How to Spend a Day in Quepos

First things first.  The coffee. Costa Rican coffee in a Costa Rican tree house? About as ideal as a morning can be.

 Your java stupor might even make you willing to let Pops take a bunch of photos. 

Until he persists and you must persist in making the photo session difficult.

  

But it's all so nice out, you forgive him.

  Since he knows how difficult he's been, he packs you on a rackety bus that costs two Colones each (about 75 cents) to go to the beach in Manuel Antonio. You hurkety-jerk along, but you don't mind because this is the bus the locals take and far more interesting than the tidy, tourist options.

  The bus lets you off at a road-side market full of colors and happy expectations. Suddenly, you don't mind being a tourist. You buy a sarong for the beach and walk down the way to the sandy shore.

   

 Where Pops is determined in how he will spend his time.

  And I cheer and applaud him from my chair in the sand. I wave and smile and then go back to reading a book and drinking coconut water from a old man who walks the beaches calling, "Frush-a Cocanuta Wata." If you give him a little nod, he'll pull the cooler off of his shoulder, pull out a shaved coconut, give a hack or two with his startlingly large machete, and pop in a straw.

  When your hair is matted with sea water and you are sticky with sand and sunscreen, you find a little place to eat and remark over how tiring doing very little can be.

  And then Pops remembers how magnificent he was on the surf board and exults from his chair.

  And you laugh.

 

And are grateful once again.

Costa Rican Tree-house Visitors

Lovey Howell Takes to the Sea

 On one of our evenings, we went on a romantic sunset snorkel cruise. That was the intent at least. The cruise turned out to be a hysterically bizarre monsoon/thunderstorm, ocean-trek that prompted the Gilligan's Island theme song to continually run through my mind. Ryan asked if I wanted to be Ginger or Mary Ann, but I opted for Lovey Howell. Who wouldn't?

It started off idyllic (see photo) and very gradually progressed into a quease-inducing water gallop underneath blackening skies. The captain was determined for us to stalk dolphins and once we caught the briefest of glimpses, we spun a maritime u-ie and halted at cove where the instructions were to strap a life-jacket to your waist and bail into the darkly opaque waters to snorkel amidst the colossal downpour the skies were raining out. Pops had about 5 minutes in the water before the lightening began and frantic waves to return to ship began. I was too busy minding my mouth-a-gape position to ever make it into the water. I think Lovey Howell would have done the same.

But that's the thing about travel, I am learning. It's hard not to have imaginings and expectations ... and many of them come true. But when they turn south, you end up with an entirely new experience and memory that you couldn't have dreamt up. And often, once you survive it, it becomes the stuff good stories are made of.

A Jungled Path

From our little tree-house in the jungle, we would set off on little adventures each day. Nothing fancy, nothing that a solid pair of hiking sandals couldn't accommodate. Down the side of the mountain we would venture, with a little nod to the locals who were busy fixing their fences or walking home for lunch. Occasionally we'd find a paved road or path, but mostly it was Costa Rican style: dirt roads pocked with holes that served to remind you that you aren't in a hurry anyway, so what's the bother.
   Hibiscus bloom like dandelions would in our own yard


And the hot, humid weather make for tousled hair and a quick fan with one's hat. And maybe a glamour-shot if Pops has the camera.


Purple crabs skitter away as you move through the jungled paths ...

... and I skittered after Pops. A happy arrangement.

In Our Treehouse, Jungle Monsoon

 
  


My love. Fifteen years celebrated. A new adventure together.

One of the Reasons

 

Alajuela, Costa Rica 2013

One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.

-Henry Miller

To Explore Inside the Vatican

 Vatican "Swiss Guard" in still used Renaissance uniform.

 

 Jane and Pops taking in the grandeur.

 

Peter's intrigue in the Latin language increases ...

 

Interior view of the dome ...

 The magnificent Pieta. How marble can look soft and liquid, I'll never know, but we all stood transfixed by the emotion represented in Christ's body.

 Another dome, because they were just so cool.

Pops trying to get yet another photo where it looks like the children are holding up some piece of architecture.  

This was right before the children became so tired of all the marveling and sat down on the floor and we were reprimanded sternly by a severely faced Italian guard that there was no sitting on holy floor no matter what your age. The kids stood back up.

  ... and the view below as we began our climb upwards towards St. Peter's basilica ...

Stand at the crossroads and look ...

 I have been contemplative, of late. Upon the growing list of things I feel compelled to mind-wrestle, is ... the blog. Do I continue? Do I dedicate time to this mode of self-expression? One that has provided a platform for showing myself what my days do really accomplish.

I am not sure, to be honest. I truly cannot commit the time that I once did, as I simply do not have as much of it. It has been allocated to many other good things, but one can only do so much, no?

But yet, I am reticent to stop completely. Scared, perhaps to lose the connection to myself, my life, and the intentionality that comes with examining what God has brought to me today to think upon.

 
When we were in Rome, this spring, one of the excursions we truly enjoyed was our time at the Vatican. Regardless of your spiritual leanings, it is a place to marvel. The magnitude. The grandeur. The history.

But in spite of the reverential feel, both Pops and I felt a bit of a disconnect between the intention of honoring God and truly cultivating a relationship with him. Does God's presence reside more fully in the Vatican than in a country church, or a village prayer meeting?

 
A rhetorical question, to be sure. But one to remind me to be seeking God where I am at, today.

 
To glory in the opportunities of the day. 

 
Be it strolling the paths of the ancients before me,

 
Or walking the path of the Ancient One.

To blog or not to blog? No commitments either way. We shall see. But intentional reflection reminds me that my mind is a noisy place. It forces me to chew through the chatter of my thoughts.

And this always, always leads me back to is the knowledge that He is worth pursuing. He is worth my time. He is what quiets my spirit and gives direction to my steps.

And this is good.

Stand at the crossroads and look;
    ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
    and you will find rest for your souls.

Jeremiah 6:16

Rooftop in Florence

 This is where you dry your clothes when staying in a medieval villa in Florence.

 And where instead of journaling, you do watercolors of the places you've been ...

 ... and the things you have seen. 

And this is the view of the Tuscan countryside from that very rooftop.

And you are happy.

 The Colosseum in Rome is still fresh in mind.

 

 And you smile.

And paint more of what you see.

 And again. You are happy.

Proof of Accomplishment

And we're off. School is well underway, rhythms being reestablished and confidence renewing itself that "we can do this!" Life is such a team effort for families, isn't it? It's a good thing.

My mother brought over a bag of "we-have-way-too-many-of-these" plums and into jam they went. Plum jam has a surprising tartness amongst all the sweet. A very nice alternative to the still-delicious blackberry, raspberry, strawberry goodness that was also sugared into jars earlier this summer. (I was kind of jam-crazy there for awhile).

So even though the jam is ready to be put away in the cupboards, I have opted to leave them on the kitchen sill for a little while longer. They seem to be beauty and accomplishment in a jar. Like a little wink and thumbs-up every time I look at them while I'm racing to do the next oh-so-important task ... like making lunches or taking out the trash.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that proof of accomplishment comes in many ways. Sometimes that is a clean house, or a jar of jam. But frequently, for me, it's in remembering that proof isn't always tangible. And all the mothers smile and give a sigh of relief ...

To Celebrate Jane, Because She's Seven

 Our Miss Jane had a birthday last Friday. Seven years old! My, my. How the sweet years fly.

We had some lovely gifting and peach-caking (more to come on that later), but the true fantasticness of the birthday celebrations was the giant outdoor movie theater we set up in our backyard.

 We borrowed a digital projector from a friend and Pops set up an massively-impressive movie screen made out of lumber, rebar, rope, a paint drop-cloth, and clothes-pins. It exceeded my expectations. As usual.

We watched The Love Bug, drank lemonade out of mason jars and feasted on skillet popcorn in paper bags.

 
We had twinkle-lights and tea lights, balloons aplenty ...

... and happy masses of family and children and babies galore.

It was so wonderful, I have visions of future summers and outdoor movie nights all season long. 

But until then, we are content with the evening we had and so thankful for the dear one who inspired it all.

We love you, Sweet Jane. Happy Birthday.