Aimless Love: Costa Rican Independence Day

9/15/09

Costa Rican Independence Day, no school, one of the best days yet.

The parade started at 8. Well, it was supposed to. I was at the school a little after seven to help load the truck and get a ride into Cerro Plan, the small town before Santa Elena, where the parade was to start from. The family who owns the truck has two kids at the school, one in my class and one in kindergarten. They were in the front seat as the truck pulled up wearing matching lime green school t-shirts. They had pen marks all over their legs. I asked the younger one, a boy, “Who drew on your legs?” He looked up at me, very business-like and answered, “I drew on my legs.” I looked at his sister, a third grader in my class. “And who drew on your legs?” She smiles a sneaky smile, “I drew on my legs.”

We arrive in Cerro Plano, help set up the truck and the waiting begins. The Monteverde Friends School lead the parade with kids dressed up like local birds – quetzlas, motmots – and banner presentations and dances. I’m pretty sure that every school in the area was present in the parade. We gathered in a field in Cerro Plano and listened to music and talking. I spoke with a woman who’s grand children are in my class. I thanked her for the peanut butter she had made and sold me the week before. She buys peanuts from a man in San Jose who imports them from Nicaragua. I had mentioned to her one evening that I’d like to buy some peanut butter from her and the next morning her grandson delivered it to me. I gave him the money, checked in with him the next day – “Did you give your grandmother the money?” “Yeah” and marveled at small town life. Until today when she mentions that she never got the payment. Huh.

I watched the parade seated between two teachers and two families with sons under seven years old. The six year old, who I know because he is in my quilting mini-course on Thursday afternoons, sees me and immediately sits next to me and later clambered into my lap. This is why I love kids this age – when they love you, you know you have done something wonderful in the world. They do not mask their emotions.

I spent a large amount of the day today with Mike and Sally ( of nobreadcrumbs.blogspot.com) and their two almost-four-year-olds Michael and John Gustavo. Let me explain a little bit about life with these two boys. I had seen Sally with Michael this morning around 8:30. I waved and called, “Good morning!”, but Michael stared right through me. He looked exhausted, like Sally had just made him walk from San Jose. I jumped up and down a bit and waved some more but got only blank stares. This is not the norm. My “Hi Michael!” is usually returned with a huge smile and a “Hi Ginna!” from Michael and a tentative wave from John, who is much more unsure of me. Later that morning in the field I must have said something to Michael because as we sat on the curb watching the parade go by he asked me a question. I could not hear him above the drumming and music and said, “I didn’t hear what you said.” He put his mouth next to my ear, his lips covered with cracker crumbs and repeats his question: “Why did I break your heart?” Oh goodness. I have been careless with my words again. I must have told this sweet child that his lack of greeting broke my heart (which is a little bit true, but did I have to be so dramatic?). I tell him that one of my favorite things in the whole world is when he, his brother, mom or dad says hello to me. I reminded him that I had said hello to him that morning and he was too tired to respond. I worry that he will carry my words with him forever, regretting his actions. I hope he has forgotten it already. Why am I so careless with words around inquisitive minds?

After the parade I hiked back up the hill to my house. I arrived tired and covered in sweat. I had only eaten a few mandarin oranges, a handful of sesame sticks and one cracker offered up to me by Michael. I devoured a plate of pasta and hunks of bread with (unpaid for?) peanut butter and honey. I chugged three glasses of water with limon acido. I changed out of my drenched clothing and sat in my hammock reading The Time Keeper’s Daughter.

But only until 2 o’clock when I changed clothes again and ran down to Heather and Jonathan’s house. Jonathan is great at gently making sure I am always working on the edge of my limitations physically. Today we took a new route (left at Las Colinas Lodge) towards San Luis. He gave a fantastic tour and history of the land as I slipped around in the mud and stumbled over rocks. I felt great.
Come home, shower, throw away the weird worms in my shower, read, devour more food. Life is good.

I have had some images bouncing around in my head for a few days that I have wanted to share. On Sunday there is a separate Children’s Meeting that joins us about twenty minutes before the end. Last Sunday one of the children who joined us was a second grader at the school. He sat quietly next to his mother and sister for the remainder of Meeting. With a long, thin stick. That he stuck down the back of his shirt and used to gently scratch his back, sometimes with one hand, sometimes with two.
During Meeting it can get very quiet. Last Sunday there was no wind and no rain and we sat in silence. Almost. It is impossible, in this kind of calm, to ignore the incessant pounding of insect bodies against windowpanes. (are these noises then, window pains?) This is the music that started me thinking about the moths and their moon behavior. Sunday during Meeting something big flew in which caught the attention of at least four other people, besides myself. I watched their amused/concerned/curious faces before turning to see what was clanking against the windows to my left. It was a blue Morphos butterfly (please google image that so you can see for yourself how amazing they are). I watched, amazed, as this butterfly tapped into one windowpane and then the next, moving methodically in one direction, looking for a way out of the Meeting house. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. It passed by the open wooden slats – they don’t give off enough light. Finally it came to an open window and silently disappeared.

As I was typing this I looked up to find a rather large spider web above my head. Why? With all of this protected reserve surrounding me, why do they choose my little cabina? It is hard for me to relate this experience without using expletives. I might have to change my policy on killing insects. I stood on a chair and swept it away with a broom. The fibers were so strong it made a sound like cloth ripping. I’m pretty convinced that whatever made that web will crawl out of the gap between the wall and the ceiling tonight and seek revenge. Probably on my jugular.