monte verde cloud forest

When we got to Monte Verde the temperature was about 15 degrees cooler, with strong winds and a cloudy mist in the air. This is Costa Rica's "cloud forest." Most restaurants, shops, and hotel lobbies we saw in Costa Rica were without walls. We weren't sure how they locked up at night. But not in Monte Verde. This is one of the few restaurants we went to with walls. Even so, there was still a local pooch to curl up at your feet while you ate. I just love Mike's blue eyes in this picture.


We communicated with the kids via email. This was a fun internet cafe Mike found.


This is the garden and lush view from the back of our hotel. I spent quite a bit of time reading there, while Mike explored and found a local barber to cut his hair.

We went to the cloud forest park, which featured several tours and experiences. We toured a herpetarium, where we saw indigenous frogs, snakes and lizards. Mike went on a hanging bridges tour while I went to a hummingbird garden.




Together we did an amazing zipline tour through and above the forest canopy. Thirteen different lines, the longest of which was 1000 meters, gave us a different view of Costa Rica's verdant beauty.



As if that wasn't quite enough excitement, the final experience was a terrifying "Tarzan Swing." They attach your harness to a rope and push you off a ledge, and you howl involuntarily, sounding not nearly as much like Tarzan as you'd like to.

I was pretty fulfilled at the end of this day, but Mike realized we could squeeze in a "night tour" of the cloud forest. I didn't take these pictures, but I want to give you an idea of some highlights from the "night tour."
The jewel beetle, which looks solid gold. No kidding.

This one's for you, Ken. The click beetle, which makes a distinct "click" when it flips from its back to its legs. That's not the coolest part, though. It has two tiny headlights that switch on when you touch it. Like two little leds. They slowly dim until you touch it again. Nature is so cool. Especially the stuff that glows.


Our guide was amazing. He pointed out frogs, stick bugs, all manner of insects, and birds sleeping in trees. He showed us swarms of nectar bats darting around the hummingbird feeders. At the end of it all, he zoomed away on his motorbike like an Indiana Jones adventure-nerd.

We finally got some dinner late that night. Beans and rice and the live music playing in our hotel restaurant capped the perfect day.

arenal (costa rica part 2)

observatory
Our first day we drove up north to Arenal. We stayed at the "observatory," the only hotel inside the beautiful national park. We hiked around and marveled at the groaning and rumbling from the volcano.







canyoning
We spent a day on this new adventure sport that involves rappelling, hiking, climbing, and traversing streams. Even getting there was exciting.


That's me, sailing down a waterfall:



And jumping in a deep, but narrow pool:



And Mike. I just love this face. I don't remember him being scared, but I do remember the guides joking around a lot.





volcan arenal
The most spectacular reason to visit Arenal, is of course, the active volcano. There is some activity about every ten minutes. During the day you experience smoke and rumbling, but during the night, if you're lucky enough to be there when it's clear (like we were!) you see lava and molten boulders crashing down the side of the mountain.

pura vida

We've been home a week and a half and unfortunately Costa Rica feels like a distant memory. The reunion with the kids was sweet, but getting back into life...not-so-sweet.

Now when we feel stressed Mike and I say "pura vida" and sigh. "Pura Vida" is Costa Rica's mantra, motto, salutation, affirmation, exclamation, and way of life. It's their best advice. (The cynical side of me would point out that it is also their logo, gimmick, and brand. But hey, why not? Pura vida!) It means "pure life." And when I finally began to surrender to Costa Rica's quirks and charms, I really felt it. Pura vida.

My next posts are going to be more of a travelogue, because I want to tell you about the places we went. But here are some photos to give you the flavor of Costa Rica.


First of all, the food. They offered quite a variety, but I always went with the "typico," meaning black beans and rice, fruit, steamed vegetables, stewed plantains, usually with some chicken or fish blended in. It never got old, and was never presented exactly the same. In this picture, it's breakfast.



Next, the car? You have to realize, we had this car. Three times. The first three cars of our marriage were nissan sentras. So it felt like fate that we would be driving around the treacherous and exciting back roads of Costa Rica in one. Mike won the tug-of-war on renting a budget car, but I won on renting a GPS. And I've never been MORE RIGHT about something. Not only were there no street signs, but no addresses. So the GPS took us everywhere by looking up the names or categories of places we wanted to go. It also warned us of the recurring, one-way "dangerous bridges," and it played a little simba drumbeat periodically to let us know about interesting sights to see. We didn't always feel safe driving around Costa Rica, but we survived without incident.



This is just a typical road. We were on these dirt roads for hours between each of our 4 main destinations.


I laughed at both of these signs. Depicted below, I believe is a child (or little person?), a dog (which, no kidding, there were no leashes or fences for dogs--they were just everywhere, happy and chill. At your feet in every restaurant, frolicking in every park. Pura vida.), a sloth, and a monkey. These last two we did see, but only in the forest.




Here we are at the end, after the "pura vida" mentality has completely soaked in.

More to come!

art literacy

"I love this project!" I heard little voices say this in each of the classes I taught this month. Guess what kids, I loved it, too!

We are learning about American regionalist painter Grant Wood, who did the famous painting of a farmer and his daughter, American Gothic. (above)

He also did a much lesser known sculpture called Lilies of the Alley, using "found objects," in 1925. It was the piece we decided to emulate for our project. Hmmm...I can't find any web images of the original, but I can tell you he used "found objects" such as a flower pot, gears, scrap metal, bottle caps, and clothes pins. He painted and assembled them to look like a colorful little flower. I'll show you what some of the kids did.

First, the second graders:



The rest are from my fifth grade class:






I don't know why it looks like I'm frowning. Really, I LOVE teaching art literacy! Maybe it's just deep, happy concentration. Here I am with Sam:

a lump of dough and a place to grow

My mom used to mass produce homemade bread in our kitchen. She ground the wheat herself and baked the bread in #10 cans, so each slice was a huge circle. She did this regularly, and her bread made up a large part of our daily diet. We had our trademark circular peanut butter sandwiches in our school lunches, which were more the mystery than the envy of the cafeteria.

Why is your bread round?

(Defensively) Well, why isn't yours?

It was whole-wheat goodness, which at times seemed oppressive. Why couldn't we have white Wonder bread like the other kids?

Because mom knew what was best. Mom's bread was healthy, filling, and comfortingly ever-present. And on baking day it was nothing short of a delicacy. I can still smell, taste and touch it. The aroma was one thing, but there was nothing better than a piece of bread fresh from the oven, smothered with honey. Everyone wanted the domed top: the coveted "heel." We could easily devour a whole loaf in an evening.

Sometimes I was my mom's "helper." If I wanted she would give me my own lump of dough to shape into a loaf for myself. I would play with it and sometimes make it into an animal shape, using little dough balls and coils. I would incorporate different spices and color it with food coloring. I would dust it with sugar or salt. It became a masterpiece in my eyes, my own edible art. I don't remember being chided for the mess or the silliness. I remember feeling free and capable.

My mom taught me how to make scrumptious special occasion rolls, cutting dough in circles, brushing on melted butter, and baking until golden brown. She taught me to make pie crusts with fluted edges, and how to decorate cakes, although I never could replicate her frosting roses. She gave me the assignment of Sunday dessert and didn't mind at all when I made it more complicated than it needed to be...like molded orange mousse, individual parfaits, or ice cream cake. My mom allowed me the run of the kitchen. I poured over recipes and baked dessert after dessert. I created my own cookie recipes, the results of which were often inedible. I made up my own pancake toppings, wacky after school snacks, and exotic entrees that required special ingredients. Once, I stayed up half the night making gazpacho and empanadas to impress my Spanish class. She let me have at it.

I suppose my culinary interests were to some degree helpful to my family. I suppose I cleaned up after myself, most of the time. But I think in general it took a great deal of patience and tolerance on my mom's part to have me invade her kitchen. She is a follow-the-recipe kind of a cook and a no-nonsense kind of a homemaker. And yet she gave me latitude to grow in my own way. The closest my mom ever came to scolding me for my experiments was, "you're going to eat that, right?"

So Happy Mother's Day, mom. And thanks for the lump of dough.

let me count the ways...

(to Mike on his fortieth birthday)
You strive for improvement. You love me as much without makeup as with. You help Sam create and make him feel that his ideas are possible. You make house calls to coworkers in their times of joy or sorrow. You are quick to extol the virtues in others. You don’t watch people suffer from a distance; you find out what you can do to help. You love my cooking. You compliment me and make me feel beautiful. You listen without judgment to my insecurities. You compliment my parenting. You go to Sydney’s class when she invites you. You ask my advice. You give me advice but trust me to make my own decisions. You honor my strengths and talents. You seem oblivious to my shortcomings. You support Berkeley and make him feel like a superstar. You are a good son; you take a legacy from your upbringing and make it real and important to your own children. You accept all of our children as they are. You make goals and then make them realities. You are up for anything—from cross-country skiing to laser tag—you’ll do it if I suggest it. You take your family camping in the summer and skiing in the winter and you keep us outfitted for all manner of recreation. You are smart. You are funny. You want to do what’s right. You do what’s right. You understand me. You trust me. You take an interest in my interests and treat me like an authority on those things. You make me feel like I am better than I am. You love your friends but prefer your family. You adore your children. You honor the priesthood and love God above all else. You are a patient teacher. You pray for people. You celebrate the accomplishments of others. You do not get jealous of anyone for any reason. You keep your mind and body clean and pure. You work out. You enjoy doing hard things.

That’s how I love thee…

“…to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.
….I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.”
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

attention Austen fans

Good news: If you missed the premier of the first installment of the new PBS Emma, you can get caught up at the website this very minute. In the little prelude we hear Austen's own introduction to the character of Emma, "a heroine whom no-one but myself will much like."

I love it and can't wait for next Sunday night! The chemistry between the two leads is palpable, but I do think Knightly is too young and gorgeous. He makes up for it with stern disdain for Emma, which almost masks his affection for her. Romola Garai is excellent as Emma: beautiful, confident, annoying and naive. Miss Bates is maybe my favorite--you really feel the story behind her nervous nature.

Anyway, if you are a fan, watch it and come back here to let me know what you think.

awkward

So, you may think you're getting a glimpse at some of my multiple personalities. Not so.

I maintain blogs for two missionaries, who are siblings. I now have accidentally posted one post from each of them on my own blog. These are real people and not just a figment of my imagination.

Mackenzie is serving in Taiwan, and Brad is serving in the Dominican Republic (a little country that shares an island with Haiti). They both come home this summer.

If I ever do develop multiple personalities, I can only hope they are as amazing as this brother and sister duo. I have enough trouble maintaining just the one personality, though, so I'd best stick with that.

happy place

I want to show you a picture of each member of the family in his or her respective happy place in Mexico. Starting with me, enjoying that impossible blue of the Caribbean.

Sam, always happy when scouting out a good deal, like this Chichenitza hat.Maia, who could usually be found in or near the hot tub, with a mango smoothie in her hand.


Mike, who craves adventure, is in his happy place mid-air. He is jumping into a cenote, or sink hole.

Sydney set down Harry Potter VII only to eat. Pictured here with her personal highlight, a fruit cocktail with lime sorbet.

Berkeley was happiest exploring and soaking up the history of the region. But he sure didn't mind relaxing in the sun as well.

We each found a happy place in Mexico, but we're happy to be home. Kind of.

I'll post more about it later.
Hope you are all enjoying winter break as much as we are!

apple fritter pancake

The other day I woke to the delicate chimes of a silver christmas bell outside my door. There was no school, so naturally the kids woke early and I slept late. Sam stood holding the tantalizing creation you see above. Just for me! Invented by him!

I had him make another one so I could document the steps.

#1 peel and thinly slice apples.

#2 make your favorite pancake batter from scratch,
except substitute EGG NOG for milk

#3 place a layer of apples on a hot pan

#4 pour on a layer of egg nog batter

#5 top with another layer of apples

#6 cover for a few minutes

#7 flip carefully and cook through

Serve with cinnamon sugar, powdered sugar, and freezer raspberry jam.

Way to spread some Christmas cheer, Sam!

that's just not natural

I am laying in bed sick today, catching up on "The Week," a favorite news magazine. They have a little piece on how monogamy is not really a natural part of our human makeup. Apparently, we aren't programmed to want to be with the same person day after day, week after week. Well, good job science, but I think that theory has been around for years.

The great part of the little article though, is the point that there are lots of things that feel natural that are not good for you, like eating bacon and smoking pot. And lots of things that are intensely difficult, like running a marathon, or staying married, that can only happen when we master our natural inclinations, subdue our natural self and commit. I am thankful for parents who have stuck it out, and now reap the benefits of loving companionship in their golden years. And I'm thankful for a husband who loves me after 17 years, even though it's not natural.

good mother or big brother?

Social networking has so many advantages for teenage kids. So do email and texting. I resisted letting these things into my son's life, but I quickly became a believer. For a kid who is inclined to crawl into his shell, getting texts and being "tagged" can work magic. It helps him feel included, helps him create his own identity, and gives him confidence navigating social situations.

Kids are less likely to get left out when it's so easy to contact everyone. Say a group is spontaneously going to walk home from school and stop for ice cream instead of riding the bus. It's so easy to text lots of people, including moms, to set the plan in motion. And it feels great not only to be included, but to have that means of independence.

Kids also get the chance to express themselves through their online identity. Berkeley found a dictionary definition of the word "pieless" (in our OED, of course) and used it as his profile picture for months. Not everyone gets his sense of humor, but he doesn't care. It feels safe to express it in that way whether people get it or not.

My favorite aspect of these modern innovations is the social practice they provide. Too young too date, but suddenly interested in friendships with the opposite sex, social networking, email and texting give "safe" ways to communicate comfortably, which will hopefully translate to confidence later on, face-to-face.

However, even though I see so many advantages for my son, I know that at that age, if I could have had access to such means it would have just added fuel to the fire. I was already somewhat inclined to inappropriate behavior for my age. I felt plenty included, I had buckets of identity, and I certainly didn't need "practice" being social. I would have needed serious limits with social networking, email and phone use.

So my question is this: how much should parents monitor these outlets? Sometimes I feel guilty peeking in on his private conversations, but I also feel like I have to. It's my job...right? After all, he might need help dealing with girls like...me. And where do you draw the line as a parent with things the kids are chatting about? Do you make your child delete friends for online bullying of other kids? Using the F-word? Anyone willing to share?

the lighting of a fire

This is dedicated to Sweet Polly Purebred, whose recent post about women and education really got me thinking.

She asks, What part of your post-high school education do you use on a daily basis?

The question intrigues me so much because I find it's impossible to separate what I learned in the classroom from who I became. For me, those were still formative years, so I'm glad I was in school. I can't imagine a better environment for someone still coming into her own.

I was a late bloomer, academically. I went into college a major goof-off, skating into my school of choice with barely passable grades and ACT scores. I spent as little time as I could studying and even less in class. I left papers and projects to the last minute, and had several close scrapes, including once missing a final and another time falling asleep during one. I chose my major late in the game, after taking whatever classes sounded good for two years. I realized I had more credits in English than anything else, so I declared it my major and started filling out the rest of my semesters more systematically. In short, it's a miracle I graduated with a relatively high GPA and with professors urging me to stay for graduate school.

By that point I was married and pregnant. I was much more engaged in my coursework, but I wasn't concerned about having a career. All I wanted out of life was growing inside me. Then after the baby came I realized that as much as he was the center of my universe, he didn't need me 24/7. I am not saying that all women should feel this way. I'm talking about this particular child and this particular mom. We were up for much more. And it was so convenient. I was there, living just off campus, still visiting professors and still very much living the student life. Mike decided to stay for graduate school so it was an easy decision to throw an application together and start a masters degree. That's when I really began to work. During the next two years I threw myself into the culture of academia, taught freshman English classes, and received only one cursed A- to mar my perfect GPA. At the same time I was a mom, a singer in a band, and an active member of my ward.

Those two years were both stressful and invigorating. I pushed myself to my limits and learned, ultimately, that I couldn't have it all but I could come pretty close. The awareness of my own ability was by far the most important outcome of my college experience. Knowing I could perform so well became a part of my core identity. And that's the part of my education I use every day. It's not what I "learned" in the classroom, but the path of learning that changed me. As William Butler Yeats says, "Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire."

did that really just happen?

I tell you, nobody has the power to make or break my day like this kid. Here's what was said:

Berkeley: "Nice sunglasses."

Me: "Oh, yeah. Sorry. I think these are yours."

Berkeley: "I know. They look good on you."

Just took a few seconds to turn my whole day around! Lately I've felt that this stage of parenting rocks! Although I don't think I'll press my luck by borrowing any clothes.

Anybody else have good teenager moments to share?

millions of peaches...part two

For all the space-age housewives out there, you know you're not supposed to put a canner on a glass-top stove. We've been canning outside for years using a camp stove. It's slightly inconvenient to carry the jars out from the kitchen, but a major upside to canning outside?
Your house doesn't get hot.

And you still get this:

After a couple of batches, all I had left was this many peaches.
Not enough for another batch.

But after Mike read my last post, he made this!
Peach n' blueberry crisp for me!!!

millions of peaches...peaches for me?

I picked peaches this morning. Lots of luscious, ripe peaches. The only problem with picking peaches is that they are so stinking easy to pick, you get more than you need in all of five minutes. Then you get them home and realize you have to do something with them. I'm going to can in the morning, but to whittle down the canning job I thought we should eat as many as possible.

So I made a big beautiful crisp! First, I started by eating a very tiny bit of dinner, to be sure to leave lots of room for crisp. Then took out the largest pan I have and filled it with peach slices. I had visions of crisp for dessert and breakfast. So why not go overboard? I sprinkled in some blueberries for color, and topped it with a delectable crumbly topping. Is there a more heavenly combination than butter and brown sugar? I was preoccupied with the aroma all during our family night. Then I dished it up for everyone, realized my watch had stopped and I was late to an SAT prep class I had to teach. I ran out the door thinking how much better the crisp would taste with the kids in bed. I thought about it for the whole two hours I was gone.

In the meantime, my family succeeded (and it can't have been easy) in polishing off the entire thing. Now I have the lingering aroma, a dirty pan soaking in dishwater, and a bowl of cheerios for my treat. I didn't get a single bite.