Christmas Day 2020

2020 has been an unusual year. Many of us have become sick, have lost loved ones, have been unable to travel, and have lost our income. We have had an autocratic leader for 4 years and the problems in the U.S. cannot be laid entirely at his feet, but the heartless behavior of some of our political representatives is in many ways a product of the example placed before them by him.

I have not travelled to the U.S. this year, something I usually do twice. I go to see my children and the friends I left behind and to stock up on goodies I am not able to get in Costa Rica. The highlight of my trips was getting to see all the marvelous modern developments and changes that happened since the last time I was there. Something was always happening: new flavors of coffee, new ways to pay for things, new ways to shop…this year, everything became dismal for us all.

Many years ago, I worked pro-bono with an important local association. The president of the association had been in the group for a while and enjoyed a privileged position as a respected member of the community because her family had long settled in the small town. As a newcomer and hoping to make a mark in my new residence, I was too quick and eager to accept a position on the board of directors before I knew exactly what it entailed. The telling of that story would take too long for this blog so I will just summarize the important contradictions that led me to rethink my own involvement in what seemed to be an honest and worthy cause.

The association had four pillars: promoting tourism in the area, facilitating education for the local population, bringing back beloved traditions and increasing the quality of life for all. I agreed with all those pillars. I was very committed to doing my part to make a difference. The problem was that our leader had her own ideas about how to achieve our goals, focusing on tactics that did not encourage anyone to approach us, let alone volunteer! She demanded absolute loyalty from the rest of the board. Her ideas, her words, her procedure all had to be supported or we found ourselves on the outs. I deferred to her strong will for almost 6 years before it began to dawn on me that I was a pawn in her game. It felt terrible.

When I started speaking out, I found myself on the receiving end of a very vindictive and poisonous person. She conducted a character assassination campaign that would have succeeded where it not for the fact that I had already made many friends who knew the real me. Eventually, the group became to small for the two of us and I decided to quit. She decided to quit also and hired a lawyer to draw up a horrible letter detailing her complaints against me which she distributed to prominent members of the local and regional community. Needless to say, I was humiliated. I was brought up to accept the consequences of my actions so I expected that my challenges would result in push back. I continued my work and my life and instead of retiring from the community, I kept participating as I could.

I think about this today as millions of Americans suffer the consequences of no one standing up to an authoritarian leader who believed beyond any doubt that he deserved and would get a second term. The GOP had no idea just how far he would go or to what degree he would expect their blind loyalty. All of us are suffering for this behavior. Early this morning, a car bomb exploded in Nashville. Our leader is golfing and while he has been briefed, he did not stop his play to address the nation. I don’t know why I am surprised but there we are. We are all exhausted and desperately hoping for a better 2021.

Merry Christmas.

Vague Recollections

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When the pandemic and its restrictions showed no sign of slowing down, I worked out a generous severance package for our weekly cleaning lady and took on the tasks myself. It has been well over 9 months. While my Thursdays are busy and I am exhausted at the end of the day, I can honestly say I have never felt happier or found my home more sparkling because there is now more attention to detail. As I told my husband yesterday, now that I know what spider droppings look like, I cannot stop finding them. It’s not unusual, we live in the tropics but it is quite annoying. My former cleaning lady never paid any attention to the corners of the floors and I can’t fault her because I never directed her in how she spent the hours she worked for us.

After the weekly cleaning routine, during which I also inspect windows and doors, it is well into the afternoon. My husband and I have worked out a dining schedule that gives us both the night free and we go out for dinner. We have become regulars at a local sports bar (although no sports are being televised right now) and it is nice to be greeted and served promptly. Afterwards we come home and catch up on the news and our favorite (trending and classic) television series. We have just started watching Amazon’s “The Wilds”. It is fascinating. The acting is superb and the story line is compelling and relatable. I am not peeking at any spoilers, enjoying the episodes as they develop.

One of the basic elements of good storytelling is the ability to keep your audience’s focus and attention. I notice that when we are watching television, my mind often wanders. It’s not the fault of the writers. I have always been very distractible, no doubt a result to growing up in a chaotic environment that often required quick reactions and heightened awareness of surroundings. Last night, I was busy trying to remember where I first met a woman we saw at dinner just an hour before. She is always very happy to see me, we know one another for many years and have participated in community events but I was focused on trying to remember our first meeting. While we were watching, my husband asked me to clarify something that had just happened in the episode and I had to sheepishly admit I had missed it. Thank goodness for the rewind buttons! I suspended (for the rest of the evening) my attempt to recollect the exact moment I met the woman and paid attention to the episode. I hope the answer to mystery woman and me will come to me another day, as answers often do: unbidden and clear.

An Unnecessary Comment

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Costa Rican Christmas weather is marked by strong, cool breezes and plenty of sunshine. It is a favorite among kids and certainly a welcome break from the many months of rain we endure prior to our yearly summer. Although I enjoy the sunny days, I confess that often the evening’s chill fills me with a difficult-to-explain melancholy.

I became a mother for the first time at 36. That was almost 29 years ago. The second time I gave birth, I was a month shy of 40. These are not unusual ages for birthing in 2020, but in the 90’s, they were still not so common. When my children were very young (3 and 7), we decided to move to Costa Rica from New York. The change was mostly positive but there were some adjustments to be made, mostly on our side since the culture and the country were not going to change to satisfy our expectations.

My husband still had to travel back and forth regularly for work as his salary allowed us to live the life that I had chosen for our family. It was not so apparent back then how much wear and tear this long-distance situation required of him because he never complained. Looking back, I realize we both sacrificed a great deal in order to raise our children in a more nurturing (and less expensive) environment.

One December evening in 2000 or 2001, I decided to take my children to a recently opened Tony Roma’s. I was feeling pensive and sad, no doubt affected by the absence of my husband. I was overwhelmed by the many obligations I put on myself in an effort to ensure our children didn’t suffer too much from this variety of “regularly” single-parent existence. I felt it was my responsibility to be perfect because our move had been almost an autocratic decision made by me.

On that chilly December evening, we went inside the restaurant to try food we were missing: ribs and fries! I had on a bulky sweater that I didn’t love but kept me warm. We were seated promptly and a waiter came to give us our menus. As he handed me my menu, he told us his name and asked if I was treating my grandchildren to dinner. It was a question that had never been asked of me in New York. I soon realized that it was going to be asked of me often in Costa Rica because motherhood begins earlier here. I don’t know if it was the bulky sweater making me feel and look frumpy or what but in that moment, I felt the world close in on me and I wanted to cry. I couldn’t cry, of course, I owed it to my children to laugh it off and replied with a buoyancy I didn’t feel that, no, in fact these were my children. The waiter colored, apologized and quickly took our drink orders.

I don’t remember much about the food. I recall the inside of the restaurant as being very dark but it might be that the memories left me permanently soured on the Tony Roma’s brand. We never returned. Writing about this experience today has been so emotionally draining that I think I need to write a longer article to examine all my feelings. For today, this is as much as I can handle.

I Persevere

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My dad has weighed about the same since I was a little girl. He is not a tall fellow, had lots of hardship growing up. Although I never asked him if he suffered from food insecurity, I know that his family was very poor and I can imagine that might have been the case. My mother was also very poor but did not suffer food insecurity because her clever mother had chickens and they lived in a rural area where they could plant and harvest vegetables. She talked about how poverty affected her and vowed that she would never be poor as an adult if she could help it.

Although my Mom had no real food insecurity, it wasn’t like there was plenty of food. As a child, she was thin but after a certain age she began to have weight problems that continued all her adult life. She enjoyed eating anything and everything that came her way. I cannot really recall anything she didn’t enjoy. And usually, an open bag or box of something was gone in one sitting. This led to obesity and was one of the reasons we both became very well-versed in Weight Watcher (WW) lingo.

My dad is almost 92 years old. His mind is excellent and his attitude towards life (even in Covid times) is that it is okay to stay on this side as long as possible. He takes very good care of himself. Lately he has been cooking his food using the long, slow process. Protein in the form of chicken or pork, not very much red meat and heavy on the veggies. He is an admirable person, always exercising moderation in everything except moderation. He does not talk about his childhood freely. It isn’t that he is hiding anything, it’s just that he doesn’t seem to think it is all that interesting. His ambitions were more modest than my mother’s but they made an excellent team and accomplished more in their lifetimes than either of them probably thought possible.

During my childhood, I was always plump. I have written ad nauseum about this subject but it seems to continue to be the thing that defeats me year after year. I had “controlled” my weight pretty easily for about 25 years. Then I came back to live in Costa Rica where the emphasis on being a certain size really didn’t matter. Contrast that to the Upper East Side of Manhattan where I was never the perfect size because my Latina genes meant I was short and round even at a normal weight but where I really did watch what I ate most of the time so I could be in a size S-M range. I have gained a little bit of weight every year and after 20 years, that’s 40 lbs. I am not attempting to lose 40 lbs. but another 15 would be very nice to start with.

I have been paying for (and following loosely) the WW programs for 3 solid years. I have lost 15 lbs. although at one point I had actually lost almost 25. It is not easy. I had some stress over the last three years and became more relaxed about counting everything I put into my mouth. I don’t quit entirely because some semblance of accountability has to rule my days or who knows how much weight I would gain. In this Covid-19 year, I have not gained the amount of weight I might have but I don’t feel very good about the fact that the scale is either the same or slightly higher week after week.

WW is a business. I am a business person. I know the sincere goal of WW is to help people lose weight but I cannot deny the fact that as a business, it depends on people NOT losing weight. Some people decide by December 1st that there is no point in dieting because the holidays are just about to start. Who can deny the pleasure of receiving and baking the 12 days of cookies? After baking, are you not going to eat them? I am not that disciplined so I decided to opt out of the website…I used to feel like just reading the recipes made me gain weight.

I persevere anyway though with the dieting. I used to have tremendous willpower. At 65 it seems less and less important how I look but I must confess that putting on clothes that felt loose just a few weeks ago and finding them a tad uncomfortable did make me take out my journal so I can write down how I’m feeling when I am tempted to eat something not healthy. Stress makes me reach out for crunchy, salty things likes pretzels or cheese sticks. Thank goodness for my husband who cut up some carrots for me, it’s not the same but the crunch sure is there. It is all up to me, I am in control and as I said, I persevere.