Nein !

There are bounderies that I set at times where I may find myself alone on the other side - but that has never bothered me.  

In fact, I don’t believe that majorities are right.  Nevertheless I usually respect majority decisions, even if I don’t necessarily let them dictate my life.  

When George W. Bush decided to terrorise the good Americans and send their children into battle unter false pretense, I gathered our belongings and moved our family to Costa Rica. When George W. was re-elected, we decided to stay away and later on moved everyone to Europe, where life seemed less volatile.  

For a few years we came to enjoy the benefits of a state health care system and a generous yearly leave as well as affordable child care.

Life seemed more secure and with the abundance of cultural events and endless trails and sprawling natural beauty for everyone to enjoy, life quality also got a considerable boost.  For a while, the hair raising deals of Wahington lobbyists seemed a thing of the past.  The NRA, Halliburton & Co., Texaco et al., they all  seemed to recede into the background.  

In the meantime, England was getting rid of its airplane carrier and, in the wake of the financial crisis, it went after banker bonuses.  All seemed good.  

But of course, no honeymoon lasts forever...and now, once again, I find myself googling after everyone else has gone to bed.  

Once again, I am looking for an escape route.  But in this gung-ho winner-takes-all euphoria of our post-industrial age, is there really anywhere to go?

Families to the Front

It is interesting to see how the gap between our expectations of what childhood should be like and what childhood actually looks like is widening once again. In the 19th century governments across industrial nations were persuaded by their voters to provide affordable education for all children regardless of their socio-economic background. It was found that education was a public good that would benefit not just the individual but also society as a whole. Since then, tax payers have been asked to contribute to state funded education to create the first co-educational compulsory state education system ever. In the wake of that development new attention was given to teaching methods and child development. Alternative approaches were formulated namely by Maria Montessori and Rudolf Steiner, to emphasize the importance of the formative years on the later development. So-called reform schools shot up especially around industrial areas and in less privileged neighborhoods. Enabling all children to achieve their full potential was deemed worthy of public support. However, today, we once again live in societies were a child’s lot in life depends on that of her or his parents’ pocketbook. As families have to fork over a good chunk of their income and savings to ensure their child receives quality education and care, children with less affluent backgrounds are left behind. Their education will derive mostly from a jumble of mass media, pop culture and the internet. Even though one educational report chases the next stating that children spend too much time in front of screens and not enough time on challenging subjects, engaging hobbies and sports, we now look mostly towards parents to provide them. And those who can manage, will do their best to oblige. They shuttle their offspring across suburban landscapes, they coach afternoon sports, arrange for trips to the museum and supervise homework. They get involved in parent teacher networks, they organize school fundraisers and they lobby for healthy school meals. After all, we do know what’s good for children. Why then have we stopped caring for them? All of them.

Life Camp

In many ways it seems that we are doing well. The house, the career, the kids, health and a pension plan. At times I can spot envy when the relatives are over. Friends, however, know better because they listen and they are smart enough to know that in the end we are all in the same boat, barely scraping over the rocks that lie beneath the surface. Our lives, like those of most families in today’s world, are stretched thin. With long hours spent at work and in traffic and weekends cut short by work commitments, it’s like ships passing in the night. All along, we are led to believe that eventually it is all going to get easier. Our baby boomer parents believed that and those who cashed in on their savings in time probably will keep telling us that. What they conveniently overlook is that since then, salaries have stagnated for the large majority of us and across many sectors they have gone down, while those that find work in today’s struggling economies have no leverage left to negotiate. They work longer hours in exchange for less job security and fewer benefits than ever. Yet, afraid that things could get even worse, we keep plodding on. We throw our lives back on the Interstate every morning and stop by Best Buy on the way home. After all, we are told that consumer spending needs to go up in order to secure jobs...right? Nonsense. Consumer spending needs to stay up to keep us in bondage and the dividends flowing. It is what has turned life into one big work camp where day after day, empty spaces are filled by the anonymous new face. At least with blogspot, twitter and facebook we can wine about it when we find a moment. See, I already feel better. Let’s get on with it then, shall we?

Stretching

One thing which you will have to get good at fast, when you become a parent, is stretching! But while the physical side of stretching can be really helpful in order to strap on infant carriers onto your front or back and fastening those ever evasive car seat buckles, the most useful ingredient to peaceful parenting is mental stretching. Because you may suddenly find yourself doing things that weren't part of your "100 Things to do before you Die" like wearing nipple cups and monitoring bowel movements. Not to mention all the waiting. Waiting for the babe to wake, waiting for the milk to warm, waiting for the babe to sleep, waiting for the help to come, waiting for the rain to stop, waiting for the kid to grow waiting for your life to start. And all the time, you will tell yourself that all of this is really good, because you know eventually it will all be over and what then? For that there is Yoga.

Shhhhhh!!

I remember Susan raising her eye brows by a good half inch when during our long conversations in her tree top home in Cahuita the topic of family came up. The power imbalances, the abusive patterns, the codependencies and ambivilant relationships between the members, it took me a while to see it all. Susan was a veteran when I met her and her stories haunt me to this day. But we all get older and we all have stories to share...that is unless we prefer to keep them secret.

Is that possibly Clerodendrum Trichotomum, dear?

I never cared much about where and how I fit into Costa Rican society. It was quite clear that we didn’t, even though we seemingly were an integral part of what makes up Costa Rica in this day and age: foreigners looking for a slice of paradise.

Costa Rica is teaming with gold diggers (it’s main gold is real estate), tax and winter refugees, hippies and wannabes, small-time crooks, and a lot of other colorful characters.

We weren’t colorful - not in that way - and we weren’t Costa Rican, although by the time we left, we had a pretty good idea about what that was. We simply were enjoying a time out, a moment in our lives to figure out what exactly it was that we wanted. A little breathing space. Every one should get one.

Raising a family, it is easy to get stuck with mortgages, credit cards, suburban life and bad coffee. And we knew, we didn’t want that.

But we also didn’t want country clubs, Latin American sprawl and one hundred percent hinterland, which altogether to us were ten times worse than all the bugs fluttering and scampering about combined.

Now, however, that we have found what we want, we are faced with a new challenge:
How to fit in.

When faced with seed catalogues, chutney jars and garden shows, I am quite perplexed. I love the beauty of the English landscape, I absolutely adore the seemingly effortless charm of an English garden and nothing is quite as exquisite as a visit to a manor house, be it in Chelsey or Cheshire, where the good life seems to be enshrined forever.

BUT how is one ever going to be all that, unless you are born that way?

Like a Jar of Candy

Friday afternoons hold the promise of happiness in the making. Like candy in a jar, weekends have a way to make me feel tingly with anticipation, wishing that I could consume them at once. And yet, the promise is almost the sweetest part. Already, when Thursday night rolls around, I feel a gentle wave of dopamine engulf my frontal lobe and for a moment I am eight years old and life is truly good.

Growing up, summer was just that. A seemingly endless row of Fridays with Sunday night light-years away. I loved the gentle pulse of the days as they glided by. The air laden with whispers from summers past. Leaves rustling, sparrows whistling, the lingering heat of a summer day still in the air. I no longer live anywhere near where I used to spend my childhood summers, but I carry the essence of those serene months with me.

Funny, though, that when we lived in Costa Rica, I struggled with the reality of an endless summer. It actually annoyed me. Just like an all-you-can-eat deal, everything soon tasted the same. Gone was the exhilaration of the first bees buzzing through my room and bouncing off the windows, the first morning warm enough to put on a sleeveless dress, the suddenly long days, and short, balmy nights.

And in a way, the further away from the equator one ventures, the more intense summer tends to get. It is the all consuming feeling of being alive again, after a time of reclusive hibernation, that seems to resurface like a whale out of the depth of the sea.

I make it a point, these days, to spend at least part of the summer as far North as possible, without having gnats and other blood suckers get the best of me.

Pura Vida!

When in Costa Rica, you will become closely acquainted with ‘pure life’ in the form of a wide-smile, bright-eye greeting that beams across pot holes and drain pipes clogged with crumpled milk cartons.

“ Pura Vida, Senora!” my gardener used to holler from underneath a smothering vine of flesh eating plants in the back of my garden at seven o’clock in the morning, and it was the last I heard from the armed guard closing the gate after our 4x4 steam ship had heaved itself into our drive way at night.

Over the four years that we lived in Costa Rica, “Pura Vida!” became to signify stubborn serenity in the face of abject nonsense. For Christ’s sake, enjoy this while it lasts. It’s just life after all. This is it!

Costa Ricans, at least the humble majority of them, grow up to be amazing problem- solvers. They take life one minute at a time and try not to worry about the big picture, a strategy which all those whose lot in life is less fortunate may be well advised to adopt.

Being able to switch into a “pura vida” mode from time to tome is something I have worked on over these past years and I am proud to report that I have been able to perfect it to a surprising level, given that all that I had going for myself was relentless perfectionism.

I guess, being a mom which entails problem-solving 24/7 everything from torn toe nails, broken bikes to problem pets, I have turned into sort of a subcontinent myself. Just making it through the day...minute by minute while making the best of it.

It’s an art.

Pura Vida!

Buckle Down

What I like is this: towns you enter and the first thing you see is NOT a Shell station or a car dealership but maybe an overgrown church yard or a pub by the name of ‘The Queen’s Tale’.

But what happened to the rest of the world? Everything is about cars: Fields are being eaten up by winding snakes of asphalt. Trees that line old roads are cut down so drunk drivers don’t hit them. Parking lots sprawl everywhere.

Even shopping nowadays means driving, and driving means seat belts and car seats, and subsequently confinement.

It’s strange what we will put up with for the sake of so-called convenience.

Calmer Waters

So here we are in our quaint little house on this quaint little street in this (you guessed it) quaint little town in the U.K.

As I am sitting here in the smallest and most crowded room of our house and look out of my gabled window onto the sun glazed white walls of our neighbors’ house across the street, I can hardly believe that after all these years I have made it back to where I came from: the middle class Europe of my childhood.

Although still alive and well, the middle class seems to be struggling a little more now than when I was growing up. The basic desire to “get ahead” is weighing upon people in this world that is ever more...I think ‘global’ is the word.

For example, a lot of money, time, and energy is dedicated to placing one’s off-spring at good schools and pursuing worthwhile after-school activities. But all and all being middle class in Europe is still a good place to be since the same old values that keep it all together still prevail. Foremost is that sense of caring about community and what’s good for everyone. The ideal of sharing one’s fortune and contributing to the common good is another.

There are well maintained parks that one can walk in at any time, there are libraries, museums, pools, playgrounds, sidewalks, crosswalks, recycling facilities, and lots of ways to meet the neighbors. There is a sense of civility based on the underlying certainty that the golden rule holds sway.

There also is reason to believe that everyone is taken care of and that there is enough for everyone to go around. And in my opinion, that precisely is the way to achieve quality of life.

Of course, it is great to strive upwards but not as much as when everyone moves ahead and shares in the happiness and good fortune.

What good is it, after all, to have a private tennis court, pool, waterfront, and two or three cars if wealth and security ends on the other side of the barbed wired fence of one’s own property? It is nothing but the proverbial golden cage!

That was what life was like in Costa Rica and as it is that’s what life is like wherever the sense of community has been washed away by the personal greed of a few.

It was sad to see a beautiful country and its middle class exploited by big money. And it is disheartening that Costa Rica isn’t by far the worst case in the world.

These days, the governments that try to mitigate the impact of a capitalist economy are struggling. In fact, there are fewer attempting that now than there were twenty years ago.

Fred would probably state with sincere darwinistic conviction that that proves that capitalism is superior.

I would, of course, venture to say that that proves nothing but our human weakness because, in the end, capitalism, too, will die leaving behind uncounted casualties, one of which might be our planet.

As a matter of fact, what makes capitalism so dangerous is that it taps into our primordial and ever nagging fear that unless we secure that next bit for ourselves, we and our kin, and therefore our gene pool, won’t make it.

That fear is a formidable force to reckon with. In fact, it is also stupid, because as we all should remember, human beings would not even exist any longer if it hadn’t been for their ability to coexist and cooperate with each other.

However, if left unbridled, that primitive fear will take over and only die with us.

In a way, it is only natural that fear becomes most virulent in us when we see others beginning to grab and hoard. That is precisely the point when the social contract that lies at the base of our peaceful coexistence starts to crack and the rule of the strongest reestablishes its brutal reign.

I am not blind to the changes I see around me even here, but for now I enjoy being in quieter waters again. The Americas were stressful even when we managed to find little niches here and there where life was still a thing to enjoy with others.

Leaving that World

Now that I have left my world of magically made beds, automatic clean dishes and otherwise effortless domestic perfection it’s time for me to become imaginative lest it all comes to a screeching halt or better one gigantic unnerved scream. And I can tell, people around me are waiting for exactly that.

But so far I am actually doing better than should be expected. I serenely set tables, I frolick folding laundry and wash dishes, pick up toys, water plants, carry out garbage, wipe spilled milk (no crying) and still find time to keep abreast on what’s ailing Brad and Angelina.

The truth is that taking things back into my own hands has actually come as a relief. Since I didn’t grow up with help at home, I don’t really know how deal with it. I don’t know how to keep the gardener from knocking up the nanny, or maids from construing ever more fantastic fiction about what really happened to my butter dish, or the night guard from peeing in the pool.

I don’t have enough bitch in me to be an effective employer of the socio-economic less fortunate. And believe me, at times I wished I did. For instance, when within six weeks my nanny’s grandpa, great-grandma, and uncle died, her brother broke an arm, her mom was hospitalized, and the family dog had thirteen puppies. She never showed up once on Monday during that time.

The fact is, I am much happier in a space that I can easily manage myself in a community that is safe.

During my time in Costa Rica, I missed being able to walk around town without having to gage the risk of being either mugged, attacked by a dog, or run over by a truck. And the chances were pretty high – I went for short walks anyway.

Yet, hiking on the back roads is definitely not advisable – at least not for a woman, I was told – and so I didn’t. I signed up at the Country Club instead and stared at flawless teenage asses bobbing up and down on the stairmaster in front of me.

What would be paradise for some had become a tightrope for me.

Simply not my world.

for the better

from the start
what a farce
way too good to be true

so its all for the better
no tears no boohoo

you and i
what a lie
it wasn’t meant to be

it’s all for the better
just wait and see

i leave
though i grieve
and i heave a sigh

it’s all for the better
that we say good-bye

some day
i may say
i have lived in you

and though it was better
i left much too soon

What I'll Miss

A bunch of wonderful, brave, adventurous, fun, smart, amazing friends—a quaint tico community—my house—roosters at sunrise—the laid-back Caribbean pace—fresh guyabana juice—palm, almond, and guanacaste trees—our homeschool theater group—summer dresses year-round—colors to die for—a life of ease and open doors—parrots in the eucalyptus tree—balmy-warm down pours...

Bird Cage

Something is off in the Switzerland of Central America and it’s not for the lack of breath-taking scenery or affluent retirees. It’s the bird cage mentality: Life lived behind bars, some more golden than others.

On my stroll back from the mechanic this morning, I crossed our town dodging delivery trucks and male solicitations and I took a close look at these cages.

Most of them ‘contain’ women it seems, mostly older or with young children, busying themselves with their daily chores. An elderly lady was arranging her patio furniture, another one was dousing off the dust from passing by traffic, children were playing ball. A seemingly normal morning scene, yet, in a rather bizarre setting.

When did this all start? When did fear become so overwhelming that life behind bars seemed preferable to a life shared with passers-by, neighbors, the town, and an uncluttered view thereof?

Maybe I will ask my mechanic. He seems to be an insightful guy.

I’ll keep you posted.

By the Old Mango Tree

Ask any Tico for directions and you will get a poem.
Check this one out:

Where the Post Office Is
By Fat Guy Wearing Stripes


When you reach the bottom of the hill
Take a left where the blue house used to be

Follow that road until you get to the old cemetery
Be careful because the road is tricky

Keep to your left until you see the old road to San Rafael
Then turn where the mango tree used to be

Continue straight after you cross the abandoned banana rail road tracks
On the side where Don Fabricio’s barber shop used to be

You will find it.

I ran out of gas that day but I was quite entertained for a while, seeing Costa Rica through the eyes of a local – like following a dream.

Green Shoes

It’s the rainy season. My shoes are shrouded in a delicate veil of green, my family videos have acquired a trendy pattern of white fuzzy spots, and my pillows are scented…hum, how shall I describe this extravagant fragrance. The only word that comes to my mind is MOLD. Yes, indeed, it’s mold season.

Little spores are floating through the air, settling here and sometimes there thus unsettling everyone everywhere.

I was warned about the video tapes so Susan copied them onto DVDs for me a while ago. Thanks, girl!! Still, it was not a happy moment when I dropped ‘Our Wedding Date’ into the black garbage bag to the likes of Shrek, Forest Gump, and The Usual Suspects. Ah, yes, life in the tropics! But at least we have electricity to waste again…

Connected

Have you checked your drawers lately? I used to have broken pens and dull scissors in mine. But lately I have worthless items of an entire new category – and value – piling up in there: several headsets, splitters, 32MB memory cards, 8mm film, two non-digital cameras, and…let’s see…a clunky portable DVD player. What to do with all that stuff? Toss it?

I used to feel bad about tossing out yet another highlighter gone raspy. But tossing a camera? The good news in my case is that I live in a country where people still know how to fix broken things. There is a whole underground economy of used electronical items that trade hands for moderate prices and help pay the rent for those who fix them.

That’s not the case in the so-called First World. There, products are bought, used, and trashed as soon as a newer model hits the market. And, of course, there always will be a newer model. Now it’s the iPhone, next might be the iFriend, followed by the iFriend Pro. Am I being just a tiny bit cynical? Let’s just face it: There is no way of staying out of the consumerism race. And believe me, I tried.

Years ago, I proudly refused to clutter my existence with an answering machine, and that sure didn’t earn me any brownie points. Then, I said ‘no’ to digital gadgetry. Well, that stance didn’t last long either.

So now I am Ms. iPod (I actually own two), with all the little itsy bitsy ever-notted cables that go along with them. I also own several digital voice recorders, a digital camera, and camcorder – and, of course, with all that an abundance of cables and chargers.

But that’s just for now. I am sure there will be more stuff out on the market soon to satiate my craving to stay connected – plugged into the lives of friends, family, and Oprah, my past, and the pulse of the things to come. Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Staying connected.

Driving Me Insane

I once read a book that was written by a Brazilian who claimed that people drive the way they are. And not only that, he held that entire nations reveal themselves in their driving habits. It was a fun book, jammed packed with stereotypes of course, but not completely unintelligent. Germans, of course, came across as overly rule-concerned: No need to slam on the breaks for a cross-walker. What is she doing there anyway? I can’t remember what it said about Latvian or Andorran driving habits, but I can tell you a few things about Costa Rican driving myself after having lived here for four years.

It’s insane. And it’s not even as much the way they drive but rather the way they conceive of motorized travel. The stereotypical Tico seems to think that a delivery truck is no different from the horse their grandpa used to ride. They all ride them much too fast on non-existing lanes.

Most roads here, if paved at all, have no median and none of them have shoulders. Not only that, the side of the roads remembers a half eaten cookie rather than a curb. What should be a sidewalk is often some makeshift ditch for storm water and since there are daily down-pours during the six-months rainy season, pedestrians really have no choice but to step into the road, baby carriage, grocery bags and all.

So just imagine a downhill road, twelve feet across, on a rainy evening, with heavy rush hour travel in both directions. Spice it up with a couple of kids balancing between the certainty of either instant death or extremely wet and mucky legs, a wind-blown biker with a black cape, and few foot-deep potholes where the median should be and there you go: Costa Rica.

But there is one redeeming quality and in my time here I have caught a few glimpses of it: Everyone seems to realize it’s pretty bad. That doesn’t change the fast and unforgiving driving behavior, but if a Tica/o sees that you are caught at one of the many no-chance left turns with no turning lane or light, you can be sure s/he is going to flash the lights at you signaling you to go ahead and cut in front of you.

Don’t try that in Germany.

Fish Chat

I was at the beach with the kids. Woman, it was great! Pure tropical paradise. When I say, Costa Rica was never on the map for me as far as home bases go, it’s a very fine choice for right now, I can tell you that much.

I also can tell you that I really like watching fish go about their fish business. It puts me in a serene state of mind and it’s really funny. Besides, whoever came up with those stunning designs? Florescent night-sky blue with light blue polka dots? Get outta here! And the curves, lines, and angles on those things, phew!

So before I had to jam everyone and their beach bucket into the car to drive the six hours back to San José yesterday, I left for an hour to go snorkeling. It was 7:30am and sunny, a light breeze was coming in from the Caribbean, the water was calm and blazing green.

Fred, my father-in-law, went with me and together we snorkeled around the reef just off Punta Uva. It’s a good way to spend a morning. It takes your mind off to-do lists, baby poop, and software trouble. And although I was staring at fish the whole time, I wasn’t even thinking about food – not once, I swear.

We saw the pug-nosed yellow fellow, the tiger troupes, the silver swishies, the dark blue flasher, and a fine selection of Nemo’s friends and foes. All of them said to say hello.

Pura Vida!

Back to No Electricity

There is talk that the national elecricity union is sabotaging the rolling black out schedule now. Supposedly, their goal is to force people into voting against a regional trade agreement with the US. Good luck with that. Gotta go.