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Gringos Never Win

January 18, 2017 By admin

tico_rifa-copyT R A V E L    Ticos love their raffles! Rifas in Espanol…

Buy gas, get a rifa coupon.

Buy groceries, get a rifa coupon.

Pay your car tax, get a rifa coupon.

Buy a can of tuna fish, get a rifa coupon.

Take your own bag to grocery, get a rifa coupon.

Ticos love las rifas.

Sometimes rifa coupons are printed forms, other times you just write your name and national ID number and phone number on the back of the receipt and drop it in a box.

Conventional wisdom is “Gringos never win.”

Wrongo, incorrecto, erroro, Juan of Many Words…

I won!  100,000 colones! (about $180) from the local grocery store, CoopeAtenas… one of the many coopes in Costa Rica. This one has our preferred store for grocery shopping. It’s associated with a coffee co-op and agriculture supply co-op. Big deal in this small town.

I got a call from a nice woman who spoke English telling me the good news. I just needed to show up at the main office (above the co-op liquor store) to claim my prize. I had 15 business days to claim it.

I went within the hour.

The girl at the reception desk spoke no English. My Spanish is pretty good when it comes to the ordinary, every day stuff… but winning a rifa? I was lost.

After a long back and forth with me getting about every fifth word, she asked me to take a seat. She took my national ID card and made a copy and then handed me a certificate.

And typical in Costa Rica, it is never simple… we have to spent the certificate within 30 days AND we have to spend it all at once.

Gringos never win.

Mark Van Patten writes a blog called Going Like Sixty and has been married to the same woman since 1968.

Filed Under: TRAVEL Tagged With: atenas, coop, cooperAtenas, costa rica, coupon, ID card, rifa, Spanish

Standard Equipment

January 9, 2017 By admin

be happyE S S A Y    Many baby boomers are reaching that place in their lives when they know that they are probably at the three-quarter mark. I know that it says “your whole life’s in front of you” at the top of your screen, but that just means you still have plenty of time to go places and do things. It doesn’t mean you get to start over.

All the more reason to get the most out of your life NOW! What’s past is past. Regrets and failures do not matter any more. If you have 15, 20 or 25 good years left, why not make the most of that time. Wipe the whiteboard clean and start thinking about what makes you happy. Does this sound like something a typical baby boomer would say? Yes. Do baby boomers often think of themselves above all else? Yes (most of the time). Do I care that it sounds selfish? No.

What we should care about now is packing in as much life experience as we can. Stretch the boundaries of your comfort level. I’m not talking about bungee jumping. I’m talking about having an open mind when it comes to new experiences and not automatically ruling out things you never used to do (or thought you wouldn’t like).

It’s actually somewhat exhilarating to put some of your preconceived notions behind you and try something new. Foods you’ve never eaten before. Travel destinations that were never on your list. Physical activities that you thought were beyond your capability. Book genres you never tried. Social interactions that you typically avoided.

What could go wrong? Failure to launch? So what. You can argue about who said “it’s better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all” but the truthiness contained in that phrase is irrefutable. The only thing stopping us more often than not is our own inhibitions, and with our limited remaining years, should we allow them to prevent us from finding contentment?

So here’s a car metaphor mantra for going forward: Happiness is not an option. It really should be standard equipment.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: ESSAY Tagged With: baby boomers, options, standard equipment

One More

December 2, 2016 By admin

resonator_biscuit
F I C T I O N    We needed another song for the set, and I wanted it to be a waltz and also wanted to feature Cookie’s vocal. We had already spent some time arranging a cowboy tune, something about heroes and belt buckles- you have to start somewhere- and the obstacle, as always, is getting and paying for the rights to record somebody else’s songs. On this project we have partially skirted the issue by using material from the Public Domain. Another option could be to write our own song.

All I had to do was sell Cookie on the idea and then write the song. I was reassured by the idea that neither one of us was happy with the “heroes” arrangement. It’s a well-crafted tune, but it’s not a perfect fit with the rest of our material except that it is a waltz, and Cookie sings. Can we agree that there is an advantage in using one of our songs? Why not let our polish time be spent on something that we have written?

I gave myself an assignment to start a song in three-quarter time in the key of G using the waltz I learned from Cookie as a starting point. In many cases I begin with a title but in this instance the first line popped into my head along with a thousand other rejects, and it felt a good start to me.

There is a lot of satisfaction in saying what you mean and getting it to fit in the words of a song or a story. Once there is a structure then everything you hear or think you hear becomes another stanza or a verse or hook. Off I went listening to the progression from my “source song” in my head: three-quarter time starting on a G major chord. It’s a small step, but a big change, to think in six-eight time, then it’s already a new song. I like to write familiar but fresh.

The first line was easy, two pick-up notes and then:

(There is) Nothing original under the sun
Although it might not be true
What happens next is as big a surprise
To me as it must be for you

The tune is familiar, the chords are the same, aren’t they?
(Oh) Where have I heard that before?
On Top of Old Smokey? No, Down In the Valley, or
You are My Sunshine for sure.

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

Filed Under: FICTION

Dining Out

November 30, 2016 By admin

diningoutT R A V E L    My birthday is coming up soon. I know my doting husband will take me to a nice restaurant to celebrate, wherever I want to go. Wherever in fact, I let him know I’ve made reservations. By nice, I mean the place will have carpet. If it is very nice, no one will bash a carpet sweeper into our table as a hint that we need to be out within the next 45 minutes.

We don’t go to fancy restaurants often, not that we can’t afford it. It’s just that Mr. Brennan isn’t comfortable in places where nothing is served in a red plastic basket. Despite knowing this, I insist on placing ourselves in Downton Abby without having been properly trained in the fine art of snobbery and stink eye.

It starts with the seating. Even though we have a reservation, we will be stiffly asked “Table for how many?” It reminds me of the book Uncle Victor gave me called Mad Magazine’s Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions. I’d like to say “Table for one. My husband is afraid of mice, so he will sit on my shoulders.” I could get creative and say “Forty six. We like to change seats as soon as the one we are sitting in gets too warm.” Of course, I don’t say either. It doesn’t seem as if we should piss anyone off right away.

Any wine list longer than four inches is out of my league, and they know it. I can’t just say what I want to say, which is “give me the cheapest wine you have”. As soon as I take a stab at pronouncing the name of one, the waitress repeats my selection in a better accent just to show me up. Whatever. I’ll have alcohol sooner than she will tonight.

It used to embarrass me, yet now I look forward to seeing how Mr. Red Plastic Basket will manage to get ketchup to go with that $40 steak. If there are “frites” on the menu, it can be our little secret how he plans to use the accompanying ketchup. If not…well, once they were not on the menu, and he boldly ASKED for French fries. In the snootiest way possible, the waitress replied she thought they had some on the children’s menu. He simply said he would like some, which I thought was daring and romantic.

Did I mention our wedding anniversary is coming up?

Kathy Brennan has organized information for a living as an educator, computer programmer and government policy writer. Now she is doing it for fun as a stand up comic and humorous writer. See more at http://mrskathybrennan.com/.

Filed Under: TRAVEL

When I’m 65

November 30, 2016 By admin

65_rubbersoulA R T S    Until about five years ago, if you asked what the number 65 meant to me, I would’ve replied, “That was a great year! That was the year the Beatles released Rubber Soul! I was 14 and I’d just written my first batch of songs.” These days, however, it means I have to make a trip to the Social Security office to fill out a bunch of forms, and make an appointment to see my doctor to check the dosages of the prescriptions I must take.

But, really, if I’m honest, it means less to me than it used to. I’ve been on a pretty involved, eye-opening journey for the past five years, one that’s led me to realizations that seem to be pretty typical of a lot people my age. Sometimes it’s been complicated by the constant battle of Old Notions vs New Insights, which I think is especially pronounced in this time of age bias and youth worship. I don’t think my grandparents—or even my parents—had to draw so many lines in the sand and stand up against so many devils. Life during their generations was pretty cut and dry. Grow up, marry, have kids, have grand kids, get old. The pressure to stay youthful, firm, fashionable (women), productive (men), f**kable, and fascinating just wasn’t part of their reality. Not like today, anyway. It was perfectly fine at a certain age to start dressing less provocatively, to gain a little weight, to go gray, and to slow down. I remember that if a woman didn’t dress in “age-appropriate” clothing, if she wore youngish makeup and jewelry, colored her hair, or surrendered to cosmetic surgery, she was judged severely for not growing old gracefully. We still battle this to some degree, but not as much as, say 40-plus years ago.

As I move closer to my birthday, I really don’t feel 65. Or what I somehow imaged 65 was supposed to feel like. In fact, as long as I stay away from mirrors it’s easy for me to drift into a perpetual state of thirty-something. Not physically, but internally. Me. That person who looks out through these eyes. Some days I feel even younger and I’m obligated to do things I used to do, like put on the Beatles’ Rubber Soul and dance with myself (which usually plunges me into feeling a lot older the next day).

SK Waller is an author and composer. Books One and Two (With A Dream and With A Bullet) of her rock and roll series, Beyond The Bridge,  takes places in late 70s London. Read more at SK Waller Blog and SKWaller.com.

Filed Under: ARTS

What Cattle Do At Night (or Until the Cows Come Home)

November 30, 2016 By admin

cattle_herdF I C T I O N    Another in a continuing series of articles about what exactly animals and marine life are up to, that you always wanted to know.

We’ve all seen it. About an hour before sunset the cows come home. If we’re talking milk cows, they head for the barn because there’s food there and a place to get out of the wind. But what about cattle on open grazing land? Where are they heading? How do they spend their nights?

First of all, we’ve all heard the expression “herd mentality” and when it comes to cattle, there are always some dominant animals that decide where and when the herd moves. They are after all prey animals, so there’s safety in numbers. So after a hard day of grazing, cattle will seek out some lowland out of the wind and elements and find bedground for the night. You would be surprised at how much body heat an 1,800 pound cow can generate and they do have a whole lot of insulation, so I would not get too hung on whether or not they are cold. Ask a rancher in North Dakota how low the temperature has to get before a cow freezes.

There’s usually a lot of gossip about who saw what (Did you see that rusty old pick-up truck go by?), how much forage everyone had, and some of the goofy things the calves were up to that day. There is a lot of talk about the quality of the forage, so much like humans, cattle will drone on and on about where the best forage was, or complaining about the scarcity, or how long it took to chew cud.

Cattle are very social, so it’s not unusual for some of the better storytellers to break out a story that’s been handed down for generations for the listening pleasure of the rest of the herd. On some rare occasions, the herd will come across some Jimson weed and on those nights the cattle have a riproaring time getting high as kites (perhaps not the best comparison when you’re talking about an 1,800 pound animal) and having some really wicked hallucinations. If you’re wondering what kind of hallucination a cow might have, one of the most common ones is that a cow will think that the ear tag is some kind of radio controller that’s following every move the cow makes. Creepy yes, but not out of the realm of possibility.

So the next time you see cattle making their move around sunset, you’ll have a pretty good idea that the party is about to get started.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: FICTION

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