So I couldn’t upload this funny little video in Florida because Aunt Margo’s computer was a little on the fritz. However, I can today since I am home again, home again. Enjoy. More to come on the Florida adventures soon.

Resist. Multiply. Dance like no one is watching.

Bridget, Jacob, and I are off to Florida to visit some family tomorrow. I will try my best to update you on the goings on, but I cannot promise anything. If you wind up going a few days without TRIBE please feel free to read some past posts. We’ve been at this gig for a year now, and I am certain you haven’t read everything yet. Wish us safe travels.

-Dean

Resist. Multiply. Enjoy a summer vacation or two.

Is it too late to say I should have written about my trip to France and England much sooner? Probably, but oh well. Life has a way of getting you busy when you least expect it. I have avoided the monitor and the keyboard for too long. So today, of all days, I am inspired to post without too many pictures, too many videos, and too much bull$%@#.

Where to begin? How about the weather. It was gorgeous in both Paris and London. Perhaps maybe it was a little too hot for the natives, but other than walking everywhere, I enjoyed the fact that it did not rain once. We were lucky.

In Paris we got a lot of culture from day one. We took a relaxing boat ride down the Seine River. We visited the Eiffel Tower, Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe, the Champs Elysées, Louis XIV’s gilded church dome of Les Invalides, the Place de la Concorde, and at the historic heart of the ‘Ile de la Cité’, Notre Dame. At Notre Dame, Bridget’s choir sang beautifully. See an earlier post for the video of one of the songs to get an idea. We toured Versailles, site of Louis XIV’s impressive palace and gardens. It was in the palace’s Hall of Mirrors that Germany and the Allies signed the Treaty of Versailles after World War I.  We also took time to see the cathedral of Chartres and the historic Lourve. Sounds like shart, but it is not as nasty.

We boarded the Eurostar and traveled under the English Channel to London. It was a quick three hour ride, but it hurt all of our ears a lot. I have to say that once I got to London I felt less like an outsider. Paris made me feel like I was very unpopular. The people there were friendly enough, but I got the impression they did not really like Americans. Maybe I am paranoid, but this is just how I felt. I imagine that anyone who does not speak the native tongue in a country they are visiting, might feel the same way.

So when we arrived in London, I felt at ease. Big differences were the driving on the opposite side of the road, and the accent. Of course, both the French and the English do not like to chill their drinks as much as we Americans. I found getting ice cold beverages hard to come by. At any rate, London was dope. I really enjoyed the second leg of the trip here.

We visited Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square, and the Underground (or Tube) as it is called. We ate fish and chips twice and I got to tour Chelsea with a few relatives and students. That part was so awesome for me personally. I enjoyed hearing the history and seeing the pitch up close. Here’s part of that tour below:

Our tour guide was named Elvis, and he was rad. He and I discussed some players and later I bought a little away kit for Jacob. I would have loved to tour Old Trafford in Manchester, but it was just too far from where we were.

Perhaps one of the coolest things was to see the inside of Harrods. The store puts Macy’s to shame. It has everything you could ever want and then some.

I have more to say, but right now Jacob is waking from an afternoon nap……

Resist. Multiply. Be patient, I’ll return later.

I am a lucky son-in-law. My in-laws own a beach property in Long Beach Island. As a result, Bridget, Jacob and I have many trips down the shore. Bridget’s parents are terrificly wonderful people. I love them like my own parents and Jacob is so lucky to spend quality time with them in the summer months. 

Here’s to spending time with family in a beautiful climate with plenty of positive things happening around us. I look forward to more and more Prescott children basking in the warm summer glow of endless beaches and ocean views.

Here is a recent shot from our Memorial Day visit. Look at that sky. Breathtaking and in New Jersey. Who would have thought it?

Resist. Multiply. Enjoy the sand.

“Chuck” & Sun Set Epiphanies

I miss him.  Often I think of him, regardless of what ever part of the world I lay my head, or where ever I get a chance to sit down, catch my breath, and assess the mad, mad, mad world in which we all live in, and how we collectively contribute to the broadening tension, and 21st century haze of the pending unknown and global uncertainties that will, whether or not you want to recognize them, impact all. I wouldn’t recommend doing to much pondering, trust me.

I wonder if he would love Costa Rica, like we do, or even like it, tolerate it. I doubt it.  Stella, Karaoke Mike, and Lola all say Costa Rica is very similar to the Philippines.  They ought to know, the Philippines is their homeland.  The place, to this day, they refer to as that all elusive, connotative term, comforting concept ‘home’.

My grandfather, Charles, “Chuck” to those who knew him, and loved him, served our country during WW II, acting as a “guerrilla”, a scout in the Philippines long before General MacArthur made his triumphant return, defeating the Japanese.  There will come a day I sit down to write of my grandfather, and his amazing, harrowing tales in the tropical islands of the Filipino people.

The weather, the cuisine, the oppressive heat, even the languages of Costa Rica and the Philippines are very similar.  We vacation in Costa Rica.  Sixty, to sixty five years ago, my grandfather fought a war in the homeland of my wife.  With war comes many things, most of them aren’t good, and all though they should be left behind, often they’re not, even haunting an old veteran such as my grandfather, decades after his service.  Chuck left all of us behind, several years before Stella and I were married in Costa Rica, the Central American Philippines.  My grandmother, at the time 80, made the journey, a warrior herself, obviously.   Chuck would have loved the ceremony; probably he could have done without everything else.

Summertime Blues

Growing up with my grandfather I remember him becoming distant, removed, and a bit ‘grouchy’ in the summer time.  Perhaps it was the heat that reminded him of a very hot, humid place he wanted to forget.  Perhaps it was the late night thunderstorms that sounded more like artillery than it did pending rain.

This all hit me at once, a mad rush of bittersweet memories, theories of a man missed, “Chuck”, as I held Dalton, Stella beside me, watching the scorching Costa Rican sun effortlessly, involuntarily set in the intangible distance, perhaps a place the soul, the energy, the ‘spunk’ of my grandfather now resides, and glows brilliantly as a tinge of the distant orange, forcing Dalton, the great grandson he never met, to squint his eyes, and let out a yawn.

“Chuck’s Bar and Grill”

The first time I ever saw, or heard a curse word was at my grandfather’s basement bar. It was on a bumper sticker, in the corner of a mirror surrounded by Christmas lights.

“What’s that say, Poppy?”

“Just another shitty day in paradise.”

I laughed. So did he.  Our chuckles were for different reasons.  I was very young, and profanity was forbidden, taboo, and, therefore humorous.  My grandfather was an older man; the profane was part of being a man, and the world in which we coexisted in, the same rock one needs to occasionally laugh at, hopefully with. Now, regardless of whatever part of the world I lay my head, or wherever I get a chance to sit down and reflect, I now understand his tainted laugh.  I miss my grandfather.  I miss that bumper sticker.

He and Dalton would have hit it off splendidly.  Costa Rica is painfully beautiful.

Tomorrow: Costa Rica Tale - Charlie Don’t Surf

Resist. Multiply. R.I.P. “Chuck”

Resist. Multiply. Read Below For Video Tie In.

Costa Rica – Long Over Due

Owen Scott Verde is back.

Home, Crap Home

Dalton truly enjoyed the bumpy, very bumpy van ride from Liberia International Airport to our house.  The ride is approximately one hour.  The drive winds through some mountains, quickly passing scenic views over looking plush valleys, only to be blocked by another mountainside.  Breath taking views passing intermittently, allowing only glimpses, like a brief, blink of an eye glance, at a hurried, beautiful woman on a New York City street. There.  No longer there.

Humble homes, shops, shanties, small, three building towns passed by my vision as Dalton talked up a storm, attempting to fit his entire foot into his active, loud mouth.  Dalton, at the age of seven months, has an international passport.  I didn’t have a passport until I was 30.  Stella and I are doing something right.

Granted the roads in Costa Rica are terrible, riddled with bumps, grooves, and the aforementioned, elevated windy roads that have no railing.  There were moments throughout the ride I looked at Dalton, looked at his car seat, looked at the valleys blowing by us, and second doubted our decision to make him an international playboy at such a young age, but his incessant talking settled my nerves, and eased my mind.

Baby talk is international, crossing all borders.  Our driver, who solely spoke Spanish conversed with Dalton as if they were life long drinking buddies catching up with one another.

JFL (Johnnie Fair Lawn) and I requested a pit stop.  The pit stop was at a mercado so we can restock the van’s cooler of Imperials.  There is nothing like flying, traveling, checking in, claiming baggage, going through customs, toting bags, sitting in coach, and eating terrible airline food, only to be washed away by a cold, crisp Imperial while being shuttled through a foreign, beautiful landscape, speeding towards a true, genuine home away from home.

The months of February, March and April are the dry months in Costa Rica.  The just now burgeoning infrastructure, fancy way of saying dirt roads, and the cars, shuttles, and work trucks generate dust, a lot of dry, dark brown, Central American dust.  That dust made it’s way into the pool behind our house.  Now, good people, get our your hankys, and rub your pointer fingers and thumbs together, simulating the world’s smallest sympathetic violin, but the pool wasn’t a pool; it was a mud pit.

Stella and I spend one week a year in our home away from home.  Money is spent to fly there, money is spent to rent a car to get around, Stella cashes in some of her sparse, hard to come by vacation days so we can ‘max and relax in Costa Rica, in our pool.  The pool is an intricate part, a tradition of our tropical decompression.  During the entire cold, dark, relentless winter months, Stella and I fantasize about that initial arrival at our house, and the “we made it, we survived another year grinding it out in New Jersey” dip in the pool.  It’s a baptism, a cleansing, a new start, but the dust tainting the surface, and the mud settled at the bottom didn’t want to see us reborn. Heathen.

My back, my hips, my groin from the now dealt with hernias were bothering me. A lot.  The car ride, and five hour plane ride weren’t therapeutic.  Dalton was getting heavy in my arms.  It was 96 degrees, and the nearby road was dealing us more dust, a renewable supply, settling day and night in our beloved, spiritual pool.

What to do?  Drink another Imperial, get some perspective, be appreciative of our home away from home, dust or naught, and look forward to the relaxing week in store for us.

Maybe.

Dalton was sweating, and so was I as I let the Imperial cool my dry throat.  In between sips I mumbled,”Ah, home, crap home.”

Tomorrow:  Just Another Sh#tty Day In Paradise

Resist. Multiply. Take A Dip.

Well it has been a long time since my last post loyal readers. Sorry for that. I was away with the family on a beautiful and relaxing trip to sunny Las Vegas to visit Bridget’s grandmother and aunt. Jacob had a blast and we got to do some really fun things as a family. 

We left on Monday and returned in the early morning hours of what became Saturday (with the three hour time difference). Luckily, the little man was excellent on both plane trips - a total of 10 hours on my lap. We brought the usual helpers - a portable DVD player and some Elmo, Doodlebop, and Little Einstein shows - some coloring books - tons of his little matchbox cars - and of course, lots and lots of snacks. This is the last journey that will involve the harness and Jacob on my lap, however. Next time around he is going to be sitting in his own chair between Bridget and myself. He’s getting too big for the lap and we can’t fake the fact that he is a full blown toddler these days.

At any rate, we got to enjoy the warmer, less rainy weather of Las Vegas for a few days. There was no time in the pool due to some wind and cooler temperatures (for Las Vegas standards), but we got to experience a great park, an amazing scenic drive in Red Rock Canyon, a cool trip to the conservatory, and precious time with Jacob’s great grandmother and great aunt. That was the best part.

Here’s a terrific shot from our drive around Red Rock Canyon and a few more that will probably make you smile, too.

Red Rock Canyon - even better than gambling!

Jacob fell asleep next to grandma. He missed the canyon part. Oh well.

We visited Aunt Martha’s school. She’s the best.

If you are looking for a story about gambling this time around - sorry folks. We gambled plenty by taking a two year old on a flight to Las Vegas. Enough said.

Next time: Manchester United - Happiness and Heartache

Resist. Multiply. Visit family.

A Gentlemen Always…

The flight just like the adventure in Costa Rica we were leaving behind was turbulent, but ended fine, a safe landing, a beautiful stay in a beautiful country, all is well.  Sort of.

Five children were on the return flight home, Dalton was one of them.  Four children cried intermittently, one of them vomited, and one of them complained his ‘electronics’ didn’t work.  Dalton was happy as can be, no crying, no complaining about his ‘electronics’.  With just one trip under his international travel belt Dalton is first class.

With the crying, complaining and vomiting going on I, being a gentleman, imbibed, partook in a gentlemen’s elixir, known as a whiskey and a ginger ale.  It was deserved.  It was needed. It was a whirlwind of a trip, and the flight home was turning out to be the same.  I sipped on my drink while Dalton sipped on his bottle.  Both of us were content as the white, pressurized noise of the airplane
almost drowned out the above mentioned commotion.

Side Note

Last night and this morning I received about 20 emails inquiring about the cryptic piece and images posted on Sunday evening.  Yep, those were hives, wasp hives, African wasp hives, and yep, they were housed in an exterior ceiling/overhang of our house in Costa Rica.  I’ll get into the details about that later on in the week in the “Home, Crap Home /Just Another Sh@tty Day In Paradise” part of this story, now back to the airplane…

Snoring. There was a lot of snoring going on.  Apparently, a battered, bruised, disheveled group of ten-bachelor party survivors were sleeping off the week long destruction that took place while partying in 98 degree hot Costa Rica.  I didn’t mind the snoring because I have done some partying myself, and I know the reward, the sanctuary a good post partying sleep can do for one’s head, stomach, liver, and over all well being.

Noise reducing headphones are essential for such flights, and so is an iPod.  With the shuffle on I covered a lot of musical ground, and reflected on the entire trip.  Dalton seemed to be doing the same as he sipped from his bottle, and stared out the small, oval window.  Stella was asleep, adding to the snoring element.  JFL was sequestered in a distant part of the airplane, and Lola was just a row or two ahead of us.

Lo Siento

I was in a really good, disciplined zone of posting daily from sunny CR, but the wasp nest put a monkey wrench in the creative engine.  After I heard the countless wasps buzzing, humming through the wall of our downstairs bathroom, Stella and I made the executive decision to relocate to a nearby hotel.  It was a nearby hotel, but it was a 5 star hotel, a 5 star Marriot hotel.  It if wasn’t a Marriot, well, hell, we wouldn’t have stayed there because we couldn’t have afforded it without Stella’s employee discount.  For five years now, Stella has been a Marriot employee, and we have reaped the employee rate discounts all over the world.

My apologies for not keep the updates coming, but a five star hotel charges $20 a day for Internet access.  Lo siento.  Sorry.  I thought,”I’ll write a lot when I return home.”  Which is what I’m doing right now.

I came up with an outline on the plane ride home of what I want to cover this week, filling in the Costa Rica blanks.  Here it be:

Home, Crap Home
Just Another Sh@tty Day In Paradise
Charlie Don’t Surf
Fire In The Hole
Selling Out To The Man-Gladly
T.I.C.R
More News From Nowhere
The Bitter End

‘Hope all is well with you, and I’m glad to see Spring is upon us.  Last night it was 45 degrees, at night in Costa Rica it was around 85 degrees.  There are many differences between a night in Costa Rica, and a night in New Jersey, more than a mere 40 degree difference.  The picture just above is one of the ‘minor’ differences, you know the beautiful, infinite Pacific sunset, the one I watched just two days ago as Stella snapped away, and I stared out into the salty pool of time, space and central American heat.

Up Next: Home Crap Home, Just Another Sh@tty Day In Paradise

Resist. Multiply. Fly Home?

Good people of Tribe of Dad I apologize for not finishing the daily Costa Rica installments.  There was, well as you will see below, an issue at the house that required the crew to relocate to a nearby hotel, without internet,  while it was being dealt with.  Stella and I were concerned with the well being of the gang, particularly, Dalton.

The pictures below are remnants of the battle some fine Costa Rican exterminators waged.  Thank the good lord there were no human casualties, just insect casualties.

This week I will write about the whole glorious, beautiful, trying week.  Pura Vida.  Can you say “buzzzzz”? Imperial beer cans were used for scale, thanks Johnnie Fair Lawn for both drinking them and placing them on the battlefield.  The last shot is where they once nested. At night I heard them buzzing through the wall. Time to relocate!

Casualties

Up Next: Costa Rica Tales - A Gentlemen Always…, Lo Siento, Home, Crap, Home

Resist. Multiply. Exterminate.

A feast for the eyes.

Playa Langosta
(take a seat)

Playa Langosta

Playa Langosta
(cooling off)

JFL and His Nuevo Amigo

Playa Tamarindo

Te veo manana.

For Donna & Strummer
Tibet is far, far way from northern New Jersey, but yet it has profoundly impacted me.  Not only it is geographically removed from the place of my upbringing, it is vastly different when it comes to well, s@#t, everything, particularly when dealing with spirituality, humility, and a plethora of metaphysical characteristics and spiritual attributes.

Joe Strummer, a man, a musical icon, a legend I have never, ever met has had a profound impact on me as well.  Hell, Stella and I named our beloved four-legged friend after him.  Joe Strummer was from another generation, another continent, an entirely different culture from what I am familiar with, but, yet, like Tibet I understand it, or understand it the best way my sole, biased perceptions allow me to.

I might not understand their entire stories, but I have a healthy grasp on some of the narratives. All of this came to my mind early this cold, cold morning, while the winter wind blew in my face and in an insulting tone, said,”I’m not going anywhere.  Do you see the fresh snow I just dumped on the east coast?”

Yellow Snow
Strummer, not the musician, the dog, replied for me by urinating on the freshly fallen, pure snow.  No longer white, no longer virgin like, tainted acidic yellow.  Now, there’s a Tibetan Buddhist lesson for you when it comes to permanency, or impermanence.  Things fall apart, white snow can easily turn yellow.  (Thanks for sticking up for me Strummer, and letting winter know I’m done with it, and it’s stubborn, grumpy holding on.) Again I drifted off into my a.m. thoughts while Strummer, with his nose to ground, sifted through the snowfall for a place to add a brown tint to his already yellow, and white pallet.

Café con Leche
A car horn brought me to.  A car horn at this time of morning?  I looked up, and it was the contractors, the fine gentlemen who are working on our garage.  They came this early, chill morn to do some touch up work, and get ready to move onto the next stage of the Verde Expansion project, widen the driveway, and make it look pretty, like a valet drive up at a pretentious restaurant that looks better than the food tastes. The workers are good people.  I always provide them with coffee, water, and a little snack, or in their language café, agua, y un bocado pequeño. They speak not a word of English, allowing me to practice my Spanish, preparing me for Costa Rica, and the inevitable future.

I even add,”Usted quiere café con leche?” (do you want a particular type of a coffee beverage) Always they react with surprise and just as much respect as I showed them.  Always they wear humble grins on their faces, very appreciative of my very bad Spanish.  I try a little; they reciprocate a lot.   The world could work that way, could, should?

A Broken Heart
Strummer did his job and barked at them, perhaps a bit too aggressively, but as stated in the past he does take his work seriously and has elevated his professionalism with the birth of Dalton.  The men are strangers, so… We headed into our warm home.  Strummer manned the window, taking a good look at the workers circling around our house, getting ready for the workday.  He barked some more, and then laid down on one of his three pillows strategically located around the house.  I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee para mis amigos.

Unfortunately, this winter Strummer has been spending a lot of time napping, and mopping around the house, sort of like Dalton and myself.  The winter is our jailer, and we’re doing time. Every time Strummer, my main man, comes to my side, trying to get my attention, a paw, or friendly nudge signaling, hey, let’s run around outside, or let’s go for a walk, or hey, let’s tassel, I sadly have to send him to his “place”, one of his three comfy pillows.  He’s not being punished, he thinks he is, but Dalton is in need, and going outside in 23 degree March weather doesn’t fit into his regal schedule.  Sorry Strummer, it breaks my heart every time I have to do it.  Spring is coming soon, change will soon be upon us.

Tibetan Glue (finally for Donna)
Change is needed for Strummer, for the weather, and for me.  I’ve been in a ’strange’ place, a very different place, an enigmatic zone of potentially vast growth, but like change, growth is slow and at times painful.  Some friends, loved ones have noticed the periodically puzzled, bewildered look on my face, one of them being Donna, Stella’s close childhood friend.  Donna, too, has gone through much change, all of it being profoundly good, and enlightening.  Lately, she has been beaming, and full of life and enthusiasm, a place I want to be, take residence in.

She wrote me a caring letter, offering suggestions.  She suggested this:

Get back to Tibet

Not literally, but figuratively, a decade ago, wow, 10 years already, when Stella and I initially met we both had a common interest and passion for the kind, altruistic ways of Tibetan Buddhism.  Throughout the years, well life, gets in the way of life, and we lost our way, therefore the meekness, and rejuvenating powers that practicing , meditating brings when following, even loosely, the ways of Buddhism.

I listened to Donna; I listened to myself.  She was right; I had to get back on the meditative horse.  A catalyst was needed, and I found one just at the right time.  In Nyack, NY, a 30 minute car ride north I recently attended a benefit/gathering for Tibetan orphans.  The function was very spirited and attended by several Tibetan monks, musicians, and well meaning citizens.  The feel of the room was warm, divine, and full of zest, just what the doctor ordered a.k.a Donna and my sagging heart.  From there I gained some perspective, and some websites, yep websites.  A mile a minute I spoke to Stella about the event’s happenings and the website that will lead us to a Buddhist Monastery located in our very own NJ.

The weekend of March 14th, Stella and I are attending introduction meditation classes held at the monastery, taught by Tibetan monks.  Its the first step in a long journey.  I’m excited.  It’s the Tibetan glue needed to put together this NJ man child.  A Bodhisattva? No. Not yet, but I’m ready to prostrate and bring back balance to my own internal force.

Wrap It Up, B, Wrap It Up
I brought the steaming hot coffee outside, butchered some more of the Spanish language, looked around, and got excited for next weekend’s pilgrimage to southern New Jersey.  It’s not Lhasa but it will do.  Dalton was sleeping, so I did the same, a meditative cat nap, wink, wink.  When I wake up I will email Donna thanking her.

For those who are interested here is the link to the organization assisting Tibetan orphans.  There is an amazing story behind the founders. Investigate.

Tibetan Home of Hope

Up Next: Team Rash, Does anyone remember surfing?

Resist. Multiply. Meditate.

Not A Wedding Gift

The garage, the economy, and myself are being reworked.  The winter has been cold, and long, but there are always thoughts of Costa Rica.  The thoughts are warm, soothing, but elusive.  The relationship Stella and I have with Costa Rica, like most, caring, promising bonds is complicated and requires constant work.  There are ups and downs; there are a lot of struggles while trying to progress, move forward with the other love of our life, Costa Rica.

Stella and I were married in Costa Rica in August of 2006.  It was a monumental two weeks for us.  The last day, literally the last afternoon before we returned to the states, to reality, to work, to New Jersey suburban life Stella’s father, the famous, and infamous Karaoke Mike, purchased a house in a small, secluded town 15 minutes from the same beautiful beach his daughter was just recently married at.  No, it wasn’t a wedding gift.  It was an investment.

Karaoke Mike is not an internationally vested real estate mogul; he is a humble schoolteacher who prior traveling to Costa Rica for the wedding sold his Jersey City apartment.  The time of the sale was perfect.  He bought the unit 20 something years ago for a nominal fee, and in the spring of 2006 Jersey City was boiling over with real estate transactions involving the sellers, long time residents ready for a change, and the buyers, young, high earning wall street Turks.  Always a perfect union for urban gentrification and being bought out; to break it down for you people Karaoke Mike was now liquid, and was looking to retire soon.

Is That You, Yoda?
The climate of Costa Rica, the cuisine, the pace of life is very similar to that of the Philippines, Karaoke’s hood.  So, like Stella and I, Mike fell in love with the place.  Fates, the universe, the powers that be, what ever you want to deem it, pushed Mike to approach Stella and I on the last day of our Costa Rica trek about going on a house hunt.  We didn’t know how serious he was about an overseas purchase until six hours into it, four house visits later, he turned to Stella and I and asked,”So, thinking about this place, what are you?”

Stella and I – “It’s beautiful.”

I wanted to add Yoda to the end of my response, but I chose the high, respectful road.  The place, our present house in Costa Rica, is brand new, spacious, and far removed from the nearby downtown tourist trap.  The location is perfect, far enough, but close enough to everything one would need.  Papers were signed, hands were grasped, Spanish, English, Spanglish were spoken.  A breakdown of the shares of the house, and financial obligations were divided amongst Mike, Stella and myself.  All of our lives changed a great deal those two weeks.  Some of the ramifications, and the biting ironies are just coming to a head.

Irony #1 – La Casa

As just stated just a couple of sentences north the house is spacious, and brand spanking new.  As a matter of fact it is a lot roomier than the house we humbly reside in here in our beloved, troubled U.S. of A.  As a matter of fact, well hell, I’ll list the ironies:
The CR house is brand new – The house in the Lawn, Fair Lawn, is not, far from it
The CR house has a pool – The house in the Lawn has a big backyard with no pool, plenty of Strummer poo
The CR house is paid for in full – Stella and I will be paying off the Lawn house until the end of days
The CR house is surrounded by farms and jungle – No. No. Farms in the Lawn. Plenty of strip malls though.
Property Tax in CR = $900 per year  -  Property Tax in Fair Lawn = $8,500 per year
Ad Infinitum.

Karaoke Mike Amendment – The house in Fair Lawn is in our charge.  It must be kept, paid off, not sold.  It has become a golden cage.  Thousands of miles away there is a nicer home with 4 world-class beaches all 15 minutes away via a dusty, bumpy car ride.  I think of this every waking morning, and when I wave to my nameless neighbors as they pour into their cars to face another workday only to do it again, again, again…ad infinitum.  Misery loves company.

Irony #2 - Amigos

We are fortunate enough to have a network of international friends in Costa Rica who constantly look out for us, and offer advice, counsel, and suggestions when dealing with the legalities, logistics, and the diplomatic necessities when potentially working, living, and loving in Costa Rica.  Potentially is a hard word to spell, and carry around in the cold winter months.

Irony #3 - Trabajo

I was offered a teaching position in Costa Rica this past August.  The job started three days before Stella’s due date, and two days before Dalton’s actual birth.  That’s not ironic, that’s cruel and unusual punishment by the gods.  I’m doing time.  Now, with the global economy trying to shake some serious financial ills of the past decade, foreign commerce, investments, interests have come to a halt.  Translation/Personal Impact – Foreign families are not settling in Costa Rica for work assignments and business ventures.  Therefore, there are not many young students enrolling in private schools.  Therefore squared, not many, if any teachers are being hired for the 2009/2010 school year.

So

We wait.  I wait in the darkness with the gleaming monitor lighting my expectant face as I write this.  Estamos esperando.  That means ‘we’re waiting’ in Espanol.  Oh yeah, our renovated garage, the glorified storage bin is really looking up.  The cost of the repairs equate to Stella, Dalton, Strummer and myself ‘s living in Costa Rica for two long years.

Privileged Disclaimer

I know, boo hoo is me.  I’m aware of my blessings.  We have a home to live in.  We have our health.  We have glorious friends and family.  We have, well, we have everything, two fold.  Honestly, though, time is the most precious commodity, and a lot of it is being spent in New Jersey with not…concluded tomorrow…

Next: Act III – Plutonic Dating, Rosario Dawson

Resist. Multiply. Wait.

There are two new friends at our home that keep Jacob occupied and happy as of late.  These new fellows are often aptly referred to as one single being called Teddy-Monkey.  Teddy-Monkey is exactly what it sounds like: one part Teddy and one part Monkey.  The Teddy was a great little find from a neighbor’s garage sale.  I paid one dollar for him and I never would have thought that Jacob would fall so in love with this already loved stuffed animal.  Nevertheless, he now sleeps with Teddy and his newer counterpart, Monkey.  Monkey was a XMAS gift from Jacob’s grandma.  She bought him because he had on the same sweater that she got him for the holidays.  When Jacob wears the sweater it looks adorable because his other best buddy is also wearing it.

As I said, there is not a nap or nighttime that is missed without Teddy-Monkey in the crib in a full headlock of love by the warrior.  He loves these guys so much and it is so cool to see him give them hugs, pretend to feed them, and give them rides around the living room.

Here’s a recent “after” shot from Jacob’s crib.  I carry the Teddy-Monkey faction upstairs, while Jacob climbs up in front of me.  Once all three are in the crib – sleeping ensues.  Enjoy the pictures.  They’re priceless.

Next Time: Potty Training and Climbing The Steps

Resist. Multiply. Hug Stuffed Animals.

Charles Bukowski, the prototypical underground, rebellious poet and novelist once proclaimed hangovers build character. In his turbulent days the man had many a hangover, and plenty of character to boot.

Never have I consciously followed any of Mr. Bukowski’s, Hank to his friends, lifestyle practices, or vagrant ethos, but both consciously and physically I have had plenty of hangovers, wretched ones.  It is of my humble, self-delusional opinion that I too have plenty of character. Whether or not there is a direct correlation between the two, well that remains to be seen, or scientifically proven.

This past weekend, while visiting with life long friends in Boston, I made yet another Bukowski like move. In one sitting at a phenomenal restaurant in the North End section of Bean Town, I drank two bottles of wine, pricey bottles at that, and capped off the phenomenal dining experience with the biggest, strongest Irish coffee any Irishmen has ever seen.  My accomplish in crime was an old friend, Ted Oh, Uncle Ted Oh to those who love him, and laugh with him.

By the end of the fine dining experience the restaurant’s guitarist was at our table holding an impromptu concert.  Who was shouting requests, not even letting the fine musician finish the present song at hand and singing horrific supporting melodies, and mumbling through classic rock lyrics, yep Uncle Ted Oh and Owen.  Who slept through the debauchery, my son Dalton.  He was an unconscious warrior, resting right between Stella and I.  Ted Oh and his wife Laura sat across the candle lit table.

Uncle Ted and myself see each other about once a year; this is a good thing, especially for my well being and liver. I love him dearly, and have missed him since his northern exodus to Massachusetts, but it’s probably for the best our face time is limited.

When leaving the fine restaurant, Taranta, the fivesome made their way to the parking garage. Rewind - Several sober hours ago Ted Oh and I dropped Dalton and the ladies right off in front of the restaurant before garaging the car.  If you think parking is tough in Manhattan, and Hoboken well the Northern End takes the cake.

I don’t know.  Boston buldings, specifically parking garages, all look very, very similar.  In the dark, and through intoxicated, polluted eyes they all look like a confusing mass of concrete and generic lighting.  Please keep in mind while Ted Oh and I attempted to retrace our steps, the lady folk and Dalton were gracious, and were laughing at us, not with us.  Three garages later, the vehicle was located.

It was an effort.  Many an elevator was used to explore uniform gray, numbered parking levels.  Many a half ass theory, and “No, I remember this black Toyota truck.” were exercised and executed before locating the ride home.  We even entertained some Bruins fans letting out of the hockey game while we made return visits to the stair wells, and pay booths of several garages.  Hell, I think we even made some friends.

As stated before, we found the car, and got home safe and sound under the piloting of Stella.

Hangovers do build character.  Recovering from the night before while driving home for six hours with a hormonal, breast feeding wife, and agitated infant builds character.  Stopping off at rest stops in Massachusetts, Conneticut, New York state, and northern New Jersey to relief one’s self of the dook demons heavy eating and abusive drinking causes builds much character.  Hank was right.

A fitting musical coda.  Enjoy.

Next: A New Hope, Not Star Wars

Resist. Multiply. Build Character.