a cool walk. It was time to surprise the kids with seashells in the morning.
As I made my way back to Hotel Giada with pockets full of seashells, I spotted Jason, nonchalantly sitting on the porch, reading. He seemed tranquil and I didn't feel like disturbing his reading, but he spotted me, and asked me about the walk to the beach. Waking up the kids was a joy; they were so surprised about the seashells; I could see a sparkle in their eyes, as if a newly discovered comet had been observed. Their reaction coupled with the walk on the beach, made my morning.
The rest of the day was spent on the beach, taking in the sun, fighting the surf, boogie boarding, and snapping pictures at every turn. Great sunshine, great day to spend on the water.
By nighttime, after dinner, we made our trek back to Locanda Bar and its alluring arms. Salsa in the air, drinks, and just truly feeling as if anyone who was anyone was at Locanda's, and there was no one else in the world, but us; thoroughly enjoying a rich and glorious time at the shores of the Pacific.
The water was calm at this time, while everyone still slept, recovering from the prior night's debacle. It was a tranquil walk, and I felt very relaxed; listening only to the sound of waves and just taking everything in; breathing deeply and feeling lucky to have come to this part of the world. My only encounter eerily enough was with a vulture who sat steadily on a rock and saw me wander around. I managed to take a picture of it, which I'll post later. It was as if to say, if you decide to die, I will have you for lunch. I picked up some gorgeous seashells and headed back after a cool walk. It was time to surprise the kids with seashells in the morning.
As I made my way back to Hotel Giada with pockets full of seashells, I spotted Jason, nonchalantly sitting on the porch, reading. He seemed tranquil and I didn't feel like disturbing his reading, but he spotted me, and asked me about the walk to the beach. Waking up the kids was a joy; they were so surprised about the seashells; I could see a sparkle in their eyes, as if a newly discovered comet had been observed. Their reaction coupled with the walk on the beach, made my morning.
The rest of the day was spent on the beach, taking in the sun, fighting the surf, boogie boarding, and snapping pictures at every turn. Great sunshine, great day to spend on the water.
By nighttime, after dinner, we made our trek back to Locanda Bar and its alluring arms. Salsa in the air, drinks, and just truly feeling as if anyone who was anyone was at Locanda's, and there was no one else in the world, but us; thoroughly enjoying a rich and glorious time at the shores of the Pacific.
Friday, September 17, 2010
I Seem to Have Forgotten Your Name
I see you. Between the waves. Smiling back at me, relentlessly. I recall your long blonde hair and your enticing eyes yet I don't recall your name. The sun was at its brightest on that day, and God decided it was time to unveil you in front of the world. You spoke to me from afar, and every once in a while, you smiled, and the world was a better place because of it. Beneath the clouds, the sun, and those fantastic waves, you spoke about where you were from. You spoke about your past and about your day to day. It was one of those encounters, where you look back now and think to yourself, I wonder how she's doing. I wonder what one of God's greatest creations is doing. On that day, that bright sunny day, we spoke about waves, and about wind. We spoke about music and what is best in life. All the while, I wondered where you had descended from; one of His very own angels, lounging around the surf, dancing to your own beat. Seemingly oblivious to the world around you. Your attention, simply, on me. Inquisitive yet playful. Perhaps my perception changed on that day. I realize now that encounters such as these are few and far in between.
Wherever you are, sun-kissed, green-eyed, and angelic, I hope you are doing just fine. I hope perhaps you remember me, brash and cocky, yet stunned from the mere sight of you. A boy, who remembers you, and wonders how you are doing after all this time.
I seem to have forgotten your name. Then again, angel would suffice. I hope wherever you are, you remember me as I remember you.
Wherever you are, sun-kissed, green-eyed, and angelic, I hope you are doing just fine. I hope perhaps you remember me, brash and cocky, yet stunned from the mere sight of you. A boy, who remembers you, and wonders how you are doing after all this time.
I seem to have forgotten your name. Then again, angel would suffice. I hope wherever you are, you remember me as I remember you.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Interview
As I stood there waiting for my interview, thoughts came to mind; random thoughts that sparked fires of paranoia and delusion. The room was devoid of any furniture, aside from an old desk and a chair. Though the room lacked windows, the air was cool and electric. In a flash, something out of nowhere startled me – it led me towards that desk and that chair. I sat down slowly, with my head down, unsure of what would happen next. Upon lifting my eyes a person sat in front of me, looking at me intently; gazing into my soul. He did not speak, he did not budge; he simply looked at me, intently.
In amazement, the first words came out of my mouth. “What should I do?” “Where do I go from here?” The questions kept bubbling up, to the surface. Questions about myself, about my future, about life.
No answers. Simply that gaze, fixed and unequivocally familiar.
As time ticked, the questions subsided, and I focused my attention on this person in front of me. Familiar yet strange. Silent. Unyielding.
Anger. Perhaps a result of frustration, of his unresponsive nature. I struck him. I lunged at him with force, crashing through the mirror. In an instant, I knew. All along it had been me on the other side of the desk. My own reflection. Questions unanswered. Responses that shattered through the air in a million little pieces. The interview that never was, concluded with cuts on my face and arms. A reminder perhaps, that the truth can be as painful and severe as the silence of a windowless room.
In amazement, the first words came out of my mouth. “What should I do?” “Where do I go from here?” The questions kept bubbling up, to the surface. Questions about myself, about my future, about life.
No answers. Simply that gaze, fixed and unequivocally familiar.
As time ticked, the questions subsided, and I focused my attention on this person in front of me. Familiar yet strange. Silent. Unyielding.
Anger. Perhaps a result of frustration, of his unresponsive nature. I struck him. I lunged at him with force, crashing through the mirror. In an instant, I knew. All along it had been me on the other side of the desk. My own reflection. Questions unanswered. Responses that shattered through the air in a million little pieces. The interview that never was, concluded with cuts on my face and arms. A reminder perhaps, that the truth can be as painful and severe as the silence of a windowless room.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 5)
March 15th - After our incredible stay at Arenal Paraiso, our travels would take us down a different path. This time we were headed towards the Guanacaste region, which ultimately meets the Pacific Ocean. Our ultimate destination would be a sole beach by the name of "Samara". Just thinking about Samara brings smells of salt in the air, sunshine, surfboards and the great Pacific.. Wish I was there now.
On to our trip. We boarded the trusty Caravan and headed west, zipping around Lake Arenal, a vast pool of turquoise waters. Along the way, we observed vibrant European nuances; houses built like suisse chalets, and luckily, a German bakery. That's right, I said it, a German bakery, in the middle of Costa Rica. And even better it serves beer.... my God, what is this place??? Are you kiddin' me?? Okay, where's the hidden camera... But, no joke, a German bakery hosted by Germans who serve beer...German beer.. Fuck me sideways!!!! I actually had the gall to ask our lovely German hostess if they served beer... her response was like a slap across the face with a wooden sandal.."Of course we serve beer, it's a German establishment?!" Really she was saying to herself... "What are you a fuckin' idiot??" Yeah I laid a huge goose egg on this one.. but moving on, we proceeded to enjoy great German beers on tall glasses and stocked up on more for the road. I bid adieu to this fine establishment, with the reminder that someday, sooner rather than later, I would come back to this very spot, and order a German beer from that very hostess, before I even said hello. Prost..!
We caught our first glimpses of the Pacific upon our arrival to Samara. After unloading and catching a quick meal at Hotel Giada, we walked down towards the beach. I was overwhelmed after seeing the Pacific for the very first time, regal and sparkling; white foam rushing all around. Palm trees stretched out near us as the only shelter against the sun. It was late afternoon and after taking several dips, we hung around until the tide came in and swept away our bag, towels, kids' toys, etc... clearly a welcoming sign from Samara. Aside from the wild waters of Samara, the area itself is very cool. Clearly, a surfer's town, with many surf shops and souvenir kiosks and your share of new and repeat tourists, you just can't get enough of the coolness of Samara. Wicked high cool factor.
The late afternoon was not complete, until we decided to mount horses for a ride by the beach. The girls went over to negotiate prices with two fellows aptly named Napoleon and Pollo; characters who live and die by the beach. Their ocean breeze and salt blasted faces tell the whole story; these guys are legit beachbums. Drunk ones at that; but I digress. We mounted our sturdy friends and yours truly decided to bypass the lesson and take off to higher ground. My horse did not agree with this decision and decided not to follow directions or listen me, after numerous requests. He came and went as he pleased, to the thrill of the crowd and one Shirley, who could not stop laughing... more on her in a bit.. Finally I made it back to Napoleon and crew, a beaten man. Getting back to Shirley though... she was on a horse for a max of 5 minutes. Fear and loathing soon took over and she proceeded to dismount, feeling safer on land than on horse.
After returning to our comfortable digs and cleaning up, we walked out into the evening to explore our surroundings. We weaved our way around souvenir shops in search of a decent place to eat. At first we arrived at a bar, devoid of people; a dark and dreary place where the dead go to drink. We passed on the chance and to our surprise, a bar named Locanda loomed near. L
Locanda is one of those places on Earth that is not bound by the same rules as other places are. What I mean is, this place is magical; literally glowing, enthusiastic, energized, life resides here in bundles. The soundtrack? Simple. Salsa. All night. That's all. No other form of music. And you know what? It works. Especially if the place is but feet from the ocean, the wood carved tables are surrounded by palm trees decorated with Christmas lights, and the ocean breeze takes you away to some other location. Out of sight, out of mind. We pass the night here overwhelmed by the most amazing night sky I've ever witnessed. The first time I see the milky way, over the Pacific Ocean, what a sight. Great night amongst friends, the drinks and food kept coming until it was time to close shop for another day.
On to our trip. We boarded the trusty Caravan and headed west, zipping around Lake Arenal, a vast pool of turquoise waters. Along the way, we observed vibrant European nuances; houses built like suisse chalets, and luckily, a German bakery. That's right, I said it, a German bakery, in the middle of Costa Rica. And even better it serves beer.... my God, what is this place??? Are you kiddin' me?? Okay, where's the hidden camera... But, no joke, a German bakery hosted by Germans who serve beer...German beer.. Fuck me sideways!!!! I actually had the gall to ask our lovely German hostess if they served beer... her response was like a slap across the face with a wooden sandal.."Of course we serve beer, it's a German establishment?!" Really she was saying to herself... "What are you a fuckin' idiot??" Yeah I laid a huge goose egg on this one.. but moving on, we proceeded to enjoy great German beers on tall glasses and stocked up on more for the road. I bid adieu to this fine establishment, with the reminder that someday, sooner rather than later, I would come back to this very spot, and order a German beer from that very hostess, before I even said hello. Prost..!
We caught our first glimpses of the Pacific upon our arrival to Samara. After unloading and catching a quick meal at Hotel Giada, we walked down towards the beach. I was overwhelmed after seeing the Pacific for the very first time, regal and sparkling; white foam rushing all around. Palm trees stretched out near us as the only shelter against the sun. It was late afternoon and after taking several dips, we hung around until the tide came in and swept away our bag, towels, kids' toys, etc... clearly a welcoming sign from Samara. Aside from the wild waters of Samara, the area itself is very cool. Clearly, a surfer's town, with many surf shops and souvenir kiosks and your share of new and repeat tourists, you just can't get enough of the coolness of Samara. Wicked high cool factor.
The late afternoon was not complete, until we decided to mount horses for a ride by the beach. The girls went over to negotiate prices with two fellows aptly named Napoleon and Pollo; characters who live and die by the beach. Their ocean breeze and salt blasted faces tell the whole story; these guys are legit beachbums. Drunk ones at that; but I digress. We mounted our sturdy friends and yours truly decided to bypass the lesson and take off to higher ground. My horse did not agree with this decision and decided not to follow directions or listen me, after numerous requests. He came and went as he pleased, to the thrill of the crowd and one Shirley, who could not stop laughing... more on her in a bit.. Finally I made it back to Napoleon and crew, a beaten man. Getting back to Shirley though... she was on a horse for a max of 5 minutes. Fear and loathing soon took over and she proceeded to dismount, feeling safer on land than on horse.
After returning to our comfortable digs and cleaning up, we walked out into the evening to explore our surroundings. We weaved our way around souvenir shops in search of a decent place to eat. At first we arrived at a bar, devoid of people; a dark and dreary place where the dead go to drink. We passed on the chance and to our surprise, a bar named Locanda loomed near. L
Locanda is one of those places on Earth that is not bound by the same rules as other places are. What I mean is, this place is magical; literally glowing, enthusiastic, energized, life resides here in bundles. The soundtrack? Simple. Salsa. All night. That's all. No other form of music. And you know what? It works. Especially if the place is but feet from the ocean, the wood carved tables are surrounded by palm trees decorated with Christmas lights, and the ocean breeze takes you away to some other location. Out of sight, out of mind. We pass the night here overwhelmed by the most amazing night sky I've ever witnessed. The first time I see the milky way, over the Pacific Ocean, what a sight. Great night amongst friends, the drinks and food kept coming until it was time to close shop for another day.
Lessons from the First Grade
Where has the time gone? Alex is now 6 years old and in first grade already?!! This past Tuesday I took him to school to meet his teacher and scout the surroundings, and it struck me; it wasn't that long ago that my own mother was taking me to first grade. As I recall, she took me by the hand on my first day and once I was seated, she bolted. Here I was in this strange new world of boogers, whiners and newness. In retrospect, I should have never punched Johnny in the nose. Weird times.
So as I let go of Alex in class this past Tuesday, those memories rushed back, and I observed him, seating there, no longer a baby, but a kid, with his own curiosities and view of the world around him. I lingered intently, to observe his movements- would he talk to anyone, maybe a hi here or there. He seemed content. He had arrived. And I felt at ease, as he caught me lurking, and waved at me from afar, smiling as if to say, "it's ok Daddy, I'm good to go".
As I drove back to work, I felt relieved. Perhaps this is how my mother felt. Here he is world..! Release. Life goes on. As I get older, I tend to appreciate moments like this more so. Nothing is trivial. These lessons became evident, as I lingered and watched my kid step into the spotlight. The first of many grades in life.
So as I let go of Alex in class this past Tuesday, those memories rushed back, and I observed him, seating there, no longer a baby, but a kid, with his own curiosities and view of the world around him. I lingered intently, to observe his movements- would he talk to anyone, maybe a hi here or there. He seemed content. He had arrived. And I felt at ease, as he caught me lurking, and waved at me from afar, smiling as if to say, "it's ok Daddy, I'm good to go".
As I drove back to work, I felt relieved. Perhaps this is how my mother felt. Here he is world..! Release. Life goes on. As I get older, I tend to appreciate moments like this more so. Nothing is trivial. These lessons became evident, as I lingered and watched my kid step into the spotlight. The first of many grades in life.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I'm Sick, Therefore, I Must Blog
Clearly it is the only solution. Fever induced dreams. Sweating. Aches everywhere. I can't find the goddamn tylenol. Oh well.. thanks to a friendly virus, I find myself knee deep in loathing. Ugh... I haven't gotten sick in - it seems like - centuries..! Can't sleep, no appetite. Lethargic at best. Glad it doesnt take much energy to type away. Crap..the ice bag's melted, well not the bag...but you get my point. My hope is that somehow the energy coming out of my PC will inevitably transfer itself to me, and fix me!
I long for avocado in late summer. A pinch of salt...and voila.
Ok, I'm off. Bon soir!
I long for avocado in late summer. A pinch of salt...and voila.
Ok, I'm off. Bon soir!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Days 3 - 4)
March 13, 14 - An early morning gives way to our planned getaway towards the Arenal volcano area. The drive is about a little over three hours, through winding hills , small villages and gorgeous views of the countryside. Illiana had mentioned something about queso Palmito and we decided to make a few stops for both coffee and some fresh Palmito cheese. Stringy and bitter goodness....yummm. The drive continued listening to a great Salsa station and taking in the great scenery.
The Arenal volcano rises ahead, imposing and majestic, following us as we get closer. We reach the Arenal Paraiso resort - a gorgeous pool and hot springs laden spot with great views of the volcano. I must pause here and truly describe what this place looks like, because it truly is paradise. Plants everywhere, beautiful flowers, colorful birds singing, I mean the place is one of a kind. Their cabins are rustic and comfortable, with a cozy porch looking out towards the volcano. Such is this place, filled with colors and pockets of lava warmed water, green with minerals.
During our stay here we managed to do a few things that truly endeared me to Costa Rica. I visited my first "soda" which is the equivalent of a cafe, but less expensive and the food is fresher. The place welcomed us for lunch with an array of native food choices, black beans, rice, steak, green beans, etc. All of it wonderful. For dessert, we got free samples of a native delicacy made with milk; sweet goodness and the perfect way to end the meal. Jason and I went hiking in the late afternoon through the forested area behind the resort. We stumbled upon monkeys and zip line platforms. It was a great way to spend the late afternoon, and I managed to bring along some frozen Imperials which quickly thawed due to the heat. We stopped short of our destination as the trail became steeper by the minute, and the thought of getting lost in the woods as darkness approached was not a viable option.
"Guario Speedragon". It should be copyrighted, as it is our original creation of a simple but exquisite drink. Take equal parts Cacique and Fresca, shake with ice and serve. Refreshing, and devastating at the same time. A fresh sample of what getting kicked in the nuts feels like, while relaxing in a pool on a hot summer night in Costa Rica. We made the most of our stay in Arenal Paraiso, which also involved watching the movie "Hot Chicks" and laughing hysterically, discovering Duval beers to our amazement, tanning, eating left over queso palmito and of course, lashing out at a Panamian waiter who tried to hustle us at the very same restaurant where two dogs decided to have sex next to our table. And of course, taking it all in, the setting, the view, the freshly made breakfast with the best orange juice in the planet, discovering my own personal waterfall aptly named Ving Falls; paradise indeed.
The Arenal volcano rises ahead, imposing and majestic, following us as we get closer. We reach the Arenal Paraiso resort - a gorgeous pool and hot springs laden spot with great views of the volcano. I must pause here and truly describe what this place looks like, because it truly is paradise. Plants everywhere, beautiful flowers, colorful birds singing, I mean the place is one of a kind. Their cabins are rustic and comfortable, with a cozy porch looking out towards the volcano. Such is this place, filled with colors and pockets of lava warmed water, green with minerals.
During our stay here we managed to do a few things that truly endeared me to Costa Rica. I visited my first "soda" which is the equivalent of a cafe, but less expensive and the food is fresher. The place welcomed us for lunch with an array of native food choices, black beans, rice, steak, green beans, etc. All of it wonderful. For dessert, we got free samples of a native delicacy made with milk; sweet goodness and the perfect way to end the meal. Jason and I went hiking in the late afternoon through the forested area behind the resort. We stumbled upon monkeys and zip line platforms. It was a great way to spend the late afternoon, and I managed to bring along some frozen Imperials which quickly thawed due to the heat. We stopped short of our destination as the trail became steeper by the minute, and the thought of getting lost in the woods as darkness approached was not a viable option.
"Guario Speedragon". It should be copyrighted, as it is our original creation of a simple but exquisite drink. Take equal parts Cacique and Fresca, shake with ice and serve. Refreshing, and devastating at the same time. A fresh sample of what getting kicked in the nuts feels like, while relaxing in a pool on a hot summer night in Costa Rica. We made the most of our stay in Arenal Paraiso, which also involved watching the movie "Hot Chicks" and laughing hysterically, discovering Duval beers to our amazement, tanning, eating left over queso palmito and of course, lashing out at a Panamian waiter who tried to hustle us at the very same restaurant where two dogs decided to have sex next to our table. And of course, taking it all in, the setting, the view, the freshly made breakfast with the best orange juice in the planet, discovering my own personal waterfall aptly named Ving Falls; paradise indeed.
Monday, August 16, 2010
My Favorite Things
True. It is a symbolic song recorded by one John Coltrane. Invoking memories of distant lands and precious moments, it speaks to me. Subtle hints of coffee from Costa Rica, salt in the air from Boqueron, Puerto Rico, steel drum beats in St. Thomas, exotic jungle in Mexico. I have been blessed to have had the opportunity to travel to these places in different occasions. The one thing that strikes me about these favorite things of mine is that they are not isolated to a physical place, but rather, the experience. I've enjoyed some of the greatest food ever in dirt floored restaurants, where dogs wander in; where soccer matches are followed with fervor and passion, in a 19 inch television set.
I met a guy the other day at a Boston bar. His name is Tom Brown, perhaps 55 - 60 years of age. Likeable, weathered soul. Yet, friendly enough to converse and generous enough to buy me a beer. Hell I even took a picture with him. These are the type of experiences that drive my fervor for travel, for discovery. It's about these things, simple, yet necessary. People, good citizens of the world, that are willing to share a smile and conversation, regardless of where you are from. Food that is mystical, lush, yet enjoyed on dirt-floored cafes, or beach side kiosks. Wondrous sights that don't cost you anything more than just your time and attention span.
Do it. Go somewhere and experience something different. Feed your soul with these simple experiences. You will walk away richer for having experienced them. Life's perspective, perhaps altered. Nature's compass guiding us towards something else, deep into the map of the human heart. Unequalled moments that stay with us, like our favorite things.
I met a guy the other day at a Boston bar. His name is Tom Brown, perhaps 55 - 60 years of age. Likeable, weathered soul. Yet, friendly enough to converse and generous enough to buy me a beer. Hell I even took a picture with him. These are the type of experiences that drive my fervor for travel, for discovery. It's about these things, simple, yet necessary. People, good citizens of the world, that are willing to share a smile and conversation, regardless of where you are from. Food that is mystical, lush, yet enjoyed on dirt-floored cafes, or beach side kiosks. Wondrous sights that don't cost you anything more than just your time and attention span.
Do it. Go somewhere and experience something different. Feed your soul with these simple experiences. You will walk away richer for having experienced them. Life's perspective, perhaps altered. Nature's compass guiding us towards something else, deep into the map of the human heart. Unequalled moments that stay with us, like our favorite things.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
In An Elevator
It was in early winter when I found myself in an elevator. This elevator was the only physical structure for miles, and in that instance, it served as my friend, my confidant, my most dearest of ears. I pleaded, in this cold night, alone and in desperation. Such strange circumstances I thought. Here I am in this metal box, pleading my case, in silence, yet such was the emotion coming out of that silence, that its walls vibrated. At times, the floor shook. My watch was no longer ticking. Time had stopped. Yet, it was one of the longest nights of my life.
It was all of a blur after all. I recall walking down a long hall; cries in the distance, coming out of many caves. The hall was dimly lit, and a haze hung that made it almost impossible to see clearly. Before I walked into that metal box I felt I had taken the longest walk in my life. I left her there alone, scared, while they took her, and moved her to another floor... and I walked...into that metal box.
The metal doors closed, and there I was, and I asked in silence for help, for him, for her. For their sakes. I didn't care at that point about myself. Every shred of who I am, every shred of myself was peeled away, and left on that elevator floor, naked; humbled. I begged for help, I demanded for him to be okay, crying out towards the metal roof. With every breath I took I became more ill, wasting away as my strength became his. In the ensuing three weeks I became deathly ill, bedridden, barely able to breath. In that metal box I left it all. Never had I surrendered as I did then.
As the doors opened, I ran towards them, knowing in my heart, I had given all I could, in that cold, unyielding metal box. It was the moment I became a father, thanks to a little divine intervention and the solitude of an elevator, in early winter.
It was all of a blur after all. I recall walking down a long hall; cries in the distance, coming out of many caves. The hall was dimly lit, and a haze hung that made it almost impossible to see clearly. Before I walked into that metal box I felt I had taken the longest walk in my life. I left her there alone, scared, while they took her, and moved her to another floor... and I walked...into that metal box.
The metal doors closed, and there I was, and I asked in silence for help, for him, for her. For their sakes. I didn't care at that point about myself. Every shred of who I am, every shred of myself was peeled away, and left on that elevator floor, naked; humbled. I begged for help, I demanded for him to be okay, crying out towards the metal roof. With every breath I took I became more ill, wasting away as my strength became his. In the ensuing three weeks I became deathly ill, bedridden, barely able to breath. In that metal box I left it all. Never had I surrendered as I did then.
As the doors opened, I ran towards them, knowing in my heart, I had given all I could, in that cold, unyielding metal box. It was the moment I became a father, thanks to a little divine intervention and the solitude of an elevator, in early winter.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 2)
March 12th - The day begins with Jason puking, due to his marathon drinking from the previous night. The dude can't even eat breakfast. At least he accompanies me to the Panaderia La Parada, where I get myself a ham, cheese and onion sandwich. What a pleasure to eat..sitting' down in the patio table at La Guacima, feeling the early morning breeze. A great start. What IS missing however, is some coffee. Dark, strong and vibrant.
We make our way up to Volcan Irazu, and I discover a radio station that becomes my beacon for all that is wonderful in the world - Salsa. 24 hours a day, Salsa and more Salsa, old, new, and in between. Awesome.
Another thing I discovered, is that EPA does not stand for "Environmental Protection Agency" in CR, it is simply a Home Depot type of store. Nice job Ving.
On our way we stopped to grab some Queso Palmito, fresh, from a little store on the road. It was so good. Salty and peels like string cheese; a good companion to beer.
As we arrived at Irazu, we decided that a jolt of java was necessary. The cafeteria in the parking lot served up a great cup of coffee. We asked and were told that the name of the coffee was "Del Valle". Awesome cup of vibrant, strong cafe. Of course, Shirley and I being the only cool people, had our cups. Irazu was impressive, with its chartreuse lagoon in the middle, ringed by sulfur. It was very windy, after all, we were over 10,000 feet above sea level. Found a couple of lava rocks, and on we headed towards Cartago.
What can we say about the Basilica de Los Angeles in Cartago; impressive, majestic. With its statue of the Archangel Michael slaying the dragon at its peak. It was a nice break from our activities; a more focused moment as we approached it and explored its inside. We read the story about the Basilica and why it was built. Saw the holy water spouting, and how the local ticos in the area flock to it, and bathed and washed their faces and hands. Some even drank from it. Faith is a powerful thing.
On our way out of the Basilica, I remembered how Shirley mentioned that her now deceased grandfather would always stop at a restaurant across the street for a cup of joe. We made our way across the street to La Perla del Sol and proceeded to enjoy some strong Costa Rican coffee and some outstanding seafood rice.
As we left Cartago we realized that there was an outstanding item on our to do list for the day; the drive on the Orosi Loop. What a gorgeous ride, across small villages, majestic views of the mountains and lakes; well worth it. We stumbled through the finish line, exhausted and overjoyed, and spent the night relaxing at La Guacima amongst friends.
We make our way up to Volcan Irazu, and I discover a radio station that becomes my beacon for all that is wonderful in the world - Salsa. 24 hours a day, Salsa and more Salsa, old, new, and in between. Awesome.
Another thing I discovered, is that EPA does not stand for "Environmental Protection Agency" in CR, it is simply a Home Depot type of store. Nice job Ving.
On our way we stopped to grab some Queso Palmito, fresh, from a little store on the road. It was so good. Salty and peels like string cheese; a good companion to beer.
As we arrived at Irazu, we decided that a jolt of java was necessary. The cafeteria in the parking lot served up a great cup of coffee. We asked and were told that the name of the coffee was "Del Valle". Awesome cup of vibrant, strong cafe. Of course, Shirley and I being the only cool people, had our cups. Irazu was impressive, with its chartreuse lagoon in the middle, ringed by sulfur. It was very windy, after all, we were over 10,000 feet above sea level. Found a couple of lava rocks, and on we headed towards Cartago.
What can we say about the Basilica de Los Angeles in Cartago; impressive, majestic. With its statue of the Archangel Michael slaying the dragon at its peak. It was a nice break from our activities; a more focused moment as we approached it and explored its inside. We read the story about the Basilica and why it was built. Saw the holy water spouting, and how the local ticos in the area flock to it, and bathed and washed their faces and hands. Some even drank from it. Faith is a powerful thing.
On our way out of the Basilica, I remembered how Shirley mentioned that her now deceased grandfather would always stop at a restaurant across the street for a cup of joe. We made our way across the street to La Perla del Sol and proceeded to enjoy some strong Costa Rican coffee and some outstanding seafood rice.
As we left Cartago we realized that there was an outstanding item on our to do list for the day; the drive on the Orosi Loop. What a gorgeous ride, across small villages, majestic views of the mountains and lakes; well worth it. We stumbled through the finish line, exhausted and overjoyed, and spent the night relaxing at La Guacima amongst friends.
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