Falling Off
I'm down for the count and fighting a cold these last few days. Been a hard emotionally squishy hard week. It's the week of my mother's birthday, we're not close, but the burden of being the one to make the fuss falls on me because I'm the only child, even if I'm creeping up on 60 in six months.
I love my mother, truly I do, but we're both so different, a real chalk and cheese situation. I sent flowers and then undertook the monumental task of trying to reach her on the phone, made even more difficult by our flickering internet connections due to the Papagayo Winds screwing with everyone's utilities. Under the best of circumstances she does not answer her phone. I can go months and months without being able to get through. Her excuse is always she has a sinus infection and was laying down when I called.
However I know what the real subtext is here going on, and it is anxiety driven with some subtle other things going on. I finally broke down and called her sister, my aunt, to make sure she was alright. We keep threatening to call the town police for a well check.
I had heard through the family grapevine she's upset with me for never calling, which just enormously frustrates me because I call, I call copiously. She just never answers. Plus she has my Skype US number that rings my Costa Rican phone.
Guessing it's time to return to Louisiana and see if I can figure out what's really going on there again. Thank God one of my kids is supposed to be moving down to Louisiana soon and can keep an eye on Mom.
Jim's recovering from his slight motorcycle accident. He finally just said no to the hideous scraping of his wounds by the local doctors and is happier as a result.
But after seeing the words of one female cultural enforcer of QF this afternoon on the death of Kobe Bryant I have to wonder if she's trying to throw shade specifically at me. Listen up, chickie, if you are dumb enough to actually be attempting to say I should have fought him on it, or won him over to no motorcycle without a work may I say this. CRAM IT, RAM IT, ROTATE IT... He is a grown ass man fully able to determine what is and isn't an acceptable risk. I am not his freaking momma. I told him I don't like him riding it, but it's really his decision, not mine. Mine was to bump up his life insurance when he insisted. I told him if he took the risk, and was killed while I'd miss him very much, at least I'd be a financially comfortable widow. He is an adult, I am an adult, and there no amount of brow beating, nagging, winning without a word. We will do what we will do.
Speaking of which, one of the unpleasant things this week was before he stopped having his wounds scraped, and was still taking the pain pills and muscle relaxers he announced last Sunday that he wanted to move back to the States. Why? Because he'd broken his shoulder, fallen off his motorcycle, endured ten trillion bug bites including two recent scorpion bites. Plus he'd had enough Ticos lying to him.
I had to ask where he thought we should go and what we should do. He wanted to move to Las Cruces, New Mexico and teach English at a junior college. If I had been like this female culture enforcer I would likely to packing up right now.
Instead I had to point out the sheer foolishness of this idea, point out it was his pain pills talking. Said he could go but I was staying put. Pointed out spending 48 hours in that town over 30 years ago is not enough to make any sort of real logical decision on. That his degree isn't even in teaching or English so he would not even qualify. That he is only bothered by the bug bites because he hasn't given it enough time.
One of the things I've learned here is that the whole bug bites/colds suffered quickly here is due to exposure to new bugs and colds. I am completely unaffected by the bug population, even when I am bit it's not a big deal and I never get infected. I think that is likely because I was raised in a tropical environment before widespread air conditioning, South Louisiana. I've gotten my tropical insect bite immunity now, even if I do react to stupid crap like cleansers and peoples colognes.
When we first moved here I would get each and every cold and flu coming down the pike, but now I seem to have an immunity to them and am getting them far less frequently than I was. I think it will be the same for Jim if he just holds on, and stays off ladders, step stools and motorcycles. No more falling off things.
Everyone here has those moments, but it's rare to see anyone act upon them after the two year mark. Jim will have been here three years in March. Most folks bail just after a year. Most everyone else says. Look, I get it. I have had my moments of wanting to leave and go straight back home. Particularly when we were in the remote mountain village in the south part of Costa Rica. I cried every single day there and just hated it. Too much of a culture shock.
Not now. Now we live like idiot millionaires at the beach. We literally can drop everything and go to the beach. Hit the pool at any hour of day or night. Have no "Must Do" schedule. It's always that Tuesday afternoon the Moody Blues sing about. I feel so damn privileged and lucky to be here.
It's not perfect, but no place is. You just have to remember that the culture here means you cannot trust much, if anything, that comes out of the mouth of a Tico. In their culture they don't say hard unpleasant things, they try to please you. They are oh so nice, but not very truthful.
I don't know why that's getting to Jim right now because we both knew it, had been told it, read about it in books.
I love my mother, truly I do, but we're both so different, a real chalk and cheese situation. I sent flowers and then undertook the monumental task of trying to reach her on the phone, made even more difficult by our flickering internet connections due to the Papagayo Winds screwing with everyone's utilities. Under the best of circumstances she does not answer her phone. I can go months and months without being able to get through. Her excuse is always she has a sinus infection and was laying down when I called.
However I know what the real subtext is here going on, and it is anxiety driven with some subtle other things going on. I finally broke down and called her sister, my aunt, to make sure she was alright. We keep threatening to call the town police for a well check.
I had heard through the family grapevine she's upset with me for never calling, which just enormously frustrates me because I call, I call copiously. She just never answers. Plus she has my Skype US number that rings my Costa Rican phone.
Guessing it's time to return to Louisiana and see if I can figure out what's really going on there again. Thank God one of my kids is supposed to be moving down to Louisiana soon and can keep an eye on Mom.
Jim's recovering from his slight motorcycle accident. He finally just said no to the hideous scraping of his wounds by the local doctors and is happier as a result.
But after seeing the words of one female cultural enforcer of QF this afternoon on the death of Kobe Bryant I have to wonder if she's trying to throw shade specifically at me. Listen up, chickie, if you are dumb enough to actually be attempting to say I should have fought him on it, or won him over to no motorcycle without a work may I say this. CRAM IT, RAM IT, ROTATE IT... He is a grown ass man fully able to determine what is and isn't an acceptable risk. I am not his freaking momma. I told him I don't like him riding it, but it's really his decision, not mine. Mine was to bump up his life insurance when he insisted. I told him if he took the risk, and was killed while I'd miss him very much, at least I'd be a financially comfortable widow. He is an adult, I am an adult, and there no amount of brow beating, nagging, winning without a word. We will do what we will do.
Speaking of which, one of the unpleasant things this week was before he stopped having his wounds scraped, and was still taking the pain pills and muscle relaxers he announced last Sunday that he wanted to move back to the States. Why? Because he'd broken his shoulder, fallen off his motorcycle, endured ten trillion bug bites including two recent scorpion bites. Plus he'd had enough Ticos lying to him.
I had to ask where he thought we should go and what we should do. He wanted to move to Las Cruces, New Mexico and teach English at a junior college. If I had been like this female culture enforcer I would likely to packing up right now.
Instead I had to point out the sheer foolishness of this idea, point out it was his pain pills talking. Said he could go but I was staying put. Pointed out spending 48 hours in that town over 30 years ago is not enough to make any sort of real logical decision on. That his degree isn't even in teaching or English so he would not even qualify. That he is only bothered by the bug bites because he hasn't given it enough time.
One of the things I've learned here is that the whole bug bites/colds suffered quickly here is due to exposure to new bugs and colds. I am completely unaffected by the bug population, even when I am bit it's not a big deal and I never get infected. I think that is likely because I was raised in a tropical environment before widespread air conditioning, South Louisiana. I've gotten my tropical insect bite immunity now, even if I do react to stupid crap like cleansers and peoples colognes.
When we first moved here I would get each and every cold and flu coming down the pike, but now I seem to have an immunity to them and am getting them far less frequently than I was. I think it will be the same for Jim if he just holds on, and stays off ladders, step stools and motorcycles. No more falling off things.
Everyone here has those moments, but it's rare to see anyone act upon them after the two year mark. Jim will have been here three years in March. Most folks bail just after a year. Most everyone else says. Look, I get it. I have had my moments of wanting to leave and go straight back home. Particularly when we were in the remote mountain village in the south part of Costa Rica. I cried every single day there and just hated it. Too much of a culture shock.
Not now. Now we live like idiot millionaires at the beach. We literally can drop everything and go to the beach. Hit the pool at any hour of day or night. Have no "Must Do" schedule. It's always that Tuesday afternoon the Moody Blues sing about. I feel so damn privileged and lucky to be here.
It's not perfect, but no place is. You just have to remember that the culture here means you cannot trust much, if anything, that comes out of the mouth of a Tico. In their culture they don't say hard unpleasant things, they try to please you. They are oh so nice, but not very truthful.
I don't know why that's getting to Jim right now because we both knew it, had been told it, read about it in books.
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