Costa Rican Encounters

     Costa Rica is one of those special places where you can come 'up close and personal' with nature in all its diversity. It didn't take long while walking a path through the rainforest to see the reality of this in an unbelievable experience.
     Looking down at our feet we discovered leaf-cutter ants. Our approach did not divert their determined journey. They pretty much all kept pace with the rest of the group. Their green burden far out measured their minature size. We had obviously violated their territory and so we were careful where we stepped.
     Our senses were heightened with the smell of flowers and abundance of orchids so suited to this climate. Tropical birds were heard but not seen in the canopy overhead. Most amazing were the butterflies. It is recorded that there are more species of them than any other creature about. You couldn't help but be stunned by them. The blue morpho butterfly can reach a size of seven and a half inches. Spread your fingers far apart and you get a good idea of their size. The color was spectacular. The brilliant blue could not be matched by anything else in nature.
     The Sarapiqui river is a draw for whitewater rafters, but we took the slower paced route. This afforded us the opportunity to encounter these creatures around us on their terms. This river is the habitat of crocodiles, iguanas, caymans and even hummingbirds. However, two of its more notable inhabitants are the howler monkeys and the Jesus Christ lizard. The endangered howler monkeys are 'tree huggers', spending their days in the safety of the trees. Because their territory is limited, their numbers are threatened. The male is in charge of keeping the distance between troops by his very loud call that can be heard as far away as four miles. He let us know he was in charge.
     The Jesus Christ lizard (formally called a baslisk) only measures about a foot long. To flee from predators it has been given the ability to 'walk on water', hence its name. This iguana-like companion scooted in front of our boat, tacking a path to the opposite shore. Perhaps it was acting as an early warning system for the others in the area.
     The cayman lazing on the bank of the river paid no mind to our passing. One sleepy eye must have surmised that there was no food worth moving for. On the other hand, parrots and other tropical birds fluttered and kept up a symphony in the canopy overhead. They were well aware of our presence.
     The river trip left little to be experienced for our senses. Unforgettable sights and sounds still remain in memory. I can almost hear those howler monkeys calling me back for another visit to their home.

England - The ABC tour

   My first thoughts when told we would be staying in a stable, next to a graveyard left me more than a little dubious about this trip to 'Jolly Old England'. The reality proved to be far better than I could have hoped for. No animals to share space with, picturesque views of the garden and yes, a quaint historic graveyard. The best part was the short walk through the cemetery to the 'local'. Despite England's less than gourmet reputation, the ploughman's lunches at this pub were outstanding. The cheese, fresh bread and beer needed no apologies.
   Now to explain my husband's designation as the 'ABC' tour. Under the guidance of our relative/tour guide we visited 'Another Bloody Castle'. There was Hever, Sissinghurst, Penshurst and Leeds (referred to as 'the loveliest castle in all the world'. Knole was one more 'castle-like' stop on the tour.
   What seemed common to all were the spectacular gardens, roaming wildlife and birds. Peacocks, guinea hens, swans and ducks took residence everywhere, even when no moat was available. Two other noteworthy places were Chartwell (Winston Churchhills' home) and Batemans (Rudyard Kiplings' abode). Chartwell had an amazing rose garden and Batemans was impressive for the leather-bound walls in the author's study.
   A day trip by train into London proper took us to all the obligatory tourist 'must sees'. Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, the Victoria and Albert museum, Trafalgar Square and of course, Harrod's were all on the list. Those dead hanging creatures in Harrod's food court did dull one's appetite but not enough to forgo a spot of cream tea and accompaning scones. Of course, speaking of hanging we had to include The Tower. Under the tutelage of our Beefeater, we learned all about the role played by the wing-clipped ravens and their surrounding legend. Supposedly, if these birds leave, England will fall. No worry, these birds are taken good care of by the ravenmaster. Fresh meat and posing for photos ensure that the five on duty will always have good reason to stay.
   A side trip to Cantebury added one more notch in our literary belts. The cathedral was beyond impressive with its multitude of statues and heraldic shields. The pilgrims must have been taken aback by the grandeur. Murder aside, it was well worth the visit.
   Although I don't think we missed much along the way, two stops did not make the list. A. the dog collar museum and B. getting to toss sticks off Christopher Robin's bridge in the Hundred Acre Wood. Sorry, Winnie the Pooh, maybe next time. As for the dog collars, I apologized to our dog for missing it. I could have taken pictures.
   My version of the ABC tour will remain as "Always Beautiful Countryside". I guess its all in the eye of the beholder.

Motel From Hell

Friday the 13th should have been our first clue as to what lay ahead. Ten hours driving in torrential rain should have sufficed as the prelude to our journey. There were many clues that awaited us as we arrived at our motel. It was late, and although our approach to our lodgings were less than auspicious we failed to heed the signs. Letters missing from the sign out front, crumbling steps leading up to the rooms and a note sending us down the road to a restaurant for our check in. Sustenance became our first priority, so we took time to partake of some reasonably good food.
Returing to our motel, we at first could not believe what awaited when we opened the door. Sparse came to mind. O.K. we were going to be 'out and about' for the next two days, so that we could handle. But what we could not handle was the total lack of cleanliness. The bathroom was dirty, a large bug (found out to be a bee) had taken up residence, there were footprints in the bathtub. No electrical outlet in the room,the only option was to unplug the television in the bedroom. By this time darkness was falling and we discovered no lighting outside the motel. What was discovered was the only other patron sitting on the front porch trying to get cell phone service, in her underwear. There was none of course and no phone in the room. This place was beginning to feel more like the 'Bates Motel' by the moment. We had noticed an A frame chalet that was directly behind the motel up a disused footpath. Two eerily shining lights  were all that could be seen. Now we were bringing to mind 'Freddy Kruger'.
Turning down the bed linens led to the disgusting fact that the sheets had not been changed. Someone shared the bed first. Off came the bedspread, blanket and sheets. Turning over the bottom sheet, we failed to notice the fecal material. A blanket from the car sufficed as a covering. The only thing missing was the presence of bed bugs. Guess they knew better! Lucky us! It was too late to search out another place to stay so a restless night ensued. Because of our uneasy feeling a suitcase was jammed under the double locked door.
Morning arrived none too soon. A trip back to the restaurant (sheet in tow), we hoped to meet with our errant innkeeper, but of course that was not possible. Besides, wine awaited us. Who should we find at our first wine tour stop but the man himself. He readily agreed to refund the second night's stay and didn't want the sheet we'd brought with us. "Poor cleaning help" was the only explanation he made. He was happy to see us on our way and not looking for the nearest lawyer. If Keuka Lake is ever on your tour destination, be warned, the Keuka Lake Motel is one to totally avoid.

Mother's Day Musings

     My mother was a person of many adjectives: proud, creative, secretive, generous, a good cook and much much more. She loved arranging flowers, did canning and enjoyed being in the kitchen. She was generous to others but sometimes didn't let her generosity go unnoticed. Her pride got in the way of making peace with one son while favoring the other. She loved to paint (artistically). I remember her sewing much of my wardrobe. Knitted throws still used today and the legacy of her organ playing remain.
     I never understood was she was so opposed to my finding out about my birth mother. She saw herself as a 'peacemaker' between her feuding sisters (seven in all), but actually did take sides on issues. The favoritism of one son over the other lasted a lifetime and resulted in the two never really making peace with one another. She never really got along with my father's family. And of course, she loved to talk.
     It's said that you learn what to do and also what not to do from your parents. Hopefully there are lessons learned by remembering that woman in your life on this the weekend of Mother's Day. Love you Mother (she never wanted to be called 'Mom').

A Visit To Elmwood Cemetery

Elmwood Cemetery in Detroit is one of the most historic venues around. Begun in 1846 it was the first fully integrated cemetery in the Midwest. The grounds were designed by Fredrick Law Olmsted (the designer of Central Park, New York City).
Brought to mind are some thoughts on a walk through this grand area.

The wind sighs through the trees that filter out the rain-washed sky.
White sandstone lambs are encrusted with shades of green and gray moss.
Time and the elements have erased the identity of some here.
One gravestone bears the signature of the interred.
In another place, a note is left. Respect leaves it unread.
A cross fashioned from crossed twigs is another remembrance seen. Not as fancy as the flowers and wreaths, but meaningful to someone.
The words 'sunrise and sunset' appear next to the dates inscribed on yet another place.

One epitatph reads "the Lord watches between me and thee when we are absent from one another".

Borrowed Thoughts

     On a recent trip west I came across the following text in a publication at the Mission of San Luis Rey. The author was a nun from the 17th century, but I found the text as current as that of any self-help guru today.
     Lord, Thou knowest, better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old.
     Keep Me from getting talkative and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject.
     Release Me from craving to try to straighten out everybody's affairs.
     Make Me Thoughtful, but not moody, helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
     Keep My Mind Free from the recital of endless details, give me wings to get to the point.
     Seal My Lips from my many aches and pains.  They are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
     I Ask For Grace enough to listen to the tales of other's pains. Help me to endure them with patience.
     Keep Me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint, some of them are hard to live with; but a sour woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.
     Help Me to extract all possible fun out of life. There are so many funny things around us and I do not want to miss any of them. 

I think that just about says it all, don't you?

The Shared Walk

     The woods were empty of anyone except myself. Empty, save for the two deer, assorted birds and a few busy black squirrels. For an hour I engaged in a game of hide and seek with the yearling does.
     Stands of aspen, birch and pine became my shields, allowing me to approach a little closer. Sunlight filtered through the forest floor, casting shadows along the way.
     Tree to tree we moved through the underbrush. We assessed each other with cautious eyes. This was a woodland version of the childhood game of 'statues'. They had more practice at standing still than I.
     A trio of northern black squirrels fielded the middle ground as they scittered from limb to limb above our heads. As watchers, we ignored them, as with tails flicking they mocked our mutual wariness.
     I worked to move with the stealth of an Indian hunter. On taut spindle legs they observed,ears, nose and eyes fixed in my direction. The smallest crack of a betraying twig would send white tail flags and powerful muscles in motion.
     With reluctant patience I'd let them settle in. Eventually they resumed the forage for an acorn morning breakfast. Another interruption came from a tattletale blue jay who persistently spread word of my presence. Aspen leaves rattled noisily overhead in the passing breeze.
     In Nureyve leaps the duo quickly distanced themselves to their perceived 'safe zone'. I envied the nimbleness that came so natural to them. Back and forth our game continued. At times I believed one of the does was deliberately posing. 'See my beauty and grace. Look how clumsy you are", she mocked. I could not disagree. Armed with that immutable truth I left off the foray, leaving them to finish their feed, content to have shared the woods together. Perhaps we will meet again on another day to share another walk in the woods.