Ready

Yesterday I noticed small raised bumps on my ankles and I am thinking it must be fleas, so I spend my last minutes at home before checking in to surgery in Durham, cleaning blankets, vacuuming carpets and this morning before leaving for the hospital, kidnapping my unsuspecting cat, Weenie, zipping her quickly into a small cat carrier and dropping her off at the vet. Two things happened. The vet called-no fleas- and the bumps on my body are slowly but surely taking over. I have hives. It is amazing the utter lack of control one can have over ones body when it comes to stress. I am a person who usually can maintain a semblance of calm and fortitude even during the worst of times, but for some reason this time, my body has its own plan. It started having anxiety attacks a few weeks ago, commanding my attention just enough to procure a prescription for Zanax, my very first, and after becoming completely catatonic after taking just one, it is my last.
I wanted so bad to blame this current outbreak on fleas, spiders or even bed bugs. The thought of having a rogue body acting on its own accord frightens me. Anxiety ruled my day today. My husband Dan encouraged me to breathe through my stress and to try to avoid taking any drugs. I complied, wanting to have a last night of fun, connection and clarity. So we roamed around Durham eating and drinking in some amazing local establishments, eating local food, talking to local folk, counting down the hours to when we had to surrender to the “system”. The time is now. It is after midnight and I can no longer eat, drink or even swallow water when I brush my teeth. Tomorrow at 10:00 am I will have a re-called hip device removed from my body and in its place; a safe, hopefully functional replacement will be installed. As for now, Dan is dozing beside me, I am itching like crazy and almost ready to have this all behind me no matter what it entails. The support and love I feel from all of my friends and family is palpable and I am grateful. And ready.

Loose Ends

I woke up before the sun feeling wide awake, but not ready to face the day, I forced myself to fall back asleep re-entering the world of dreams and mystery. My dreams have been fraught with intrigue, dysfunction, insanity and all kinds of craziness and no wonder! My life is a bit crazy these days. As crazy as my dreams can be, they are never too crazy for me to say. “Hey, wake up, this has gone too far!” I relish in the scenarios, the unconscious connections between everything that is happening in my life being played out in random dream dramas. It’s better than soaps. I had planned to travel to Durham today to settle in and enjoy some time before checking in to the hospital before my surgery on Thursday, but after sleeping until 11:00 am and working on things on the home front, we decided to head out tomorrow and instead spent the afternoon working out, Dan running on the treadmill and me swimming a mile in the pool of our local YMCA. Swimming for me is an old friend. My father introduced me to the water at a very young age-it was in fact in a pool. Being landlocked in rural Wisconsin, my father, an avid swimmer himself, took his children- at that time five girls- to any public pool in the winter months that he could find. Summer in Wisconsin, of course, afforded days of fresh water swimming in a multitude of lakes and that is where we could be found, coolers full of drinks and sandwiches camped out for the day. I was a competitive swimmer in high school, but not very dedicated. I think I was voted the least likely to succeed in the sport or something along those lines, but the swimming, the style of it, the finesse of breathing and reaching out for the stroke, always stayed with me. To this day I have great form and probably good potential as a distance swimmer. Today, I was happy knocking out a mile, but I am also integrating swimming as something important to my future physical well being and it feels good to conquer! The rest of the evening was spent finding the best oysters on the Outer Banks, and why not? I am facing at least five days of no eating and no drinking so Dan and I set out to eat as many steamed local crab slough oysters as we could, all washed down with copious amounts of beer and wine. All I can say is I hope those post surgery days of not eating balances out my present over indulgences! It’s hard to resist eastern North Carolina oysters in season.

Letting Go

Today was my last day at work before embarking on a two month medical leave to have my left hip re-replaced due to a device “re-call”. I left work feeling almost completely satisfied that I could face the impending circumstances with almost no work-related stress or unfinished business. In fact the only thing that was left on my plate was creating a Christmas card list of the past year’s donors and supporters of the small non-profit that I work for. I quickly recited a list of worthy recipients to any co-workers who may have been listening as I breezed out of my office into the snowy afternoon. They may or may not get out; I just have to let it go. I’m finding that I am letting go of a lot of things these days. I will no longer be able to run after my bionic-titanium parts are replaced with those more fragile. Ceramic, plastic and metal will probably not invoke words from my surgeon like, “Do whatever you want as long as it does not cause you pain.” Not that pain has ever stopped me before. No pain, no gain, right? I will miss running though, and I’ll have to face any other limitations head on as they come. Since I am returning home from the hospital mere days before Christmas, I am letting that go too. My family, my husband Dan and our two children, have been trying to create a family holiday experience as far from the consumer, commercial version as we can, spending our time making gifts, cooking food, playing games and music- and if we are not on a traveling adventure- staying home and just having fun. Two years ago our kids, they are twenty six and twenty one now, squirreled away and wrapped random objects from our home so when we woke on Christmas morning, Dan and I really thought Santa had come. The gifts were spilling out from under the tree, until I looked closer at the bicycle with the big red ribbon tied around it, noticing the rust and dirty tires-who's bike was that? In the days leading up to this week I have amassed a stack of books to read while recovering. I have selected various tomes for friends and family as gifts this season and that is all I am doing. Cooking, traveling, creating, taking care of family and friends, I’m letting it go. The first time I had total hip replacement surgery was four years and four months ago and three days after finding out my husband was having an affair. It’s amazing how the trauma of that disclosure and the corresponding emotions completely trumped the trauma of surgery. Dan and I are amazed that we have almost no recollection of what happened the first time I had surgery. We are trying to put the pieces together in order to prepare ourselves this time around, but we have hardly any memory of the experience. It really puts in to perspective the depth of pain one suffers from an affair in a relationship. It’s hard for me not to remember those times now as I get ready to go through this once again, but this time I have the full support and care of a loving man-my husband of almost twenty seven years. And it’s funny because this second surgery, this “do-over” is like another chance to make all my stories right, to let go of those stories and parts that “no longer serve me” as one of my wise friends noted. And so here it is, another chance to let go, another chance to continue creating my story.

Falling

I have been home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina from my two month sabbatical in Costa Rica for almost four months now. The memories of my time there, the simple routines, new friendships and the feeling that I would return home and make significant changes in my life after “re-entry” have faded into the urgency of daily demands from work, family, relationships and most urgently-my body. Anytime I am away from home I look forward to the pile of mail waiting for me when I return, most of it is junk, I know, but I still get excited by post that is addressed to me personally. I had pen pals as a girl for this reason alone. I remember one in particular, a dark haired, mysterious young girl of eight, my age, living somewhere out west. She sent me a photograph of herself dressed in white jeans and a white shirt, cowboy hat perched on her small head, looking straight at the camera, unsmiling, seated on her horse. I think I loved her, but not enough to maintain the relationship via pen and paper. Now after two months away from home my stack of mail was significant and I settled into the comfort of my screened in porch in anticipation of what I had missed. After separating the junk from the catalogues, the catalogues from the bills, the personal emerged and that is where I started. What was waiting for me on that September afternoon among the pile of letters that were a combination of known and unknown, was a curious letter from Duke Diagnostic Clinic. I read it twice to make sure that what I was reading was true and then with an unsettling feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, I looked for my husband Dan. “Dan, you are never going to believe what I am reading here in this letter from Duke University. It seems that the artificial hip I received four years ago at Duke Hospital that was manufactured by Johnson and Johnson, has been re-called." The letter went on to say that only a small percentage of recipients would have complications, but I didn’t need to read any further to know that these were going to be my complications-my life- starting now. Since then I have been traveling the two hundred plus miles back and forth to Durham, the home of Duke University and the Duke medical complex to find that every test that I have taken indicates my device has not only failed, but has been poisoning my blood, damaging surrounding tissue, and quite possibly-we will not know for certain until the surgeons are inside-infecting me. In a past post not so long ago, I spoke of bold action and with trust, falling into the arms of the universe. Now, faced with major surgery in four days and all of the unanswered questions surrounding this endeavor, I feel like I am falling, but I’m not sure where.

Feel For You

I saw my first V of geese today. They stopped me in my tracks while I was running this morning in my neighborhood in Southern Shores, North Carolina. As I looked up tears welled in my eyes... I’m not sure if it was because they looked so beautiful flying in formation in the clear blue fall sky or if it was my longing for the promise of warmth further south. I remember last year around this time my husband Dan and I were headed to Hatteras to transport visiting Israeli musicians performing in the schools down there and as we were crossing the Oregon Inlet Bridge, a long and controversial span that connects us to the southern most part of our county, we witnessed thousands of birds making their way south. The sky was almost blackened by them. Today was different though, because it was only a single formation and because I cried. I stood there looking until they were out of sight then I picked up the pace of my run and tried to let the sounds of Chaka Kahn motivate me. Running for me can be as meditative as yoga sometimes. I run listening to music, but my mind has no problem wandering as I go. I often come back from a run with insights about my work, life and creativity. Today, as Chaka’s song “I Feel for You” was streaming into my ears, my mind began to turn the words around- I feel for you- and I thought about how much more I “feel” these days. There is so much sadness and beauty in the world. I know it has always existed, but I don’t think I was really awake to it all until my heart was broken. When you’re heart is broken and you are looking at the possibility of losing everything you believe in, everything becomes so much more important -so dear. I can feel the pain of a friend who just lost her mother. I feel the sadness and extreme gratitude of a friend whose child’s life hangs in balance. I feel the pain of people suffering far from here and I cry tears of joy looking at the face of my husband across the table from me. Music brings me to tears, and so will geese flying south. Sometimes I just cry and wonder if I’m shedding tears for someone who may not be able to-someone who has not had a broken heart or suffered a loss in their life- someone who has yet to plunge the depths of their emotions out of unknowing or perhaps fear. I cry sometimes and wonder, in this crazy world full of so much madness, beauty and pain, how can I not?

Home with More Questions

Ever since I returned from my two month retreat, sabbatical, escape in Nosara, Costa Rica, I have been engaged in an inward battle to balance the elements of my life. It almost seems like a dream, another time and place those two months of solitude, of simplicity and wonder. Coming home, all of the patterns and habits of daily life here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina continue on like they’ve never stopped- almost as if my old habits and patterns conspired to faithfully carry on without me, reserving my place on this wheel of dysfunction so I could easily jump back on to it upon my return. Right now I am on the beach, lying on my belly, a thin blanket between me and the sand, feeling the cool dampness beneath me as the sun warms my back. What I see are rows of steely gray waves capped in white crashing continuously on the beach, the northeast breezes from hurricane Igor meeting the waves in an explosion of white spray and foam. Seagulls, their gray and white feathers almost the same colors as the sea, sit facing the wind occasionally pecking the sand for something to eat. There are people, walking, mostly clothed, but not many. I can feel the end of summer. It is one of the most beautiful times of the year here, but at the same time I take in this beauty surrounding me, I am acutely aware of the emptiness I feel. I left here to take time to answer questions I was asking myself and now I find myself, back here at home asking the same questions and them some! I started reading a book called, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning" by Chris Hedges. He is a war correspondent writing about his experiences covering wars throughout the world for the last decade. In his introduction he writes, “The enduring attraction of war is this: Even with its destruction and carnage it can give us what we long for in life. It can give us purpose, meaning and a reason for living. Only when we are in the midst of conflict does the shallowness and vapidness of our lives become apparent.” When I read these words I immediately related them to the chaos of the past several years of my life as I was desperately fighting to put my marriage back together after my husband’s affair. Although peace has been in my house for almost three years and my husband has done everything in his power to make things right, I feel a void. The passionate fight for what I wanted, for what I believed in is over, but I remember the feelings invoked when I was faced with the possibility of losing everything I built my life upon- they were intense, painful, and bewildering but at the same time exciting, powerful, dramatic and urgent. This "fight" gave my life a purpose at the time, it gave it meaning. Looking back I can see why so many are addicted to “drama”. It’s a perfect diversion from the emptiness of our lives. So I question myself. Am I clinging to the past in order to escape the triviality of my life today? What is my purpose, my reason for living? Obviously these questions were not answered in the tropical paradise of Nosara.

The Day I Learned To Swim

I remember at a very young age, my father taking us in the winter to an indoor swimming pool at a local high school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin so we could learn how to swim. I have vague recollections of jumping off of starting platforms into the water and swimming in the lane back to the platform. I was six and by summer I was swimming like a fish. My father was a swimmer, a water lover. I’ve seen photographs of him as a young man, lean and happy posing with friends and at family gatherings held on the lakes so abundant in my home state. He was also a merchant marine and relished his time on the great lakes. I lived in Milwaukee until I was nine years old. In the winter we would frequent indoor pools at nearby schools, jumping off the diving boards, flying out of our dads arms as he tossed us in the water, swimming back to him for more. In the summer we swam in lakes and fresh water quarries with crystal clear waters surrounded by rocky cliffs that we could leap off of into the crisp cold water. Soon there was a pool in our back yard that could barely hold our family of seven (my brother wasn't born yet), much less all of the neighbors and cousins who clamored to join us. “Just put your foot down child, the water is only waist high. I’ll let go of you gently, so you can swim to me.” These words from a Kate Bush song remind me of those times. I never feared for my safety in the water, my father’s strong presence and encouragement emboldened all of us. We became expert divers, back flippers, strong and capable swimmers who never tired and who swam outside even in the cold until our lips were bright blue. When we moved from the city to the country we scoured the vast landscape surrounding our humble farmhouse looking for bodies of water. It was a different time and place and though we were quite young we would explore our pristine surroundings unsupervised for hours emerging from rivers and hidden ponds glorious and dripping wet sometimes with leeches between our toes from the muddy bottoms. In high school I swam competitively on the school team. Although I was not a much of a disciplined athlete I loved the water and can remember my dad coming to my local meets after work smiling as I stepped out of the water following a race-never winning, but not losing either. “I’ll let go gently, so you can swim to me...” Learning to swim brings to mind that scary moment, that place between the fear of letting go and letting go, that moment before jumping into the water for the first time or off of a high dive, those choices that involve the risk of facing the unknown as opposed to the safety and comfort of what is known. Contemplating my time away, my “space” I am now faced with the challenge of integrating the lessons of my journey into my reality. I feel it is time for bold action, time for me to pursue my dreams and goals and I pray for the strength to take the first steps trusting that the universe will provide everything I need.

Exodus

I couldn’t sleep. The driver was coming to pick me up at 7:30 so I could be at the airport for a 2:30 flight. The sun rose at five and I followed close behind making tea and finishing my packing. I left three umbrellas- Lord knows they will need them more than I will. I also left a half a bottle of Flora De Cana rum, my beach towel and a spare suitcase. I did manage to fit all of the shells I found on the beach and both pairs of boots-my Dingos and cowboy boots- in my suitcase! I took one last look at the beautiful backyard at Casa Del Ray, the sloping hill going down to the pool, the ocean in full view in the background, all the beautiful tropical foliage. I thought about how much I will miss my nightly "skinny dips” in the pool before going to bed. I walked through the apartment to the front porch where I got into a hammock and swung lazily, listening to the sounds of the jungle, trying to memorize as much of it as I could. The monkeys were howling, the birds were singing, squirrels and lizards scurried about. I thought about how much I have grown accustomed to their exotic sounds and how much I appreciated being witness to such amazing diversity in this jungle. I started crying and then realized that my ride should have arrived. I called Victor at Harbor Reef, who arranged my travel plans and he said I should be seeing my car and driver in minutes. One half hour later after frantically calling Victor again, I was running down the road trying to find this lost van driver. I live in the “middle fork” of three dead end roads; surely he could figure it out! When he did, he was frantic, spitting out harsh words in Spanish through his toothless mouth. We drove up the hill to grab my things and we were off. We did not get very far before we came upon road construction. Road work in these parts consist of dumping truckloads of dirt and gravel down on the existing excuses for a road and trying to smooth it out as much as possible, then cross your fingers that the rainy season will not wash it all away. I was starting to panic because we sat there for what seemed to be at least a half an hour. I did not want to miss my flight. I fought back tears and the driver was cleared to move forward, yelling and cursing and looking at me in the rearview mirror. Meanwhile I’m wiping my tears that are now mixed with sweat because he has no air conditioning, or he won’t turn it on. After a few more miles we approach yet another construction zone and this time my driver loses it and springs from the car running to the man holding the flag. I start crying for real knowing there is no way I will get to San Jose on time. The driver returns and calls Victor. After a brief conversation he holds the phone out to me and says, “Victor”. Victor tells me we will be through this road block in ten minutes and that I will still have plenty of time to make my flight. Slightly reassured, I hand the phone back and soon we are traversing the perilous twenty plus kilometers over the flooded, muddy, bumpy terrain until paved road. Once on paved roads, I tucked a small travel pillow under my head and tried to sleep. I awoke when the van stopped thinking that we might be at a gas station and how I could really use water since my body was sweating buckets of it in the oven-like van. I sat up and found myself looking at a woman staring at me through the window. She gestured and I shook my head and said “No”. She knocked on the window and I realized that she was a police officer. Two other heavily armed officers stood by. Another delay. I handed her my passport and told her I was a tourist. She reached in the van and touched my backpack and motioned for me to open it. “You want to look in my backpack, really? It took me twenty minutes to fit everything that it is in it inside. It’s a mess.” She smiled and waved for me to show her. So I showed her my Laptop, cords, magazines, notebooks. She pointed to a small brown bag. “It’s my new bikini” I said. We did not understand a word we were saying to each other, but I could tell she wanted to see what was in the bag. When I pulled it out to show her holding it up to my body she said, “Sexy”. I spent the rest of the ride between trying not to be a backseat driver-he was so slow- doing deep breathing to relax and napping. I woke up to my driver shouting “Aero Puerto!” He swung around and approached the departing flights terminal, looked at his watch and rejoiced holding out his hand for me to high five.

It Will Be Soon

Today I woke up to another rainy morning, went back to sleep and dreamed of a huge green snake, woke up, dozed off again and when I finally dragged my body out of bed, I made a cup a tea and booked the first flight out of here. My time in Nosara has come to a close and tonight when I sang my final song at the Guilded Iguana, I cried. Being here has meant more to me than I ever could have realized and now with a few more weeks before I have to officially re-enter my world, I am feeling the need for a change of scenery, an energetic shift. I think I need a “middle ground” between Nosara and my life that is chomping at the bit for me to return to. So this morning when I woke up and found it was so easy to rearrange my plans, I did. I had imagined that my departure from here would be dramatic with a celebration that would incorporate all of the wonderful people I have met along the way, but I’m leaving the way I came, quietly and I am so grateful that I was able to see my friends who were out tonight and to hug and kiss them- until next time. I know it will be soon.

Transparency

I’ve been thinking about transparency a lot lately. It is a word that has surfaced over and over again in my recent journey to heal my marriage after my husband’s affair. At first the word transparency seemed to apply only to him. When we were in the middle of working through the pain and lost trust it was necessary that Dan become as transparent as possible in order for me to regain some comfort-trust, in the relationship. At first this was pretty uncomfortable because before the affair, we were used to quite a bit of autonomy with all kinds of things going on in our individual lives that we had no need or time to share. But after the affair, I needed to know what Dan was doing, who he was doing it with, what he was thinking. It also felt like I cared more, I wanted to know. It was hard, especially for Dan, but somehow he understood how the importance of being transparent was in order to come full circle with trust again and to heal. It was hard for me too, because I never considered myself the kind of person who “keeps tabs” on her mate- I always just trusted him. Now that we are well on our way to closing that chapter in our lives, I started thinking about transparency in relationship to my own life and how I move through the world. I don’t want to have secrets. Secrets feel like fear and lying. I don’t want to hold back or be ashamed of anything that I do or have done. By shining a light on my life and being transparent, I hope to invite others who share some or any of my experience to share their experiences with me. In doing that I don’t feel so alone. In fact I know I’m not. Before doing Kundalini Yoga this past Saturday night the instructor talked about transparency and how much our world has changed with social media and modern technology and communication. We know an awful lot about each other and we can use this knowing, this transparency to bring us closer; make us feel like the human family that we are. The instructor said, “Transparency equals freedom” Tonight at a lovely gathering of new friends over food, passion fruit margaritas and drumming, I spoke with someone who said everything we do is all out there anyway. Do we think that nobody sees us? Even if you don’t believe in god or a higher power, our highest self always knows. So this transparency to me is a calling to bring forth my highest self, to move in this world as if everyone can see what I’m doing, to be the kind of person I am aspiring to be, unashamed, alive and free.

My World According to Zena

Sunday, Domingo, a day of rest. I started my morning with yoga at the Nosara Institute with Danielle and afterwards came home and decided to do a little nesting. I cleaned, cooked rice and beans, made a salad, caught up my correspondence and took dips in the pool. My thoughts of yesterday traveled through my mind while I enjoyed the quiet and rhythmic movements of cooking and cleaning. Yesterday I woke up feeling energetic and ready for the day. Morning yoga with Karl was fun-Karl is somewhere in his early fifties, but looking like somewhere closer to thirty with a compact, muscled body clothed in nothing but baggy board shorts for class. He’s a total Venice Beach California guy and his classes are hard. There were about five people in the class who had never done yoga before, but they hung in there and tried everything Karl dished out. There was a lot of laughter. Afterwards I headed towards town, my backpack packed for the day. I ran into Schlomo on the street in front of his organic market, Organico. He was excited,they had just made fresh ginger candy and he was also high on the discovery of some new music. Schlomo is a Kundalini yoga teacher and he sings and plays devotional chants with his guitar. He was in the street because the day was so beautiful and his energy to “big” for the inside of his small market. He reminded me that there was a Kundalini class at the Yoga Spa, a retreat center high in the hills outside of town. For twenty dollars you get a ride out to the spa, a Kundalini class and a family style dinner. I told him I’d see him at four and continued through town stopping at Café De Paris for a coffee and mini quiche, the bikini shop to get fitted for a custom made suit, and Body Works to confirm a massage for my sciatica. When I walked down the steps from Bodyworks, I noticed the building next door was a doctor’s office. Curious, I walked in and inquired about the possibility of getting a shot to alleviate my sciatic pain. My friend Brenda the boxer told me that is what a lot of the yogis do, because apparently sciatica is a common issue among them. Five minutes later I was laying on an undressed table with my shorts down, the very young doctor asking, “When was the last time you had a shot in your butt cheeks? “ Me asking, “Are you a doctor?” He was and for thirty dollars I received a non-steroidal injection for my pain-no paperwork-fifteen minutes later I was on the beach. The day was perfect, dry and sunny. I gathered seashells, swam, read and wrote a little. At four I went to Organico Market to embark on a Kundalini adventure. People started gathering and by the time we were ready to depart we had three big vehicles full of people. The Yoga Spa is past town and on a piece of property that appears to be the highest elevation in the area. After a steep climb we arrived at a gorgeous facility perched along a cliff, panoramic views of the ocean and jungle canopy surrounded us. The rancho that we were going to practice in was a massive wooden structure with a tall peaked roof made of tightly woven palms, the wood floors and supporting beams were all hand hewn made of dark gleaming wood. We settled in and sat quietly for awhile, some of us peering over the precipice to watch monkeys eat leaves and hang from the trees. It was a first monkey sighting for some. Schlomo started strumming light chords on the guitar and then led us in a chant with just the word Hari. We moved into the sensual practice and fluid movement while the sun set on the horizon into the sea. Afterwards we all gathered in the outdoor kitchen where long wooden tables were set with placemats, cloth napkins and beautiful flowers and we shared a tasty vegetarian meal and good conversation. I jumped in the first ride down the hill so I could shower- I was still sandy from the beach- and dress for Gabby and Francella’s birthday. The party started at Il Basilica and was to move to La Banana and then the Tropicana. I heard the belly dancing music from the street and hurried into La Banana to catch the end of an exotic looking woman in full belly dancing apparel coming to the close of her routine. From the reaction of the crowd it must have been good. I had fun dancing with the girls for awhile and then realized the belly dancer was reading tarot cards after her show. I waited for on opening and sat down for a reading. With the cards shuffled and spread out on the table, Zena said, “Oh my, how emotional!” I just smiled. The first card representing me was justice. Zena told me she could see I was a strong and fair. The card over me signified a young man who was apparently causing me much strife. It went on from there with Zena telling me that this is a karmic relationship that spans many lifetimes and the negative cycle needs to be broken. She added that, “It is too hard for you, too much effort in this relationship to keep your balance.” The good news is the future projections had all of the best “love” cards in it. “So whatever happens” Zena said, “ It’s all going to work out for you, you are going to have the love you deserve” I skipped home in the dark kicking up gravel with my cowboy boots thanking the stars for such a good day.

Sing Breathe Rest Believe and Eat Pray Love Too!

Yesterday a good friend of mine forwarded the NY Times review of the movie, Eat Pray Love based on the best seller by Elizabeth Gilbert. Eat Pray Love is the story of a woman’s journey to find herself after her marriage ends in a divorce. The book came out during the time my husband and I were dealing with the unraveling of my husband’s affair with another woman. The trauma and stress of that experience resulted in me suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome and anxiety attacks-something I’d never come close to experiencing before and I hope I never will again. During this time it was difficult for me to focus enough to read fiction and it was next to impossible to watch, read and listen to anything remotely related to infidelity, mid-life crisis’s, etc. I had to walk out of the movie, Waitress, that I went to see with Dan and my Grandmother. So I did not open the pages of Eat Pray Love until I was on a little more solid ground and even then I identified with the story and the main character a little too closely and was a little envious that I could not “globe trot” for nine months at that time trying to figure out my life. All in all I found the book a good, light read and I devoured it in a day or two. The review talks about how unusual it is for a woman in a Hollywood movie to be concerned with herself, her creativity and spirit and not focused on finding a mate. The happy endings in most mainstream movies involve the woman getting the man with all happiness ending at the altar. I have had a lot of people comment on my writing and the similarity between Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey. I think it is every woman’s journey, every “humans" journey- our quest to find our individual selves outside of anything else. Here in Nosara, I talk to people, men and women, everyday who are doing exactly what I’m doing. I’m glad such an inspiring story is actually going to reach the masses. Perhaps we can all be encouraged to share our stories with each other, all the real, raw stuff that actually makes up a life. Leaving for my two month journey to Nosara, Costa Rica, I talked to a woman who acts as a coach for me sometimes, she is a Jungian therapist and life coach and has been invaluable to me in regard to bouncing my ideas off of her, sharing my thoughts and feelings- and in return I receive very pragmatic and wise guidance- mostly she just helps lead me to my own truths. I was sharing with her the fantasy that I had about meeting another man in Nosara, one who would sweep me off of my feet and take me away from my reality. This fantasy bothered me on several levels, first why does it have to be a man, a knight in shining amour to save the day? To rescue the damsel in distress? I think as women we are so preconditioned to that kind of outcome. I’ve always considered myself a woman who is strong and independent. I want to break free from that inclination, the belief that all will be right with the world if the right mans comes along. Another reason this concept bothers me is I don’t believe any other man can fix this. I know the man I’m married to loves me and I also know he is human and like all humans, we make mistakes. I truly believe that building a foundation on the goodness that exists-if it does indeed exist- is better than jumping into the open arms of a stranger. Even so, before I left I had this feeling come over me that I wanted to bring condoms with me on my trip. Again, it was just a thought but it bothered me and I thought it important enough to share with Dan. Dan’s response amazed me. He understood how I felt and told me he thought the condoms were a metaphor, a symbol of how free I needed to feel during these two months alone. Condom as metaphor. Who knew? I think my husband is very wise and his perspective helped me to put my feelings in the right place- I packed just one, the metaphorical one.

Another Day

I watched the sunset at Guiones Beach and the tide was high, leaving just a few hundred yards of sand for those of us gathered there as spectators for the sunset or for the surfers- the waves tonight were massive. Watching a surfer slice through the middle of a pale grey wall of water I calculated the wave was over twice as high as the person riding it. My friend Catherine arrived with a bottle of wine and two glasses and we sat on a blanket taking it all in while sipping a nice Malbec and getting to know each other. I had just taken a restorative yoga class at the institute with Jane earlier and felt really open and energized- a feeling I have not had since Dan left. I’ve been really struggling with the sciatica in my right leg and it has definitely cast a bit of a shadow on my experience here. At a time when I could really use the cooperation of this body, it has decided to rebel. The positive aspect of dealing with a chronic pain in a “yogi’s world” is that there are a lot of practitioners who want to help, give suggestions for stretches and massage you every day. The flip side of this is that some of these yogis believe pain in the body is a message from the soul, Jane in particular telling me, “Your issues are in your tissues” Yikes. I prefer to think of my yogi friend Yali’s advice telling me that it is blocked energy and you just need to keep the “prana” (life force) moving around. So I’m moving it around and trying not to give my discomfort too much attention. There are way too many other things that deserve it. After the sunset Catherine took me to her house and made a homemade pizza, with chicken, mushrooms, olives, onions and three cheeses. She is an artist and a fine painter, her work displayed throughout their home. Her recent paintings are studies on waves and bring to mind several of the local Outer Banks artists who have mastered the wave on canvas as well as the board. Catherine began surfing during a transitional time in her life, right after turning fifty after fully recovering from breast cancer and dealing with a broken heart. Now her heart is fully healed and she has a wonderful relationship with a beautiful man and her fifty plus body is sculpted and toned from her daily surf sessions. Like many of us who live creatively, she does what she can not only to make ends meet but to live fully in her environment, selling jewelry, paintings and teaching. The more I learn about this place and the people, who make their home here in Nosara, the more I realize that it is not so different from where I live on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Arriving home, I had a brief talk with Dan who is in Denver to play at the Mile High Festival. We both agreed that this was a really difficult week for both of us after our week of “total immersion”. Eleven days left of my journey before I return home. I’m going to concentrate on keeping that Prana moving around and staying open to the endless possibilities in every day.

When You Know You Know

Today my friend Ali married her soul mate Brandon on the beach in Nosara at five this evening. I arrived just after four to prepare; I was going to sing the welcoming song and wanted to be there early enough to help, and lend any support I could. Katherine, (Kati) who is a Kundalini Yoga teacher and priestess was there readying her smudge pot, a ritualistic fire whose smoke is used to cleanse the atmosphere as well as the participants in the ceremony. Schlomo, the officiate was gathering everyone as they came in keeping a watch on the time and the scene. Jane, who I can only describe as our wise woman in this community kept time on a Tibetan bowl with a wooden stick. How this event unfolded is like a dream. First of all, the fact that Ali and Brandon were marrying on the eighth day of their union caught us all by surprise. Knowing Ali for over a month now, I know her to be a no nonsense, dedicated woman to her business and practice here in Nosara as the Pilate’s guru and teacher. I also know her to be dedicated to this community and have had several conversations with her about her gratitude for Nosara and what it has done for her personally, how this community has enabled her to cultivate her strengths and passions. Then out of the blue this man drops in. I saw them together for the first time last Friday night at our concert with Edin Solis, my husband Dan was there and we both witnessed the connection and intense energy between Ali and Brandon. It was palpable; we actually talked about it. Four days later I was asked to sing at the wedding. I asked Ali and Brandon what they wanted me to sing, but they wanted me to choose the song. I told them I would meditate on it and I did. Between late Tuesday evening and the next morning the song that gravitated to me for Ali and Brandon was, The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. I don’t really sing this song, a Roberta Flack song, but it is my mother’s favorite and exemplifies a pure and simple love that I felt was perfect for Ali and Brandon-“And I knew our joy would fill the earth, and last till the end of time..the first time ever I saw your face..” It was hard to sing with out crying. I was honored to open the ceremony. We were all in a semi-circle around the couple, a perfect mix of our treasured Nosara community; surfers just out of the surf. wet and wearing only board shorts and bathing suits, women and men half dressed, bathing suit tops over flowing skirts, crisp white shirts thrown over bathing suits, more board shorts no shirts, people dressed for the occasion in beautiful dresses with flowers tucked into hair, and dogs every where running in and out of our circle barking loudly as I sang. All I could see as I sang was Brandon crying so I closed my eyes. Afterward Schlomo lead us in a Kundalini mantra, Sa Ta Na Ma, Earth, Living, Death and Rebirth- we chanted this for at least ten minutes, together our voices rising and then falling to a whisper and then rising again. There was a reading from the book of Solomon and words of wisdom from Jane about “Sacred Time” This ceremony was taking place on a graveyard by the sea and we acknowledged the ancestors and recognized the holiness of this union on this particular spot and also acknowledged that everything past, future, present, is right here in the now and the now is all we have. There was another reading, “Poem to my Wife” by M. S. S. Vikram Singh Khalsa that completely hit home with me, and then the vows written by Ali and Brandon, quietly spoken to each other. After sealing it with a kiss, we expanded our circle out towards the beach and chanted a closing mantra- Ali and Brandon chanting, “Sat Nam” and us answering, “Wahe Guru”. Truth is our identity, bow to the divine wisdom within. The rain that had been threatening the entire afternoon, never really fell, the sun burst out of the clouds to set on the horizon at the height of our singing and finally Brandon and Ali vibrating with all of the love and support given to them in this sacred hour, tore their clothes off, grabbed their surfboards and jumped into the ocean as we all watched them paddle into the setting sun. “When you know you know” (Ali)

Action

The nonstop rain since last night feels like a veil of sleepy mist that I am enclosed in. I slept late into the morning hanging on to my dream state until I could no longer. My mind a swirl of energy since Dan’s departure keeps thinking about all the wisdom that has come my way since my arrival forty days ago, particularly, Luigis- “Wherever you are looking, that’s where you’ll go.” I think since finding out about Dan’s affair I have been looking for an escape from the reality of it all. My happiness has been out of reach for quite some time, the promise of time and space heals all existing in some future realm that I can not quite access. The last twenty four hours I have had three completely different perspectives on life and love from three unique women. One woman, just entering the sixth decade of her life has chosen to move on from a fifteen year marriage that both parties have been unhappy in for a long time. Separate bedrooms, distance and no love for years are now seeing change as fear is being replaced by action with her telling me, “The fear was paralyzing, the action is empowering” Another woman living here, in her thirties and a veteran of at least two serious relationships met a man who was traveling to Nosara last week. Last night the two of them were out at my singing engagement, glowing telling me they are getting married tomorrow on the beach and would I sing? They look so in love and are so empowered by their brave decision to just go for it. Talking to them and just looking at them gave me chills. I believe they can make it. I married Dan after knowing him for six months and believe that the initial passion, attraction and immediate “knowing” that we were soul mates is what gets us through the rough stuff. Finally a woman I have become friends with along with her husband told me that they never spend more than two weeks away from each other. If work of something takes them away from home longer than two weeks, they make arrangements to go together. “After two weeks it feels strange”. I have been looking outside of myself and quite frankly outside of and away from home. When I starting thinking about what I want, especially in my relationship with Dan, I started questioning my need for “space” Do I really need it? How much do I need? I think in part it is just prolonging the fact that I have to accept what happened in our marriage and move on. I’ve heard from reliable sources that sometimes it takes a few years to completely get over the devastation of an affair, so all these ideas about love-for myself and patience- for myself really mean something to me now and are not just new age concepts we talked about so flippantly in the late eighties. With Dan gone, I really feel the emptiness; I really feel how much I miss him. I love him. He is my best friend and we have so much fun together. I also know that this much space and distance could potentially be damaging. I’ve been exploring future scenarios here in Nosara, but the reality of that is, it does not serve my relationship with Dan- the two of us living in different countries, might be a problem. I think it is just another way for me to avoid truly recommitting to my marriage with Dan. I think about the Chaka Khan song, “I’m Every Woman” and the three women who I have encountered within the past day. How can I be the wise woman who sheds her need for a man late in life in exchange for her own radiance and be the hopeless romantic who believes in true love, romance and marriage and be the woman who has a found that balance of relationship and space all at the same time? I truly believe I am not limited to any one idea of what a woman can be. There are too many amazing women in my life that embody “Every Woman” and show me otherwise. One of the intentions for this trip was to create a plan of action to implement upon my return. Knowing first hand how paralyzing fear can be, hearing someone tell me how empowered she feels since taking action has fanned the spark in me. I am starting to see and feel the action I need to bring forth.

Love and Patience

I arrived back in Nosara at around 2pm yesterday after taking Dan to the airport. I stopped for gas at the “bomba” just before the road turns from pavement to hell to fill up the rental car and buy a cup of fresh ceviche from a man selling home-made goodies out of his cooler. One thousand colones, roughly two dollars, bought me a plastic cup of probably the best ceviche since my arrival; the perfectly marinated pieces of tender white fish were cut into tiny pieces along with fresh cilantro, red pepper and plenty of lime. I tipped back the cup and drank it as I drove to the intersection. I noticed that it was only 5 kilometers to Samara from there so I thought I’d take a short detour and check it out. Playa Samara is another seaside village that appears to have most of the “business district” settled right off of the beach. There were flea market style vendors set up selling the usual tourist jewelry and beachwear and several artisans selling hand made jewelry on the streets. It looked like there was one main beach access to a small stretch of pretty beach. I parked and walked around for a few minutes and then hit the road. Instead of leaving the way I came in I followed signs to Nosara that took me on unpaved roads immediately. I talked to myself as I seemed to travel far away from anything resembling human existence, telling myself, “You can always turn around!” A person on a bicycle smiled as she passed and a dirt bike drove by. I can’t be too lost, I thought. A few hundred yards after passing the dirt bike rider I pulled up to the river. I was not really sure which river it was, but it was big and brown and there was no way I was going to drive through it on my own in this tin can of a rental car, especially after hearing tales of alligators eating horses and families being swept away by river currents. I turned around. Continuing to follow signs, I made my way to a familiar place on the road and headed home. I laughed at myself thinking about taking the “back roads”; lord only knows where one might end up. Rental car returned and back at Casa Del Ray I had just enough time to dress for yoga and walk to the Nosara Yoga Institute. I was happy to find out it was a gentle “restorative” class. I needed it. Our instructor Jane was a beautiful, fit woman who had no problem telling us she was in her 60’s. I actually knew her through other friends here but had never had a chance to talk with her. After class our conversation easily turned intimate and I found out she was getting ready to break free from her long-term marriage stating, “We just don’t bring out the best in each other”. She gave me a ride home and we talked for awhile on my front porch. I told her I thought she was brave. How many women in their sixties would make a change like that for their own personal “radiance”? This woman is committed to shining until she can no longer shine and when she no longer can it won’t be because of anything she has or hasn’t done. I am having dinner with her tomorrow and look forward to more of her stories and wisdom. After she left I lounged around and finished the book I was reading, a very good mystery written by a local Outer Banks man, Joseph L.S. Terrell called, Tide of Darkness. The entire novel is set on the Outer Banks and revolves around two murders of Lost Colony cast members. Awesome read! After finishing Tide of Darkness, I read a book called On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. There were only one hundred and sixty six pages and I breezed through the melancholy, ill-fated love story quickly drawn to the last words on the last page. “All she needed was the certainty of his love, and his reassurance that there was no hurry when a lifetime lay ahead of them. Love and Patience-if only he had had them both at once-would surely have seen them both through." My immediate reaction to these words is to project outside of myself. But then, today in yoga, I realized that the love and patience I am looking for has to come from myself. Why is it so hard to be patient with myself? What is the hurry? Why the need for answers? As my husband wrote to me so eloquently in his parting letter, “I long for this journey.” Why do I struggle so hard on this “journey”? I am now home after singing to a very crowded Guilded Iguana restaurant and bar, the rain is falling and I am at peace here in my quiet apartment, with myself and my thoughts and the tiny new born geckos that seemed to have hatched over night and are singing me lullaby’s while they scurry around my walls and ceiling. I feel very good about the few weeks left ahead of me, glad to be back within my "space", fully realizing that I am still needing it.

Re-Entry

Dan left today. We spent last night in Tamarindo at a beautiful hotel, The Garden of Eden, leaving only once to walk the small seaside town before dinner. We talked seriously about our relationship and the need we both have to feel free within it. Dan wrote me a letter while I slept that said, “My heart is big yes but I know all of the stuff that comes with 26 years of being together and trying to make sense of it all and giving us our freedom and feeling really truly centered in this is not a given. It is a passion that has to be tended to. There is no future there is only you sleeping next to me in your anniversary dress that I bought you during rough times. The road is long and I long for this journey my Laura.” I woke up exhausted from too much wine, not enough rest and from the intensity of the past week. Feeling sad about Dan’s departure, but relieved to have my time back I drove the two and one half hour journey over rocky roads back to Nosara.

The Rarest of Places and Times

Tonight we watched the sunset over Guiones through layers of clouds and light rain with the sun breaking free from the clouds a good thirty minutes before finally disappearing beyond the horizon. It was low tide and the reflection of the clouds on the sand along with the glowing pink colors emerging as the sun set lower could only be described as magical. I greeted friends while Dan took a short run; most of the locals come out for the setting of the sun- a community ritual. It is Dan’s last night here in Nosara with me. We rented a small four wheel drive vehicle today and plan on driving to Tamarindo tomorrow for one night before his flight takes off on Monday. It has been an eventful visit to say the least. Thinking about Dan’s post on “minimal” takes me to our night of music last night. My guitar player, Bill McPherson and his fiancée, Janette manage a small hotel high on a hill in Pelada overlooking the sea. It was there that Bill arranged a “house concert” of sorts, featuring Grammy award winning guitarist and Costa Rican Native, Edin Solis. The night was billed as “Two Guitars and One Voice” and it was my understanding that I would perform some of my material and perhaps Edin would play along with us before he would do his own thing. Fifty people came to the venue that was aglow in the setting sun with candles and lanterns set all around the pool and property with a covered poolside veranda set up for the music, comfy couches, lounge chairs and seating arranged casually around the “stage” There was a cash bar and plates of tapas available for sale and folks sat down family style at a long wooden table next to the kitchen to nibble and talk before the show. What happened next was like a dream. Dan, Hernan, the bass player, me, Bill and Edin sat in chairs arranged in a semi-circle giving us all the ability to look each other in the eye and there we stayed all night, playing together, taking turns soloing, listening quietly when Edin played, smiling and shouting out during spirited percussion breaks- Dan playing on nothing but a toy Remo hand-drum that belonged to Bills daughter, using sticks and his hands to coax as many sounds from the drum as humanely possible. Edin and Bill both played beautiful nylon stringed classical guitars, each with a distinct tone and style that complemented each other, the audience responded in a way that elevated the performances of every one of us. We did not want it to end. I realized that I had just experienced one of the musical highlights of my life and many people in the audience afterwards told me that it was the same for them. It was one of those rare experiences that can only happen in the rarest of places and times.

Infrastructure

Last night I dreamed that I was in a sand sculpture competition and my partner was a small child. I remember thinking about what it was that I was going to create out of sand, this big figure, something massive. I strategized beforehand how we were going to get the water to the sand to form the sculpture-the child would fill pots and pans at a nearby faucet and wet the sand as I molded it. Well, the child could not handle the heavy pots and by the time he/she got to the sculpture and me, there was very little water left. There was a body of water nearby, maybe an ocean, but it was dry and we could not get any water in to the pans. The last option was tapping into some other nearby water source and I can remember someone saying to me in my dream, ‘Don’t you know that that water is very expensive?” I scrambled around and when I returned to my sculpture someone else had formed all of these small cake-like shapes with my child partner and said, “We’re done, this is what we made.” I was furious and annoyed at all of the silly little sand shapes, my grandiose sand sculpture unrealized. Going over this dream with Dan at the pool this morning, we talked about what it meant. Last night we were having a conversation with Lorena and Edin, who live in San Jose. They were talking about the scarcity of water and how too much development and greed had compromised the water source. The walk back from our music engagement last night was also very dry. After so much rain and so many muddy walks home, I realized that my regular routes had dried out a bit and were much easier to tread. Then at home, Dan and I had a fight and I went to bed angry and sad. Thinking about all this today I pondered the thread that wove this dream together- infrastructure. Infrastructure is the basic physical and organizational structures needed for the operation of a society or enterprise, or the services and facilities necessary for an economy to function. Our argument was not so unique, as a matter of fact it was a chronic one and centered around tone of voice-Dan- and what is being said-me. Apparently, it doesn’t matter what I say to Dan, if it is said with a certain tone of voice, it immediately puts him on the defense. Unfortunately for me if I am passionate about an issue or feel like I need to raise my voice, Dan immediately turns off and get’s defensive. Not fun. For me, what is being said is paramount. I listen to words, and not only do I listen, but I remember what is said, and I often times take it personally. We learned this about each other at a “Healing From Affairs” weekend, a weekend seminar we took when we were looking at anything and everything to help us on our journey. Brave seekers that we are, when it comes down to it, it all comes back to infrastructure. Is it here? Do we have it? Is it enough? Will it get us through? After fighting with Dan over the same basic things we always get stuck on, I have to ask myself, “ Is the foundation really here, because this seems so lame!?” When in the midst of a fight it’s easy to go to that place where, “Nothing works out, We’re no good for each other.” Who really wants to deal with the alternative-looking at each other in the eye, owning up to our short comings, breathing and apologizing, sitting within the silence of a situation-being? It is not for the tender hearted, but I have never considerd myself tender of heart. After a day of trepidation and tender re-emergance, I can step back and take stock of this man who I’ve called my husband for over 26 years and honestly say, I’m proud of him, I’m hot for him and I’m so glad we can be here together to experience this crazy life. Not only that, but after 26 years there is a certain organizational structure to our relationship that can not be denied, even by me- we have not only existed here, but have thrived as individuals, and the foundation of our realtionship has been established and carefully maintained even in the most difficult of times. Infrastucture. I want to make sure everything is in place so I can realize the “sand sculpture of my dreams” and not lament that it is all small cakes and shapes out of my control.

Minimal

Good day friends of my Songbird. Laura’s husband here to give my baby a rest from her blog. I have seen in person the effort and thought she puts into this so I am glad to try and fill in. After being here a few days it is so easy for me to fall into the pace of this lifestyle. It is simple and pure. Laura’s life here is simple and pure also. There are not many needs. I am taking back with me a very large suitcase of the majority of her belongings. What’s left here will be minimal. A few dresses, boots and flip flops, and her earring tree that sits on a shelf in the bathroom. It’s somewhat of a symbol. Laura has brought so much joy to this small, secluded area. It is a simple life with low stress, low pay and low needs. I feel like an intruder at times here as I am a tourist. And maybe I feel like I have taken Laura out of her game with my presence. I melted in with her days in a way, just playing music and letting her go through her days with a minimum of my influence. I go with the flow as best I can. Having a life partner, there is always an unspoken energy that says “I am not on my own and I need to think about this other person”. Giving each of us space is a balance and is sort of a challenge for me. After all, Laura came here for space. I know when I am home alone beyond being busy with my work I find peace by myself and I try to make the most of my alone time. At this time in our live's with our children more or less on their own it is a whole new world of alone time. Laura has created a very cool space here in Costa Rica and I am so proud of her spirit. This village is unique because you have all of the locals but then the influx of international surfing families from different parts of the world all here to surf. That is really it. Beyond the Yoga institute there is just surf -a few markets and bars- just the minimal. I have been playing a lot of music here with Laura and with many amazing players and I am doing it with a very small hand drum. Creating with this minimal instrument has been refreshing. This seems to be an evolving theme in today’s world. Minimalism. The energy of money and excess the way I’ve seen it is truly over. I feel like the world is in denial. There seems to be no value in money. The banks and Wall Street and the CEO’s are using the same road map now with the bail out money. It appears to me that nothing is being done so it seems inevitable that there will be another crash. Maybe this time we won’t have any means to buy more time in this fantasy world. The physical world that we live especially in the United States is full of selling. Sell, sell, sell, consume, two for one, bargains, advertising, you need this, look who is wearing my line of clothes- it goes on and on. I am being seduced everyday and really every minute of my existence. A friend of mine went camping with her family and upon her return posted on the internet the words, “Simple, Simple, Simple.” Here in this village of Nosara sure, there is some seduction but on such a small scale. As I evolve as human on this planet I will learn minimal. I look forward to this. Lose the clutter and material things I can do without. Be free from the maintenance of them. As I go inward I can adopt this feeling too. Should I hang onto the past? Good or bad it’s gone. There is only the now. It should be simple. I struggle with the past and the future. I worry and I regret. I am learning however that the change is now. I can not keep thoughts or feelings with me that do not serve myself or others or inspire me to be my best. I can not maintain them. I must let go and be my best in this split second. No baggage. Free. Free from seductions and needs. Just breathe. Everything I need is inside of me. Breathe in and out. That is all I need. Now that is Minimal.

These Are The Days Of Miracle And Wonder

I’m lying in a hammock on the front porch of Casa Del Ray listening to Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints on Dan’s laptop, Dan is in his “spot” sitting in a “Tico” rocking chair, the rain gently falling through the palms and trees surrounding the house. We are in a groove here, sleeping late, waking up in the pool, drinking coffee and tea in the shade in rockers and hammocks or in the sun on lounge chairs by the pool, snacking, napping, reading and talking before heading out for our nights of music. Casa Del Ray has been an answer to my prayer for not only space, but peace and beauty as well. Lying here rocking gently in the soft woven, multi-hued hammock I find myself mesmerized by my surroundings- long palm ferns bend over me with the weight of the rain, stalks of bright fuchsia and burgundy leaves sprout from spindly wooden stems, wide green banana leaves act as a backdrop to more shades and shapes of green leaves, red flowers and a canopy of hardwoods towering above. Monkeys play here so do the orange squirrels with the bushy gray tails. Butterflies in all colors and perfectly formed hummingbirds flit about. Almost every morning a bird with the most amazing call I have ever heard wakes us, its single voice sounding like two distinct birds screaming in distress or competition- I have yet to see it. I look away from the jungle on my left to the right and see Dan, skin brown from the sun, dark eyes fixed on his computer. Paul Simon sings, “These are the days of miracles and wonder, don’t cry baby, don’t cry…” I have been crying the past few days thinking about the family of our friends Janet and Gordon, their youngest daughter Isabela, Bela, is in critical condition at a children’s hospital after a blood vessel burst in her brain Saturday from a birth defect that went undetected until now. Isabela is a miracle. She was born with heart problems that required surgery soon after her birth. She not only survived, she thrived and has become quite an amazing young woman with a feisty spirit, creative, sensitive mind and heart and with a unique energy and determination that she brings to everything she does whether it is making her trademark soaps and bath salts, playing the violin, working on a school project, or just hanging out with her family and friends. There is something special about this girl and for those of us who are lucky enough to know her, we know that to be true. I believe in miracles. How else can I explain this beauty that surrounds me right now, the love that I have in my life, my children, family, my life and breath? What else can we do but live in wonder and amazement amidst all of these gifts? Gordon wrote today thanking everyone for their prayers and asking for more prayers for these critical 48 hours. He said, “...Every second of life is a gift…” These are the days of miracles and wonder and I am holding the miracle of Bela in my heart.

Do Over!

The pace and direction of my days has certainly changed since Dan’s arrival Saturday- languid is the word that best describes each days flow. Yesterday Dan turned fifty. He was not particularly excited about it and I think he was a bit relieved to be out of the country away from the attention family and friends would have certainly showered upon him had he been home. To be truthful, I’m not particularly excited about Dan turning fifty either. It just means that in, let’s just say “several years”, I’ll be headed in that direction myself- a place, an age and a time I am not ready for. With everything that has happened to me and my life these past few years, with all of the changes, I’ve had this urge to shout, “Do Over!!”. I have this fantasy that I'm starting all over again- anew - and this fantasy includes many things like a new “unsullied” marriage with a possible baby or two. Why not? John Travolta’s fifty-plus wife just conceived! I could create a whole new family and life for myself if I wanted to. If I wanted to. The purpose of my present journey is to meditate on what it truly is that I want for myself and my life and I’m pretty sure starting a new family is not what I am being called upon to do. Besides, my existing family is pretty amazing. I am sure that regardless of my situation, these feelings, these yearnings are common for a woman of a certain age with grown children and a whole new life on the horizon. I remember when my dad turned fifty. We were living in Los Angeles at the time and I was sitting in our small apartment talking to him on the phone and I remember telling him, “Dad, just think you could live for fifty more years-another lifetime”. These feelings also remind me of how traditional I am- how old fashioned. As much as I can see myself as this trail blazing free-ramblin’ woman, I am drawn to the traditional roles and values of marriage and family and I considered that place a “safe haven” until one day it wasn’t. So as much as I am drawn to this idyllic, romantic fantasy of domestic bliss, I realize that nothing and especially no one is going to provide that for me. So what now? Dan jokingly tells me, “So now the golden years, sweetheart. Plant City Florida, complete with golf carts and all-you can-eat buffets of Friday night” I will not go quietly into that night. I’m thinking more along the lines of more tattoos, a motorcycle, rockin’ the skimpiest bikinis as long as possible, living in a third world country, learning guitar and more languages.

Harmony

Today Dan turned 50 and on his day today, his wish was to post this. Enjoy.

One of my favorite discoveries (besides my passion for the drums and rhythm) in my first 50 years on this planet is the discovery of harmony. This is a big word and means many things to many people. When I hear the word itself I can not define it with one meaning. In fact there would be no harmony without more than one presence. I don’t even know the definition of the word but more and more I try to feel it in my life. My most recent experience with harmony as many would know the word was last night. I was at a small bar in Costa Rica singing harmony with my songbird Laura. I was not sure how involved I would be with her Costa Rica tour but was available and as long as I was supplied rum and some local beer I was willing to join my Laura and excellent guitarist Bill. Singing songs we never sang together before and blending with my Laura in harmony is a joy. I can not put this feeling into words. It’s a ride and journey almost another sense. As I write this blog for Laura I am looking over a hillside. Tree tops and a view of the pacific. Too many creatures to count but all living in harmony. The people of this village live in harmony with this eco system. They live off the sea. They surf, they farm, they love, they deal with Mother Nature on a daily basis. Mother Nature is the melody and everything else is a parallel harmony on top or below. Sometimes everything must stop. That in itself, if everyone stops is sort of a harmony. There are many times in our human experience that there is dissonance, or we are not in a harmony that is comfortable or one that we are used to hearing. As painful or as uncomfortable as this is, this must be part of the journey so we can indeed feel the true harmony in our hearts and our human society. There are wars and waste and anger and sometime the wheels fall off and there is a bombastic crash. Know that this is part of the composition of life. There are earthquakes and oil spills and there is loneliness...There is no time for blame. There is only time right now in this moment to find the right part of a chord that fits and helps heal. At some point we must feel this so we can bring things back together in a non sharp or non flat harmonic parallel. You and I can create. We can have. Together. Harmony.

Do What You Feel

It is a good feeling to wake up next to someone you love, especially after waking up alone for almost a month. We woke up to sunshine on Dan’s first day of his visit with me here in Nosara- he must be good luck because it was the first day of sunshine in a long time. We had to return our rental car by ten so we packed the back pack for the beach and headed to town. After returning the car to Alamo- $50 for 24 hours plus the cost of gas is a good way to go if you don’t mind driving. A shuttle to the Liberia Airport, two and one half hours away is at least $150- we walked through town and grabbed a coffee and baguette at Café De Paris, a restaurant and bakery that sells delicious pastries, croissants, crusty baguettes stuffed with meats, cheese and vegetables and a variety of freshly baked goodies, and headed to the beach. Sunday at the beach, especially when it’s sunny is a local affair, everyone is there. Today the surf was huge and there were too many heads in the line-up to count. We layed our blanket on the sand next to my friends, Catherine and David and drank in the scene. The beach was full of surfers, children of all ages, sun bathers reading, beach combers, walkers and runners. I introduced Dan to my friends as they passed by, inducing some raised eyebrows from a few gentlemen who had assumed I was a single woman traveler. It was a nice way to initiate Dan and a great way to experience the “local scene”something that is hard to do in the high season with all the visiting tourists. Nathanial, from Boston and one of the newly graduated yogis, was squeezing one more surf session in before his departure later in the day and wanting a photo of himself with is surfboard, and without his camera, I offered to take a picture of him with my camera and email it to him later. Nathanial was one of the Zen Café regulars and was always working on some words of wisdom or question. Today he said, “Act your highest good and do what you feel”. I love the fact that here in Nosara you hear things like this on a daily basis. Nathanial is a twenty something man who lives on his own and in order to come here and realize his dream to transform himself into a yogi, he wrote letters to everyone he could think of who cared about him to help him on his quest and here he is. All this made for good conversation between Dan and me on our beach blanket as we basked in the sun. Dan said it is about being honest with yourself and others even if the truth hurts. It reminds me of a prayer I heard at my very first yoga class with Danielle a month ago here in Nosara. Lokah Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu- May all beings everywhere be happy and free and may the words, thoughts and actions of my own life in someway contribute to that happiness and freedom. For me acting your highest good means, “do no harm”, right actions that contribute to happiness and freedom, not pain and suffering. A lot to think about and talk about, but instead we went to Casa Tucan and drank fresh fruit daiquiris and ate a big bowl of fresh ceviche before walking home to more relaxing in the pool and lounging in the hammocks. One thing about love, it will get you out of your head.

In The Middle Of It

This morning at 8:00 A.M. a rental car company pulled up at Casa Del Ray, my new home here in Nosara to drop off a car so I could pick Dan up at the airport at eleven. I have been here almost one month on my own and the anticipation of seeing Dan and “feeling” Dan was killing me. Driving from Nosara is no simple feat. The roads are horrendous to say the least. The recent rains have been the worst in Guanacaste history with levels far beyond the norm and breaking many records. Robin, who owns an amazing café and makes the best homemade ice cream and sorbets in town, told me that these rains were going to have a major impact on the survival of the people living here because the crops cannot root in the saturated ground. There is going to be a famine here, she said. I witnessed first hand the result of the rains as I drove out of Nosara on my way to Liberia, an estimated two and one half hour drive away. The roads were muddy, washed out, and I had to navigate through at least four wayward rivers to get through. To be honest, I felt like a badass and fantasized about my driving prowess-a NASCAR future maybe?-it was like skiing moguls with a car. When I arrived at the airport Dan’s plane had just landed. I told him I had hired a driver to pick him up, not wanting him to know that I would be the one waiting there. I saw him coming through customs and watched him look all around at the waiting drivers, but he did not see me! I had to pull him out of the gauntlet of taxi drivers waiting to snag a needy tourist shouting “Me Esposo is here!” and dragging him into the parking lot where our rental car awaited. A sweet reunion. I drove, showing off my mad skills and after stopping for lunch at a cliff side soda (café), we landed in Nosara with plenty of time for re-acquaintance and napping before my gig at La Luna. At La Luna, the beautiful seaside restaurant, the atmosphere was very quiet after the full moon party held here the night before. With just a few tables of patrons, we played our music, Dan sitting in on a mellow sounding hand drum, adding a nice rhythm to the music. A lot of the songs I sang seemed to bring me to tears; Bonnie Raitts, Come to Me, The Beatles, Let it Be, I don’t even know what else, all I know is I had a serious problem keeping it together. Why all this emotion? When we got home we fixed plates of food prepared by La Luna’s staff and sat by the pool under a sky full of stars, afterwards swimming and sitting in the Jacuzzi. It’s late, we’re tired and questions can wait. Dan has put on some beautiful Costa Rican guitar music for me to listen to and he is now sleeping soundly in our bed. I know he needs it. The Gecko who lives behind the tapestries in this apartment is telling me to go to bed too.

Stepping Into the Void

Last night I had the pleasure of singing at Il Basillico, a restaurant in Esperanza, just outside of Nosara not far from the Nosara Yoga Institute. I was invited to join an Argentinean guitarist named Juan by the restaurants owner, Chandi, a young Costa Rican man from a family of restaurant people who own Giardino Tropical and Il Basillico. They have mastered the art of wood fired pizza and turn out the most amazing food in the most unpretentious of environments like paper thin Beef Carpaccio, house–made foccacia with marinated shrimp, mussels and calamari, huge plates of spaghetti and green salads with vine-ripe tomatoes, basil and perfectly toasted hunks of fresh baked bread. I agreed to sing that night for thirty dollars, red wine and food. Apparently Juan had done a great job spreading the word about the “happening” at Il Basillico that night and had invited other musicians, Carl, massage therapist, surfer and drummer from Florida and Schlomo, owner of the local organic market, to sit in on percussion and guitar. Never having played with any of them before and never singing half of the selections that evening, it was quite a free for all, but amazingly fun with moments of surprisingly good music. The funny thing about it is I had no anxiety, no second thoughts about performing, no second guessing my decision to say, “I’ll be there!”, something that happens to me a lot at home, especially when I find myself before a performance with little preparation and rehearsal and afterwards having had little or no fun. So there I was last night in front of at least a hundred people, a lot of them familiar, playing with musicians I never played with before and hardly knew, performing songs I didn’t know much less rehearse, having a blast. This morning at Zen Café, the conversation centered on “stepping into the void”. Mike, the husband of one of the yogis in training, (they graduated tonight!), told me that they were pretty sure they were going to relocate from Atlanta to Nosara. We talked about that feeling of “not knowing” regarding the future for his young family and the amount of faith it takes to make a move like that especially with young children and for me the mystery of my day to day life here with all this "space" and how difficult it is to take that first step. Later when I returned to my new nest, I received a message from Shelly, an old friend from high school who was keeping up with my posts. She herself was contemplating this very thing “embracing the unknown with strength and determination”- especially at a cross roads. She wisely stated “It can’t just happen wishing and praying if you don’t take the steps”. Taking the steps, even baby steps will get you where you want to go and if your not sure exactly where that is, step anyway. I spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the rain while I practiced the guitar and sang new songs.

Me Jane, You Tarzan

Yesterday I moved into my “final resting place” here in Nosara, Casa Del Ray. It is a fully equipped one bedroom efficiency beneath a large vacation rental home on a piece of lush jungle property overlooking the ocean. (By the way, it’s for sale) I have hot water, wi-fi, doors that close and even access to a washer and dryer. The infinity pool, Jacuzzi, outdoor kitchen and numerous outdoor showers are also available for me to use. There is a care taker on the premises daily in case I need anything and housekeeping service once a week. This is a far cry from my recent role as “Jane of the Jungle”. When I was a little girl my dad would gather all of his girls together on Friday night, there were five of us, to watch Johnny Weissmuller in “Tarzan”. My Dad an avid swimmer, ex boxer and totally fit man identified with Weissmuller who was a champion athlete and five time Olympic gold medalist before turning to acting and he enjoyed the jungle drama, feats of strength and power and subtle romance between Tarzan and Jane, just as much if not more than we young girls did. I loved it. I imagined what it would be like to live with Tarzan in the trees and I romanticized about the “wildness” of it all, swinging from the tree tops on vines to perfectly appointed platform tree houses, bathing in waterfalls, Tarzan’s body. The night would always end with my dad, demonstrating his strength to his five girls waiting in anticipation for him to carry us all at once, up the stairs and to bed, all of us laughing and hanging on to anything we could for dear life. For now, I’ll leave the swinging on the vines to the Howler Monkeys here and trade the waterfall for a hot shower, grateful that I finally have a place to rest my head that has four walls, a roof and no need for mosquito netting. And Tarzan? He’ll be flying in on Saturday from playing two concerts in West Palm Beach tonight and tomorrow.

Too Many Choices, Too Much Stuff

The Zen Café is the perfect place to hide away when it is raining and it has been raining everyday here now for as long as I can remember. There is usually a short window of sunshine each morning, but by 10:00 am the sky is cloud covered with rain alternating between a light mist and a torrential downpour. I am on my third umbrella since I arrived here in Nosara- I don’t even use an umbrella at home- and this current umbrella suffered a mishap last night causing the handle to break off in the middle. It still works, just a little awkward holding the skinny metal pole with no handle and a little frightening when there is lightning because I feel like a walking lighting rod. Yesterday at Zen, while the rain came down in sheets, between cups of coffee, matte, organic smoothies and tea, the conversation danced from alligators eating a horse crossing the river yesterday, the music of Fishbone and English Beat, life in the U.S., men who are a wreck and need a vision quest, to the most common topic of my trip thus far discussed by locals, travelers and aspiring locals alike- how life is hard in the U.S. because we have too many choices and too much stuff. I understand about the stuff. The older I get the more I crave the serene feeling of a minimalist environment. I think our home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina reflects this sentiment with just the right amount of furnishings, art and plenty of “surfaces”, but our garage is a complete contrast to the space above-it is packed full of stuff. I don’t even know what half of it is. Travelin’ light. I’ve met a lot of people who are completely ready to shed the skin of their lives in the United States and Canada- their jobs, big houses, cars, stuff. Mary, a Naturopath and therapist making the transition to full time living in Nosara, told me she will make less money, but she will have what she needs- nothing more, but maybe less at times. And what I’m hearing from some of the people that I’ve met here who are struggling with less, especially now in the challenging rainy season with little tourism, is that the struggle is what makes them feel alive. I get a sense of what that feels like. Having to walk everywhere, not having the convenience of hot water or a washer and dryer or even more luxurious items like the internet and a real grocery store has made me slow down and really think about what I’m doing, like making sure I hang my hand washed socks in the sun when it comes out! Choices are minimal and I can see how that can be appealing. It does seem easier. At home where to go for dinner is a tough choice. Here, most people can’t afford to go out and so they cook simple meals at home, beans, rice, fish and plantains. There is no movie theater; I’m the only live music in town, no ethnic restaurants, no library, and no bookstore. Not to mention the lack of services we take for granted at home like emergency medical care and animal clinics. Being a Libra, I think I am more apt to want a balance of sorts, an unencumbered life with not so much stuff so I can be free to move around without having to worry about it and at the same time have the kind of life that does afford choice- what to eat, music to listen to, theater, culture, books- these things are important to me and knowing that these choices exist for me in my life back home makes me feel very grateful. When I come home I plan on bringing some of the “simplicity” of this rustic living to my daily life there, I’ll walk/ride my bike more, eat simply, conserve, appreciate the richness of a life with choices and yes-surf.

When The Path Does Not Reveal Itself

One of my nicknames is Miss Results. It states the obvious-I’m the kind of person who is results oriented, tackling events, programs or projects with gusto, most of the time sure of what the outcomes will be even before I arrive there and if an idea for a project or something I start working on looks like it may not meet it’s goals, it doesn’t happen. I tried my best organizing my life like a project-making sure my children were well educated, home schooling them in elementary school when the schools didn’t meet their needs and private schools for Lucy, when she was having difficulties in high school. I researched the best camps, planned diverse adventures mapping everything out to make sure nothing was missed. My relationship with Dan didn’t necessarily receive the same attention, but to me the outcomes were clear; this is a solid marriage and nothing would change that. I was so stubborn in this belief that when things started changing with Dan, an affair was the last thing I would’ve guessed, I actually would’ve bet on it. When the realization hit me, I found myself in unfamiliar territory, in shock and scared to death. I tackled this dilemma like I do everything-devouring all the knowledge available in books, web-sites, counselors and therapists-after all, I’m Miss Results, I can fix this. I was battling blind and it took its toll on me physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. For the first time in my life I couldn’t solve this problem. I was lost. What do you do when the path does not reveal itself and you don’t know where to go? When I was looking for the path through the jungle on Sunday, I watched a runner ahead of me leap with agility in to the green. I watched, then followed and then eventually found the path on my own. Dealing with an affair is a unique experience. First of all, most people do want to hear about it much less talk about it and most therapists, although well meaning, have never experienced an affair. It wasn’t until I found someone, Anne Bercht, founder of Beyond Affairs Network, who had not only gone through the experience, but had come out on the other side with her marriage not only intact, but better, that I could see a tiny glimmer of light. I could relate to this. This was the path I wanted to take, so I followed her. Affairs are not so different from other crises of the self and according to statistics; a lot of us are experiencing them. Finding someone to talk to who can shed light on, empathize and really listen, understand and reassure you of the “normalcy” of what you are going through, regardless of what the situation is like seeing your location on the GPS screen after being lost for so long. It’s a relief. It is not a guarantee, however that the path will lead to your desired destination. One of the most valuable lessons I learned from my recent experience is that it really did not have anything to do with me. Anne says, “My husbands affair had nothing to do with me, if it did, I would’ve made sure it never happened!” We can’t control the actions of the people in our lives that we live and work with, but finding someone who has walked the path that you desire certainly helps us on our journey.

Indecision 2010

I woke up yesterday to rain. Feeling a little groggy from my late night Saturday, I moved slowly through my morning routine. As I was looking around I noticed that my flip-flops were missing. This might not seem like a big deal, but they are my only pair and there is no way to replace them here due to the size of my feet-11. I realized I must have left them at La Luna where I was singing the night before. I also realized that if I wanted to retrieve them I would have to go soon because I could only get there during low tide. Having only boots as my other footwear option, I donned my Dingos and hit the trail. Walking to La Luna is always an adventure. By road it is about three miles, but the beach and jungle path will get you there in 20 minutes. I attracted some funny looks, walking the beach in my boots without a horse, I just smiled, “Buena Dias!” At the very north end of the beach is a rocky point. The jungle spreads out to meet the sand and the shoreline is nothing but scraggy roots, piles of weathered wood and sand. At low tide you can climb all around the rocks and apparently the fishing is really good there. During high tide the rocks are completely covered with the water right up to the edge of the jungle. I approached the end of the beach as the tide was beginning to rise, but had plenty of time. I did have to leap over a small river and splashed down in ankle deep water. It really didn’t matter because the rain was coming down harder and I was pretty wet. The path does not reveal itself and if you don’t know where to go, it’s really hard to find. I saw a runner ahead of me jump the river and disappear into the trees. I fixed my eyes on where he entered and headed that way. Aha, I know this way, it’s definitely shorter than the path I had been taking which took me all around the Hotel De Nosara, the abandoned Middle Eastern style castle perched on the top of the point. This path goes right in front of the hotel and leaves you on the dirt road to “Downtown Pelada”. La Luna is a stones throw from the end of the path and I arrived to see two tables overlooking the sea, both seated with friends of mine looking like they were fresh out of the surf and enjoying what appeared to be frozen tropical fruit drinks while watching the rain come down. Gerardo, La Luna’s manager held out my flip flops, thank the lord, and gave me a bottle of water. I visited with my friends and then not wanting to get caught in too much high water, decided to walk the road home. Pelada is adjacent to Guiones and apparently has some pretty good property deals. There is a market-Pancho’s, a coffee house with internet, Olga’s right on the beach that serves tipico food where you can sit and watch the fishing boats come in and a few other businesses. It’s pretty rustic and if you don’t need much and don’t mind being away from most of the “action” Pelada is a good place to finds deals. Soaking wet by this point I trudged through the little business district saying, ”hola” to locals with their arms full of groceries, huddled under umbrellas, just off the bus from town. On the main road it wasn’t long before Bill my guitarist pulled up coincidentally, I jumped in and headed home. The rain kept getting heavier and heavier with lightning and thunder joining in. I noticed my mood getting heavier as well and decided a nap was in order. Hours later, I had a hard time getting out of my comfy nest under the netting with the storm still raging outside, but I had to sing tonight, even though I knew with the rain we may be cancelled. Wearing my flip flops I splashed trough puddles and mud to arrive at Casa Tucan only to find that we were indeed rained out. Waking this morning to more rain, my mood still heavy, I went to a Pilate’s class, my first and tried to enjoy the hour of torture- It was hard. Alli is the local instructor here who has converted much of the yogi community to Pilates and by look of some of the bodies I’m seeing around here, I might have to give it a try. Afterwards I walked around lost in my thoughts, the U2 song, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, playing in my mind and I decided I was going to try to change my ticket and come home. Unfortunately, or fortunately I can’t. There is no flexibility with my ticket since I booked it with frequent flyer miles and the next available flight anyway is August 11th. Okay, plan A it is and with nothing else to do, the rain ending, I grabbed a board from Luigi and went surfing. I talked to my son briefly tonight; He had overheard some of the conversation between Dan and I and told me he always experienced a period of being uncomfortable on his travels-he’s traveled extensively in Italy and New Zealand and is quite an adventurer-“It’s good sign”, like Lenore, Josh said, “Things are happening”. Yes, things are happening. No more indecision for me. It’s out of my hands.

Annexation Celebration

Nosara is not without memories for me, this is the fourth time that I’ve returned to this village on the Guanacaste Peninsula .The first time we came here for a family Christmas. We rented a house, “Casa Frisbee” from Harbor Reef, a wonderful hotel and property management company and filled it with the four of us, two friends of Josh and Lucy’s, Dan’s sister and her two kids and our good friends Kellie and Trish the Dish. Nosara is a wonderful place for a family holiday or getaway. There is just the right combination of relaxation and adventure for people like us who love the beach, nature and other cultures and don’t mind “roughing it” a little with the absence of cable, sometimes no air conditioning and other perceived necessities. We’ve had two Christmases here, a dear friends 60th birthday and I’ve come one other time with my daughter Lucy to sing and work. Tonight I found myself at the Tropicana Disco Bar, a rustic open air dance hall in the heart of downtown Nosara. Dressed to kill in my new Krel Wear dress, watching dancers move to urban Latin mixes against black lighting and flashing disco lights, I looked around noticing the entire place was decorated with stalks of corn, primitive torch lighting, altars with coconuts and other Costa Rican symbols. We were celebrating Guanacaste Day. Guanacaste Day is a Costa Rican holiday celebrating Costa Rica's annexation of Guanacaste province from Nicaragua in 1824. The celebration of Guanacaste Day and its importance to Costa Rica reflects Costa Rican culture. Costa Ricans value family, education, democracy, peace and machismo. Apparently Costa Rica provided this value base, where Nicaragua could not. Good reasons to celebrate. The last time I was here at the Tropicana was New Years Eve, five months after the disclosure of Dan’s affair. In the midst of all the pain and heartache we put forth our best efforts to come together with family and friends for our Costa Rican holiday. Dan had given me a ring that Christmas, a “promise ring” signifying his intention to work his way back to the center of our relationship-our marriage. It was uncharacteristic at that time for Dan to give me such a sentimental gift- it meant a lot. Sitting here tonight I can see exactly where Dan and I were holding each other on the dance floor minutes before the dawn of the New Year, 2007, the huge net of balloons bulging above our heads, everyone around us dancing and smiling. “Feliz Ano Nuevo!” Happy New Year. Our eyes locked and we had our first kiss of the New Year. It was so intense, passionate and for me, so full of hope. Sitting here all the feelings came rushing back. It will be another year after that New Years Eve before Dan officially “annexes” from his troubles and joins the province of our relationship, our marriage, our home-me. Looking around at everyone celebrating Guanacaste’s permanent union with Costa Rica, I am hoping for a future celebration of my own to mark, or I should say “re-mark” this new permanence.

Things Are Moving

Today I woke up feeling a little blue. I was upset because I had gotten an email from Dan that was a little short. I had wanted to touch base with him yesterday on a few things and we just couldn’t connect. I wrote him that I was “bummed” about it and his reply was that “he couldn’t stay at his computer all day”. It was just one little sentence, but somehow it really rubbed me the wrong way. Not only that, but my email also included a list of things I wanted him to bring and some other news, but his response did not acknowledge any of that and then no good night email or good morning email. So this morning after sleeping late and having slightly disturbing dream I woke up and had my tea, read my book for a little bit, then headed for the Zen Café. I’ve been going to the Zen Café everyday to check my email. It is a small spot with only three tables and a futon, lounge section with low tables and bean bag chairs. They serve great coffee and smoothies and the best pita sandwiches I’ve had in a long time; homemade hummus, pesto, fresh mozzarella, leafy baby greens, tahini and sprouts. Everything is made there even the nut butters and almond milk and it’s all organic. It reminds me of a modern Darwin’s, our beloved vegetarian spot in Manteo years ago, complete with all the same locals coming in every day. I greeted Gabby, one of my yoga instructors who works there and took my usual spot at the table by the door and ordered a coffee. I checked my email and noticed nothing from Dan and immediately started getting emotional. “What is this? Am I lonely? What’s the big deal?” I ended up reading some old email correspondence between the two of us. I thought it would be interesting to see an email from exactly one year ago and pulled it up and I found this from Dan.” We have had our ups and lately downs but the hard times for me I think are times of nothingness. The times that life is just going and not much happens. I guess that feeling got to me….” He was saying to me that in that space of nothing happening, boredom, he was the most vulnerable. I feel like I’m actually in a “time of nothingness” right now and it seems to be a bit of a challenge for me. Isn’t this where the good stuff is supposed to come from? I asked for space and now that I have it I’m going to get upset about not getting an email? About “nothing” happening? Am I just so over stimulated that I need constant action? Granted, there are other things at play here-hormones- and yes, I think I am a little lonely. A message popped up on my screen that Dan was calling on Skype. I answered and Dan asked me how I was and I started crying, “I’m having a bad day”. We talked for almost an hour, with my sister-in law, Diane getting on the phone and my son Joshua as well and by the time the call was ending I felt worlds better. I left Zen and walked across the street to Mandolina, a dress shop opened by my friend Nina, who is from Miami and now here permanently. She exudes the beautiful spirit of Pura Vida, totally high on her life here, her business, learning how to surf, and her friends. A good friend of hers from Miami, an up and coming clothing designer, Karelle was here in town to help with the grand opening of Mandolina and to create “Quickie Couture” custom made garments created for your body right on the spot in about twenty minutes. I planned to go to the attunement class with Lenore at three- I thought I could use a “tune-up”, but I had time to participate in a little retail therapy. I needed it. Having Karelle drape and pin fabric on me with me telling her, higher (hemline), lower (cleavage and back) was something I’ve never done before. She calls it a collaborative design and no two are ever alike. She stitched it together and I tried it on. Lower, here, higher there, it took three tries before It came out perfect. The tiny store was full of women trying things on, picking out fabric, snapping photos and admiring one another, the men outside the sliding glass door sneaking glances while drinking rum and gingers. Lenore, the mediation teacher walked in the door. I guess I was late for class. She told me no one had come today so she came here to see what was going on. I told here how the session I had with her really affected me and told her about the tears, rain and flooding. I said I really wanted to come today because I was feeling quite emotional. She looked at me and said, “That’s good that you are emotional. It means that things are moving.”