Christmas Angel

Heavy snow.  Strong winds.  Cold temperatures.  Two widow neighbors.  One snow blower.  Throw these things together and I knew I wouldn’t have any fun for the next couple days.   On this cold winter morning in December I woke up to a moderate snowfall in central Iowa.  I quickly donned my snow blowing apparel and set out to try my new snow blower.  I knew I would have to blow out these three homes several times in the next few days since the forecast was for an additional 12” of snow over the next 24 hours and wind gusts of up to 45 miles per hour.  I finished my work in about 50 minutes, I ate breakfast, and then I cleaned up and left for work.   

It snowed all day and in the afternoon the wind picked up.  Due to the storm, we left work an hour early.  As soon as I got home I fired up the snow blower and I quickly cleared off my short driveway and then prepared myself mentally for snow drifts.  The first widow’s home has a driveway about 110 feet long.  The last 30 feet next to the detached garage always drifts if there is any wind.  I pushed the snow blower to her home and discovered I didn’t have the right tools.  The city plow had pushed hard crusty snow at least 13 feet up her driveway.  What I needed was a flamethrower, a jackhammer and some dynamite.   I resolved to slowly eat away at this mess but I first glanced toward her garage and my fears were confirmed; there were large drifts next to her garage.  It wasn’t her fault but I was mad now.  It would take me forever to clear her driveway since the drifts were over four foot high by the garage and the intake height of my snow blower was eleven inches. 

So it began.  I pushed ahead one foot in this petrified precipitation and pulled the machine back before it died.  Over and over and over again.  My bad right shoulder was now protesting. Pain shot through the joint and radiated down to my forearm.  I didn’t understand why my elbow should also hurt but it just added to my mental funk.  When I reached the portion of her driveway that was on the west end of her home I encountered the dreaded maelstrom.  This is an area where the wind swirls and you don’t really throw the snow any direction; you just eat it and wear it on your clothing.  No matter which direction I turned the discharge chute, the snow blew back in my face.  I was now a triple threat; Angry, tired and wet.  By the time I was done with the snow dunes I was thinking of demanding payment.  This lady and her son had a popcorn business and she was would often bring over caramel corn and chocolate covered popcorn but now it didn’t seem adequate compensation.  Did she realize how important I was?  Did she know how much agony I was in?  Did she know that I had a pound and a half of snow down my shorts?  As I pushed my snow blower back down the driveway toward home I remembered that I needed to clear the small sidewalk up to her front door.  Wearily I struggled into the wind and as I came past the living room window I glanced inside.  That’s when I saw the angel sitting at the front window. 

She was maybe four years old with curly shoulder length hair and the light from the Christmas decorations made it seem golden.  There was a twinkle in her eye and she was watching me intently.  She was innocent and pure and altogether beautiful and she waved and smiled at me.  My heart melted since I’m a pushover for little girls and I was flooded with a mixture of emotions: guilt, shame, joy, contentment and happiness.  The self pity I had been feeling was gone and I was now thinking about Christmas and the beauty of the season.  One man (the God-Man) had given up everything so that I might have a right relationship with God.  This one little girl made me think about the real meaning of this Christmas season.  One little girl had transformed an ugly ogre into a homely man willing to help his neighbor.  She was my neighbor’s granddaughter but I think that was just a disguise.  To me she was an angel sent to change me and I’ll always see that little face as I blow snow around this home.  God bless her.

Broadway

It’s always been a dream of mine to be in a Broadway musical; Silk shirts, green tights and those funny looking dancing shoes.  I long to hit the high note and hold it until the all the old lady’s glasses shatter, the plaster cracks overhead on the ceiling and the crowd roars its approval as women faint in awe of the power, beauty and purity of that one note.  In my dreams men cry at that moment and the entire musical is interrupted as a Tennant floor sweeper wheels onto the stage to sweep up the mountains of flowers and the corsets that have been thrown on the stage in appreciation.  Reporters rush to access their online Thesaurus in hopes of finding new superlatives to describe the ecstasy of the moment. 

But sadly that moment will never come for I have given myself to the building products industry.  “To reach the unreachable star” will now only echo off the ¾” particleboard during inventory week.  “Follow every rainbow” will only be heard by the men on forklifts. “We know we belong to the land.  And the land we belong to is grand!” will be drowned out by the whining of the panel saw.  Broadway’s loss is plywood’s gain. 

I have resigned myself to this course but I still wanted to see a Broadway musical.  So on Wednesday, June 18^th, I had my ticket and was headed for a matinee performance of “A Catered Affair.”  We rode the subway down to Grand Central Station and walked to Broadway after visiting the historic Public Library (you can’t check out books at this library). Just a block from the theatre was the M&M store and the Hershey’s candy bar store.  Could this day get any better? 

The theatre was small and rather cozy; too cozy.  It seemed that every woman over 70 in the 5 boroughs of New York was there; and they all knew each other. Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap.

They wouldn’t shut up.  They stood and talked.  They turned around and talked.  They talked in the aisles, they talked in their seats.  They talked on their way to the ladies room and they talked on the way back to their seats.  I’ve been in a poultry house with 60,000 hens and it was quieter there in spite of the cackling and grunting produced by 60,000 eggs being laid.  I prayed for a lighting bolt that would only be attracted to blue hair but no such luck. I learned the following in spite of covering my ears and humming the Barney song loudly and off-key:

• The lady next to me was appalled that her clothing store didn’t have a purse that would match her leopard underwear.
• A lady in front of me was humiliated because her neighbor hadn’t invited her to last week’s big pool party.
• Another lady in front of me was upset because her husband had spilt a coke on the leather seats of her BMW and the car only had 3000 miles on it.  She would have to trade it in.
• A woman 2 rows ahead of us was suffering from gall bladder problems and she had been to 3 doctors trying to find a cute one she felt comfortable talking to.
• A lady 3 rows ahead of us had a son who was a doctor and he was just God’s gift to women.

The lights dimmed and a solitary spotlight revealed a suitcase on stage but the dimwits didn’t quit talking.  Another sound now blanketed the theatre. SSSSHHHHH. SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH.  If it had been a snake I would have preferred the agony of its bite and a merciful death over the torture inflicted by these crazed females.  Over the next twenty minutes two different sounds drowned out the rather insignificant events on the stage; the sound of cell phones ringing (at least 5) and the sound of old biddies arriving late.

“CAN WE GO UP TO THE FRONT NOW?  THERE’S NOT MUCH HAPPENING ON THE STAGE.”

“IT’S MY SON JULIUS.  HE’S GOING TO MEET US AFTER THE PLAY.”

I was aggravated now! I was seething! I had paid over $10 for these tickets and I had hoped to be able to hear the conversations on the stage.  I had been pushed too far. It was time for action.  My eyes glazed over and I was young again.  There was a pea shooter in my hand and my pockets were full of perfectly round aerodynamic peas.  There was a woman 3 rows ahead of me who was still whispering most of the time.  Two peas went into the mouth and in quick succession, they found the thin spot on top of her head.  She whirled quickly but I had already reloaded.  Three perfectly aimed missiles slammed against her head and she toppled over.  It was the last sound she would make at the theatre.  Two other loud-mouths were targeted and a shotgun spray pattern laid them out. 

The worst offender sat across the aisle 2 rows ahead of us.  She arrived late, talked on her cell phone and whispered loudly to her companions.  There would be no mercy for her.  She had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.  Her sins in their multiplicity were much too grave to forgive.  She would get the dreaded 3S; sweat, snot and saliva.   The 3S tactic had been developed by a friend in the 3^rd grade who was constantly blowing his nose.  A single pea was held momentarily in the arm pit.  It was then dragged across his hankie and then spit on.  The index finger on the left hand then covered the opening on pea shooter that you blew on.  This virulent projectile should not be allowed to enter the mouth. The toxic pea was now slid down the pea shooter from the other end.  I listened for the sound of the air conditioner since blowing air could affect the trajectory of the shot.  I waited.  This contemptuous woman turned her head slightly and now there was a 2 second window of opportunity.  I aimed carefully and a strong breath took this special pea on its way.  The pea arrived on a slight downward path and it rattled into the ear and was buried in the ear canal.  The effect was immediate and gratifying.  Her whole body stiffened and she fell to the floor. One small spit from man, one giant gift to mankind.  This vile inconsiderate woman would never interrupt another soliloquy.

Somewhere across the theatre an old man coughed.  I turned toward the sound and was quickly brought back from my imaginary world of revenge and justice.  I was smiling now.  The show must go on and I enjoyed every minute of it.  I did make a vow to never attend another matinee but as cheap as I am, that vow will probably be broken.  The show ended and as we left I decided to keep my ticket as a souvenir.  I put it in my pocket and to my amazement I found one solitary pea.  How it had gotten there I’ll never know but I decided to keep that as a souvenir too.

Bats in the living room

It had been a good day. I had been at my mother's 75^th birthday party all day.  We grilled for lunch and had a meal catered for supper so there was plenty to do since there were about 35 people present.  There was a pool next to the clubhouse and my cousin's 3 children had spent much of the afternoon playing in the water.  I could see that their play time was much too mild so I began to do my imitation of a shot putter using the 12 year old girl, the 11 year old boy and the 9 year old boy as the shot put.  I would lift them up and launch them with my right arm as far and high as they would go and they would scream with delight as they hit the water.  I must have thrown each one into the pool at least 10 times so my arm was dead. We had a good time the rest of the evening with relatives but finally at about 9:00 PM, my blushing bride loaded up her car with decorations and left-over food and headed for home.  She had worked hard all day and was tired.

 I helped bring food, decorations and dishes to my sister’s house 80 feet away and then started to say my goodbyes.  My brother from Denver then handed me his cell phone. My wife was on the line and she wasn't pleased.  As she unloaded her car and entered the house through the garage, she thought a large moth had followed her into the house.  She looked for the moth and discovered that it was actually a large, ugly, bloodsucking building-product-wholesaler-hating black bat.  It landed on the blinds in the living room and dared anyone to bother him.  She tried to call me but my cell phone was at home.  She called the Polk County Sheriff’s office but they told her to call “Critter Control”.  She dialed their number and left a message on their answering machine (this was Saturday night and they called back Tuesday morning).  She was desperate so she tried my brother’s cell phone.  She didn't call to say she loved me.  She didn't call to say how glad she was to be my wife.  She didn't even call to thank me for all my hard work that day.  It was the usual.  She called because she wanted my body; she wanted it to single-handedly face that bat in mortal combat, a fight to the death.   She had closed all the doors in the house and now that bat calmly waited for my arrival.   

I got home as soon as I could.  I entered through the garage door since I knew I would need a tennis racket.  The theory was that the bat's radar would go through the strings rendering it unable to detect it as it sliced through the air.  I brought the racket into the house and went directly to the coat closet.  There I kept my secret weapon, the one item all bats detest - a pith helmet.  I put it on and immediately my confidence level soared.  Now I was protected since the bat couldn’t land in my hair.  The bats fangs were now rendered useless against my soft underbelly, i.e. my scalp.  I hitched up my pants, pulled my belt tight and walked into the arena

I approached the bat slowly and carefully.  I tried to stare it down but he didn’t bat an eye.  I circled to my left, looking for an opening but there was none since his eyes swiveled to meet mine. I held out the racket in front of me and as I tried to poke him he took off and flew toward my head.  The tennis racket went flailing to my left and the bat swerved and circled around for another attempt at exposing my carotid artery.  I took a step back and reminded myself of the proper bat swatting form.  Let him commit to a path, keep a good firm base, never flinch, use short explosive swings and always follow through.  The bat hesitated for a moment and then flew forward toward my neck.  I smiled now for I had become one with the racket and I knew that in a short time one of us would be dead. All motion seemed to slow and I calmly executed a drop step with my right foot and pivoted to my left.  My right arm was a piston of explosive fury and power and in a single motion the bat’s future was decided.  I made solid contact in the middle of the racket and my follow through was a text book example. Two sounds immediately followed.  There was a soft crunching noise as the bat was thrown into the wall and then I heard the sound of wood on wood as my racket slammed into the entertainment center to my left.  I would have to look at the entertainment center later since I knew the blow was fatal and I didn’t want the bat to bleed all over my wall and rug.  I called for a paper towel and my faithful sidekick Sandy rushed one to me.  I gentled picked up the bat and carried it out to the garage where I dropped it on the cement floor.  I needed to make an example of this bat so others wouldn’t follow his lead.  A 2x4 was dropped and the bat rebellion was crushed. 

My adrenaline was flowing so I knew I wouldn’t be able to go to bed immediately.  I spent the next few minutes reliving other proud moments.  I thought back to the time when I killed several spiders threatening to enter the house.  Who could forget the time I had swatted over a hundred flies in the garage.  I smiled faintly as I recalled the time I cornered two crickets who had kept us up all night.  Those were good times but the struggle for supremacy with the bat was far more satisfying.  My courage and skill had been tested but my virility had once again been confirmed.  It certainly had been a good day.

And a Child Shall Lead Them

I’m old, decrepit and hopelessly out of shape.   My idea of a work out is to exercise my options.  Once I was a college athlete who could run forever.  My weight never fluctuated from 181 pounds no matter what I ate.  Then after college my exercise routine changed.  Now

 I run.... my mouth,

 I jog ......my memory,

 I lift ...... my fork

 and I skip..... good meals.

  Slowly the pounds were added.  Trim became tired, svelte changed to slob and fit went to fat.  I really never tried any diet or exercise program until now.

My granddaughter was at our house on a Tuesday night and she commented that she was running 3 miles every week on the treadmill now.  She has never been a fitness freak but she is the most competitive 6^th grader I know.  She was disappointed because she had run a mile in P.E. but her time was not as fast as she had run weeks earlier.  She decided to run 3 miles every week until school was out.  I was impressed and to help her I told her I would run 3 miles per week myself and we would help keep each other accountable.  I forgot all about this stupid promise until the next day when she called at supper time.  She asked for me and then she told me she had just finished her second mile for the week.  How was I doing?  Busted!  I told her I would start that night so after supper I changed my clothes and started running on our treadmill.  It was as if I had no brain and was controlled by youthful exuberance.  I didn’t stretch and I didn’t warm up.  Turn the machine on and away we go.  In no time flat I was done.  This was going to be a piece of cake.  Later that night the bear jumped on me.  I hadn’t used good shoes so the ball on my right foot was now throbbing.  My back hurt.  I could hardly stretch my left leg. 

I took Thursday off to heal and tried again on Friday night. 

I had no energy and my foot still hurt.

After 2 minutes my legs felt like cement.

After 4 minutes my side was burning.

After 6 minutes my feet were numb.  Normally I can’t see my feet but now I couldn’t feel them either.

Minute 8; breathing hard, there was a knife in my side, my lungs were burning and my knees were throbbing. 

Minute 10; I had to turn the speed setting down to the lowest level to keep from falling off.

Minute 12; I was starring in a remake of a desert movie where the hero vainly crawls through the sand, panting for water.  I had gone a mile and a half so I called it quits for that night.

The next day my body still hurt and I didn’t want to get back on this medieval torture machine.  I had, however made a promise to my granddaughter so I really had no choice.  This day I decided to lessen the pain by listening to Josh Groban as I ran.  I have discovered that most recorded vocal music is better when I direct the orchestra backing the singer (I used to direct a church choir).  I seem to have the ability to bring the strings to their full rich lush potential with my big sweeping arm movements and sensitive interpretation.  Two things make this difficult on a treadmill.  #1. The side to side arm motion of directing tends to conflict with forward motion of the legs.  #2. The speed of the treadmill doesn’t necessarily match the tempo of the music.  Two problems indeed for mere mortals but I am Norwegian and us rugged hardy Norsemen have never let lack of grace or coordination deter us.

The treadmill picked up speed and I was jogging at 4.5 mph.  This was not a problem for these chiseled calves and thighs.  I turned the machine up to 5.5 mph. The music was moving much slower at 60 beats per minute (andante) so it took a conscious effort to maintain my rhythm.  As the music swelled my right arm hit the water bottle sitting in the console and I lunged to catch it so the water wouldn’t douse the electrical panel.  Unfortunately I had already run for 2 minutes so I was tired and my body just wouldn’t do what I wanted it to.  My right toe stuck on the tread and I was thrown into the console.  Water went flying everywhere as I then careened into the left arm of the treadmill since this perpetual motion machine was still running.  I frantically tried to grab the front console but by this time my upper body was being thrown off the right arm of the treadmill and my feet were leaving scrape marks on the back wall.  I remember thinking, “this really isn’t going to end well” right before I landed on the boom box sitting on the floor to the right of the treadmill.  There was an awful screech from the speakers right before the cord was ripped out of the socket by my size 12 tennis shoes and then mercifully all noise and motion ceased. 

I laid there for a moment and mentally surveyed my pathetic situation.  My ribs hurt from hitting the console.  My back hurt from being thrown into the left support arm of the treadmill.  My right thigh was throbbing and my left hip hurt from the glancing blow of the boom box.  I would live but I cried since there was now a permanent scratch in my CD.  I gingerly picked myself up and I knew there was only one thing left to do.  I drove two blocks to the nearest QT and got a candy bar since chocolate has always been the best medicine.  I learned a valuable lesson that day:  Exercise is a dangerous activity and should be avoided at all costs. 

A bad day at Home Depot

I am on the home stretch with my basement remodeling project.  The family room is done and all the carpet has been laid.  I needed to install the moulding in the bedroom downstairs and hang some casing on 3 doors.  I got up early Saturday to go to Home Depot since I needed a nail set, some wood filler, and a vent.  I grabbed a $50 bill and jumped into my truck.  At Home Depot, I grabbed the wood filler and then bent down to get a white vent.  I think the whole store heard the riiiiiiiipppppppp sound as the seam in the crotch of my pants gave up the good fight and let the forces of science take over.  Oh the shame, oh the humanity, oh the draft up my thoracic cavity.

I quickly stood up and turned my back toward the vents.  I strained to remember if this was the day I was wearing underwear.  When I confirmed that there was still 1 thin layer of fabric between me and an indecent exposure charge, I was able to take a deep breath and plan my strategy.  I would hug the wall and work my way out of the store always facing any pair of human eyes.  Gracefully I bent my knees keeping my back straight and lowered my body until I could put the vent back in the right place.  I looked toward the front of the store and realized there were too many people there to execute a swift merciful escape.  Keeping my back to the shelves, I walked sideways to the back of the store.  I dropped the wood filler on a waist high shelf and I quickly began walking sideways again to the very far corner of the store.  I knew there would be fewer people back there and I planned to work my way past the service counter and out to my truck.  Keeping my back to the shelves, I continued to smile whenever I saw someone in my aisle.  Eventually as I neared the front of the store, a Home Depot employee asked me if I needed any help.  I told him I was just hanging out and didn’t need any help and continued my sideways shuffle.  As I got close to the check out area, one of the cashiers asked if I needed any help.  I told her I didn’t think so and I worked my way past the self-checkout aisle.  I heard her tell another employee that she thought she should call security. 

“OK, my pants are ripped,” I confessed.  “I’m going home to change my pants and then I will come back and pick up the things I need.  I have nothing in my pockets and I just want to get out of here without too much embarrassment.”

She tried to keep a straight face.  She really did.  But as she realized what I was doing she couldn’t hold the laughter any longer. 

“It’s not real funny to me,” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran out the door to my truck.  I went home, changed my pants and prayed that the checkout personnel would have changed by the time I got back.  I found the misplaced wood filler, picked up a nail set and grabbed the vent that started this whole fiasco.  A different clerk rang up my items and I gave her my $50 bill for a $14.85 charge.  She looked into the cash register and realized she didn’t have enough change.  She called to a supervisor and after she was done gossiping with another clerk, she came over to my lane to see what the problem was.  The two ladies looked at each other for a while and then the supervisor picked up a phone and called someone.  What ensued was a thrilling 2 minute conversation where the supervisor was trying to convince someone that they really did need change.  I looked to the clerk and told her to just void the transaction and I’ll pay with a credit card.  I was told she couldn’t do that.  When I asked her who can, I was told that it was impossible to cancel a transaction and I would just have to wait.  The two ladies then took turns staring at me for a least another three minutes and I then offered to go get change at another store.  Rejected again!  I put on my best phony smile and showed them all the love I could as I asked how much change she had in the register.  She had a $20 and 20 $1’s so I told her to count the change out since I would take the $1’s.  She didn’t want to do that since she might need the $1’s for another customer.  I gave her the LooK and the Tone as I slapped my hand on the counter and told her I want my money.  Fearfully she counted out my change.  I didn’t hear a thank you and I didn’t hear an apology but I didn’t care.  My pants were still working, I had my money and I still had a job with Bluelinx so what more could I want.  If only the rest of the day went so well, but that’s another story.

Home Improvement Skills - Electrical

One recent evening I smelled the pungent odor of burnt rubber in our family room.  I checked the cord on our space heater and my fears were confirmed.  The end of the plug was blackened and the cord was slightly melted.  My analytical powers were put to the test but I decided to pitch it and get a new one.  I looked at the electrical outlet and saw that it too must be replaced.  Now I was faced with a conundrum since the light switch was white in color and the two outlets on the wall were tan.  I decided to replace both outlets but there was a problem.  The only time I had to replace the outlets was after work when it would be dark in the basement.  I asked a couple guys at work if there was a way to replace the outlets while it was still hot.  Dave Green came to the rescue and told me that it was easy to do as long as you only touch one wire at a time.  One at a time is doable so stopped at my local lumber yard and picked up 2 new white outlets.

 As I started to take off the cover to the first outlet I realized my first mistake.  The outlet covers were also tan.  Now I would have tan covers and white outlets.  I made a note to go back to Home Depot later.  I unscrewed the outlet from the box and pulled it out, thrilled that I was the master of all things electrical.  Dave had told me that I should be able to pull out the wires from the back.  I grabbed the outlet and started to pull the white wire.  Nothing happened.  I started to wiggle the wire and I felt this strange sensation as a small current coursed through my body.  It was a pleasurable feeling, a slight tingling in my hands and down my spine.  It reminded me of my first kiss with Sandy; thrilling, short and leaving me out of breath.  Wow, I liked this electrical stuff.   

I got a tighter grip on the outlet and now I was shaking it like a mad dog with a new toy.  As I kept pulling on the wire my hand eventually slid down and I must have touched the screws on both sides of the outlet because I was blasted with a million volts of power and blown back several feet.  I no longer had a smile on my face.  Eventually I quit twitching, the hair on my head laid down and I after a long pull on a bottle of Pepsi, I got my courage up once again to tackle this evil device.   I finally got the white wire off and after another careful 5 minutes of jiggling, the black wire came out.  I unscrewed the ground wire, I bent the wire into the appropriate question mark shape and began to attach the wires to the appropriate screws.  I got the white wire connected and then I screamed as I was hit with another large shock.  I don’t know what I did but I realized now this latest shock had done a lot of damage.  The hair on my head was standing straight up, the hair in my nose was now curled (eliminating the need for a trim for at least 3 weeks) and my few chest hairs were singed.  I gently pulled out my belt and a single plume of smoke escaped from my pants.  I wasn’t even going to look.  It’s somewhat difficult to attach wires with a screwdriver using only 1 hand but that’s what I did.  I finished up the first outlet and as I hacked my way into the second, I vowed not to touch any metal parts this time. 

I kept my hands from touching any forbidden thing, I kept all wires away from each other and eventually I was able to push the outlet back in the box and secure it.  That’s when I noticed the scratches on the wall next to the outlet.  My fear and panic had caused me to keep the wires as far from me as possible.  As I was working with one wire, the others had brushed against the wall numerous times.  Now I am going to have to do a touch up paint job on the wall.  The outlets are done but now I have this urge to eat quiche and buy lacey shirts.  Man, I love home improvement

Costa Rican Death March

...good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired.  Francis Bacon...

On Sunday morning we came face to face with Gallo (guy yo) Pinto.  This was the much beloved traditional Costa Rican breakfast.  It didn’t sound very good to me but Kristen and Sandy both ordered it.  It consisted of fried plantain, rice and beans, fried eggs, and a ½” chunk of greasy cheese.  Sometimes foreign phrases and words are hard to translate so let me describe this dish in Iowa English.  You get some soft old bananas, slice them into thin pieces, pour a mixture of molasses and diesel fuel over it and then fry them until they turn dark brown.  This produces the soft, soggy, rubber tasting plantain.  Mix some dark fried rice with some white steamed rice, add some week-old  dark red beans with any other beans left around and pack them firmly down until everything sticks together.  Then take out an ice cream scoop and dish out a large helping next to the plantain.  Over cook a couple fried eggs and arrange tastefully on the same plate with the cheese, rice and beans,  and plantain. Ta Da!! . Gallo Pinto!  I was still in afterglow from the previous night’s meal so I ordered an omelet.  

After breakfast, we went into town to acquire the necessary equipment for the day’s hike.  Sandy needed a hat and Elmer needed a new pair of sunglasses and a hat to shade the ever enlarging bald spot on the top of his head.  We then hired a local man to take us out to the Cabo Blanco Natural Reserve.  It was about a 10 mile drive and cost us 2000 colones ($4).  This was a rain forest alive with unusual plants and screaming monkeys.  We would take a 2 hour walk through the forest and end up at a beautiful beach along the Pacific Ocean.  All this and more for only $25.  It was 11 AM and because we had to catch a 5 PM bus back to the city I suggested that we march straight through the forest without stopping so we could see how much time it actually took to walk the trail.  Then we could swim for an allotted time and then slowly walk back and read every sign, chase every butterfly, admire every branch that resembled a monkey, and take all the pictures our digital camera would hold.  I am a man, I admit it and this was a manly plan.  Logical, getting us back in time, yet giving us time to do everything we wanted to do.  I was outvoted, 1 to 1.  Sandy wanted to stop and smell the roses wherever and whenever the mood struck.  Since this was our vacation, I immediately saw the wisdom in doing whatever she wanted so I caved in.  I had an ingrown toenail that was bleeding, there was  a hole in the bottom of my right foot that hurt, I was wearing the backpack that weighed about 20 pounds, the temperature was over 80 degrees, and the humidity was 82%. All these factors would normally spell trouble, but I was no mere mortal.  I was a lumber salesman in my natural environment (a forest) so we set off without a care in the world. 

We stopped to look at any unusual branches.  Every butterfly produced a heartfelt Ooohh.  If a bird would fly by, we strained to see where it would land.  We read every trail sign in English that told of some significant feature in front of us.  Then we read the Spanish version of the same sign.  We took pictures of a big tree.  We took pictures of a little tree.  We took pictures of a medium sized tree.  The farther we walked, the worse the trail became.  At times the path was steep and hard to climb.  There were places where the trail was simply a 10” wide washed out area from the rainy season.  We climbed over trees. We crawled under low hanging tree branches.  The only relief was found in a small stream that we had to cross a couple times.  I stooped down and used my new cap to scoop up water and pour it over my head.  Sandy stood in the stream in her hiking sandals and let the water wash over her feet. We walked for miles using most of the water in the backpack.  I dreamed of younger days when my body would actually do what I wanted it to do.  Now it took a determined effort to continue, wandering when this death march would end.  Eventually we came upon 2 other couples looking up into the trees.  There were several monkeys gathered there looking down to see if perchance any humans might pass by.  These humans would not be in their natural element so it would really be a sight to behold.  Eventually we got tired of looking at each other so we moved on. The path had been climbing for some time so we knew that we would soon have to descend in order to get to the ocean.  We finally started down and the walk became slower since the trail was rocky and it was difficult to find a safe place to put your foot.  As we went down my foot would slide to the end of the shoe and it would irritate my ingrown toenail.  I couldn’t remember when I had so thoroughly enjoyed a similar walk.  Over 2-½ hours after we began, we came to the beach.  We had survived but I was worried about the return trip since we had drank most of our water and Sandy and I were beat.   

I went to the water facet near the beach and fought to beat back the anxiety and concern that came when I found out it didn’t work.  I wouldn’t be able to complete this trip without replacing the water I’d lost.  Kristen didn’t seemed fazed by any of this since she jumped into the ocean as soon as we got to the beach.  I ate an apple and a hunk of dry bread and then took a piece of paper and updated my will.  When they found my body, I wanted them to know and understand my final wishes.   

We found a shower line at the edge of the forest and determined that we would have to use this water.  I drank a large quantity of water and we all filled our bottles.  We were only able to stay on the beach for 30 minutes since I thought we would be slower walking back.   The return trip was at times pure agony.  I had to contend with sore muscles, fatigue, a throbbing foot, dizziness and 2 vultures who were slowly walking behind me biding their time.  My shirt now weighed over 10 pounds and was chafing with each movement.  Time didn’t stand still, it seemed to go backwards. …….. I was carrying Sandy now over my shoulders and dragging Kristen by the hand.  I would walk for 50’ and then catch my breath.  I had to fight now for each step up the narrow rocky path.  Every 10 minutes I would stop and pour additional water into Sandy and Kristen.  I would not take any water for myself until I knew they would regain consciousness.  I struggled on.  Finally we got back to the bus stop and we were able to return to our motel.  I had lost 10 pounds that day.  We were all tired but glad to be alive.