The Super Veterinaria Liberia

My pulse quickens, my testosterone surges and I get a little pep in my step when we go to visit the Super Veterinaria Liberia in Guanacaste! My favorite "guy place" to go shopping in Liberia, Guanacaste! (Gimme a Tim Allen, "Arrh, Arrh, Arrh!").

Though, there are some items available for purchase by women - mostly related to cats - guys can buy just about anything and everything manly here. Gas powered chain saws, weed whackers, guns & rifles, work boots, cowboy boots, horse saddles, fertilizer, dog food, chicken feed, knives, machetes, medicines for horses/cattle/dogs, rope, cowboy hats, roosters, puppies, goldfish, bunny rabbits................ Ummmm.... Ok....... so the last three items only apply to gay men, and maybe the cowboy hats and boots too. But the point is, we're all men and the Super Veterinaria Liberia doesn't disappoint!

Yesterday's mission was to purchase 10 kilos of dog food and a couple of kilos of fertilizer for my fruit trees. But! As is such with many missions, something went awry and my 4-year old daughter left with a plastic bag containing a female Siamese fighting fish. That's right! A girl fighting fish, and in the hands of a little girl! WTF?!

But, hey!! What am I saying?! It was a freakin' Siamese fighting fish, right?!! I mean, if you mentally block out the female part, that's freakin' manly!! Arrh! Arrh! Arrh! Mission accomplished!

Pura vida!

...and I know I will succeed (Repost)

REPOST: I originally posted this on August 16, 2011. But after re-reading it I decided to delete it because I though it made me look unsuccessful and weak, and in certain respects, maybe it did. But today I was reading a blog by Jonathan Fields called "How to Risk Genius When You're Down and Out" and I decided to repost it. In the week or so since my original post, I've received nothing but help, advice and support from friends, family and people I don't even know. So I have been and continue to be successful and I've never felt stronger. I guess the only thing I would add to the original is this: "If America taught me one thing, it's that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scout's lemonade jar."

It's a gloomy day here in Guanacaste (relatively speaking) with gray, overcast skies and my mood has swung in line with the sky's. It's not raining - yet - and the temp is a comfortable 80 degrees, but there's something about the sky that's just bumming me out right now. It reminds me of how I used to feel towards the end of summer in Chicago - like right now - when I'd get that first hint of fall in the atmosphere. In a single day, the photo period would change, the air density would change, the cloud formations in the sky would change, the direction of the wind would shift... and I would instinctively know that summer's demise was imminent. I would suddenly feel depressed (Solar Affective Disorder) and the urge to migrate to a warmer and sunnier clime would overtake me.

I finally did migrate to a warmer and sunnier clime permanently in June of 2005 when I moved to Playa Hermosa, Guanacaste, Costa Rica. Seems like a lifetime ago, but I've never looked back. Times were good back then with real estate booming here and in the US. I was making enough money to live comfortably in my new found paradise. I met the woman who would become my wife, started a property management business, then got into the real estate business. Life was tuanis!

The property management business was a 24/7 enterprise, and my partner was giving away our services at reduced rates to seal real estate deals, the commissions on which were not shared. I had an epiphany and liquidated my interests. We parted on good terms. She gave me a leg up and a start. I then became partners with a good friend of mine in real estate and operated out of an office in Coco. Let's just say my luck in selling real estate reached in pinnacle with a co-broker's client breaking his neck and nearly drowning while we were both awaiting a signed sales contract after 3 rounds of negotiation on a villa. I interpreted that as God's way of telling me, "Get out of real estate, Mike!"

I then went into the bar/restaurant business when my father-in-law (R.I.P.) presented me with an opportunity to rent a space he owned here in Hermosa about 200 meters from my house for $0/month. I had a good thing going. I mean, I wasn't getting rich and it was hard work, but it was paying the bills and it was a lot of fun. Then, Aurelio, died suddenly, and my verbal agreement died with him. I was forced to relinquish my business for the greater good of his surviving children so they could rent the restaurant out and generate some income. I was angry, at first. But it made sense in the end.

One of my steady clients heard the news that I was closing and gave me a call. He had his own PR business and thought I might be a good fit. He said anyone who can run a bar/restaurant in Costa Rica and keep his client's happy and coming back was perfect for PR. We struck a salary deal which worked for about 3 months. I resigned the other day about 5 minutes after our president was forced to resign. The fact that I hadn't been paid a salary since December made the decision to resign a gimme.

So now I'm out on my own again. I've decided I'm going to make a run at the PR business solo, with baby steps. And as I type this, the tropical sun is making a tremendous effort at peaking out from behind the gray drab, and I feel it's warmth... and I am energized by its light... and I know I will succeed.

Copos!

Copos (literally, "flakes" - as in "snow flakes") are sold on the street and on many of the popular beaches of Costa Rica by copos vendors pushing two-wheeled carts with insulated compartments that house a large block of ice (maqueta de hielo). The carts are also outfitted with holders for flavored syrups ("blue"/chicle/bubble-gum, "red"/kolita/kolita, "white"/coco/coconut, "purple"/uva/grape, "green"/limón/lime, "orange"/naranja/orange), paper cups, spoons and straws.

The vendor has a cool shaving contraption that probably has a name, but I don't know it. It holds an inverted cup and directs the ice shavings up into it as the block is shaved. There's some technique involved and it's fun to take part in the spectacle of the "production" of the copo. Copos have been the cool, rich, sickeningly-sweet favorites of non-diabetic kids and adults alike for generations.

Wanna see how it's done? Here's a video I took today while walking the dogs on the beach that'll give you an idea of what I'm talking about. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I can't share with you the sugar rush and the snow cone headache that these things pack.

The sugar buzz one gets from one of these streetwise delicacies is intense, even for an adult. Give one to a three or four-year old and you'd better get your catcher's mit or goalie goves ready.

P.S.: No worries! I was able to walk my buzz off and didn't have to go to the hospital. Phew!

Pura vida!

Publish Post

Frutales II

In early October of last year I blogged about my fruit trees in "Frutales". I was just re-reading that post and looking at the pics I took that day. I was blown way by how much my little trees have grown in 10 months.

I posted this video the other day on my Facebook page and was kind of surprised by some of the comments I received. I guess I take gardening for granted. Because I found out that there are a lot of people who try hard at it, yet don't get the results I do. I guess I have the green thumb. I'm flattered - and fortunate.

I get a great deal of satisfaction out of gardening. There's just something about nurturing a living thing and getting something back from it in return that's extremely gratifying, validating. And I love being out in nature, getting dirty and sweaty, getting blisters and cuts, callusing my hands in the company of the bugs, birds, monkeys and other plants and animals (i.e. my 4-year old daughter). I love the smell of soil, the "zing" of the machete and even the sting of ants. It's real, palpable. I feel alive.

And in case you didn't notice, it's amazing how fast things grow here!

¡Pura vida!