This Is Me Taking Back Control Of My Life.What The Fuck Have You Done Lately?

Tomorrow is my birthday. I can say Today is my birthday  in German, French, or Spanish . . . (it’s most fascinating in German) but that doesn’t interest you. Suffice to say, those few days during which Rusty is older than I are ending; and I’m a tad cranky. About many things. For instance, I recently saw Facebook posts from two dear friends/family, and it was all I could do not to correct their grammar. But that would have been considered poor form, right? Right, Sally? Come on . . . work with me here.

On the other hand . . . who writes this crap?! Was it the fault of my friend for posting it? Well, to some extent, yes . . . she could have at the least noted the poor grammar contained within the truism of the meme. But more importantly, who the F is too old, too tired, TOO sober, and lacking the time for proper punctuation and proper grammar? Riddle me that! Rob/Sally, am I correct here, or not?! I wanted to post a FB reply that said precisely that: "Too . . . for what? proper grammar and punctuation?" And it's birthday eve, so I've deemed myself entitled to some genuine derogatory comments because I'm old! I'll go further: yin and yang. Get with it folks. It is never Ying and Yang. It's yin and yang. GOOGLE! Hello? Clearly, I'm on a birthday-eve spiral.

Anybody Interested In Grabbing A Couple Of Burgers And Hittin' The Cemetery?

Today is this man's birthday. True. 

For years I'd revel in Rusty's birthday. We were born in the same year and even attended the same high school. In years past I'd delight in those few days between our birthdays when Rusty was older than I. This year I announced: Dear God, we're both old . . . let's just spend the day digging a couple of graves and wait. So, no party; and we even cancelled Operation: Dinner Out . . . though we did luncheon on the beach, and I did make Rusty's favorite, coconut cream pie.

Anyway, I thought that I'd take this opportunity to share a few more photos of Rob's visit (my photos, this time), and to make fun of my darling husband . . . and men, generally . . . since we're both old and have so little time remaining.

Where's My Wandering Parakeet?

My youngest sister-in-law possesses many talents. But the gift that I find most endearing, most charming, is her ability to loudly call Kah-Kaw, Kah-Kaw, as if imitating some bird. I know of no bird that actually makes that sound. Undoubtedly there exists some bird somewhere that calls Kah-Kaw, Kah-Kaw . . . I’ve simply yet to encounter this bird. I can rule-out all Costa Rican parrot and toucan species (even macaws) as well as hundreds of birds from North American and from Western and Southern Africa. Nevertheless, I’m confident that somewhere some bird indeed calls Kah-Kaw, with Patti’s hint of a screech and her head-turning plaintive cry.

My first trip to Costa Rica was over a decade ago. We stayed in Northern Guanacaste near or on Playa Conchal. Way back then our resort was part of the Meliá Hotels chain: it’s now part of the Westin group. Anyway, over the course of a few years with friends and family we made more than one trip to that lovely property . . . played golf, took the requisite bus-in-the-tourists day-trips to local sites, and foolishly believed that we were experiencing Costa Rica . . . despite the fact that we never left the resort but for the dive trips that departed from the beach and the day trip(s) to Buena Vista Lodge.

Anyway, perhaps Patti cried Kah-Kaw prior to our holiday at Playa Conchal, but I date her first bird-like calls to that trip. It was an effective and efficient way to announce loudly yet unobtrusively that cocktails are served . . . or we’re on the way to your suite for sun-downers. Now I say unobtrusive because let’s remember the piercing, blood-curdling sound of the howler monkeys. Compared to a vociferous troupe of howlers, Patti might as well have been whispering Dinner is poured from her bungalow many meters away. Patti became widely recognized for this talent, which was quickly adopted by our group of friends and family and was subsequently carried throughout the Western Hemisphere to many Mexican and Caribbean resorts. Hey, in the days before mobile devices, it worked. 

Well, Clarice . . . Have The Lambs Stopped Screaming?

If there were only a few foods remaining on the planet, I’d hope for dolmas and hummus . . . and lemon meringue pie. I could eat dolmas three times daily and probably never tire of them. Rusty possesses less enthusiasm for the stuffed grape leaf. No one knows why. Similarly, he’s not the fan of hummus that I am. That said, he dons an air of indignation when I state to anyone that Rusty hates hummus. I make hummus often and I usually eat all of it, save and except that first spoonful out of the food processor when I ask Rusty to taste-test for seasoning. So perhaps hate is too strong. But believe me, of every item in our refrigerator, hummus is probably Rusty’s last go-to food. 

Clearly, we're here for a discussion of food and not the myriad adventures experienced with our recent guests. Yes, we visited Buena Vista Lodge, the Diria coffee tour and Rio Celeste. But before we delve into those adventures, let's cover food . . . one of my favorite topics.

My brilliant friend Rob visited us for a few weeks. The first week of his visit Rob was joined by his darling sister, Jenny. Jenny was a special treat in that we'd never met her and were delightfully surprised at every turn. But back to my beloved Rob. Rob eats. Rob cooks, but mostly Rob eats. Rob is easy to please when it comes to cooking; but he’s not easy to fill-up. Did I mention that Rob eats? Long before Rob’s arrival we had discussed making sausage . . . for selfish, hunger-driven reasons, of course; but also as sort of a tribute to our mutual friend, EBJ (in my mind, the Sausage King of Detroit).