I am not sure how many North Americans realize just how ridiculous they look to people in other countries always trying to be Politically Correct (PC). Free speech is no longer an option in the US as there is always some joker looking over your shoulder and telling you how to think, act, and what to say… or what not to say.

Like so many things in the US, PC seemed like such a good idea at the time, but then morphed into idiocy. It just got carried too far… kinda like trade unions, women’s lib and so many other truly good ideas gone bad. Good concepts… overdone.

Of all of them, one of the dumbest (in my opinion) is one of the more popular phrases spoken by young couples regarding a woman’s pregnancy. The PC thing to say is, “We are pregnant”.

Unless it is two women speaking these words, this is perhaps the most ridiculous statement one could utter. I have news for you. WE (the men) are NOT pregnant. YOU (the women) are! I have done pregnancies and it is not the man who has to pee every 11 minutes and who knows the location and condition of every bathroom within 50 miles of his home. It is not the man who cannot sleep at night because getting comfortable just ain’t a happenin’. It is not the man with sore feet, back pain and hemorrhoids. Now I suppose an argument could be made that a woman may not suffer the above issues in silence… but that is not always the case and in fact the many pregnant women I have known tended not to make their partners miserable with constant and ongoing commentary.

This is NOT the case with menopause. Menopause is interactive!

If you men really want to share an experience with your partner, I suggest menopause! I can testify to this! When that female person in your life is entering or is in menopause (which, by the way lasts years… not nine months of which only few are nasty), you may safely say to anyone “We are in menopause” and be dead on the money! You, my man, WILL be in menopause and I can assure you that any semblance between the women you married and the women living with you now and wearing your ring is purely coincidental.

I have had the pleasure of having three such women in my life, including the normally sweet and loving women to whom I am married. With the first two, I was hit, was screamed at, had one chase me in the kitchen with a knife… the list goes on.

ML is in menopause and I can assure you with no political correctness intended that WE are in menopause. It is a truly amazing experience. One moment ML is this sweet cuddly woman who then transforms, without notice, into this…. ummmm… thing. I say “thing” because all my training and education forsake me. I feel as if Rod Serling is somehow taking me in and out of my own personal Twilight Zone. I can I see my wife clearly, then she changes and sadly, I have no idea what is coming. This does not happen in the privacy of our home. Ohhh no! This happens in restaurants, grocery stores, the car and it never seems to be the same. No action is correct. If I keep still waiting for it to pass, I get the “you’re not listening” thing. If I speak, I am being rude. Nights are the best. There is no correct temperature in the house and I am informed of this between 3 and 142 times each night. Fan ON Fan OFF Blanket ON Blanket OFF Husband Sleeping Husband UP! Hold Me! Get Away! Any semblance between this and a pregnant wife is… well… there is none.

So WE change/try medicines. We try pills and dosages (Yes, I take them all as I hope one will make me sleep until she is out of menopause. In fact I wonder if the true story was that Rip Van Winkle had a menopausal wife!).

We try natural medicines that other women say will work like magic, They lie!

We are now trying this jelly stuff that she spreads on her arm! It smells exactly like that antiseptic hand gel you can buy. Supposedly, it absorbs. It does… after an hour. It also does not work. We change dosages. We increase… we decrease. She visits her doctor who commiserates, changes medicine and dosages, then checks her mutual fund to make sure she is heavily bought in to pharmaceuticals.

I think my average reader is perhaps not at the We Are Pregnant stage but maybe more in the We Are in Menopause stage… the Autumn of life.

But for you young men who truly want to “share” your wife’s experiences… just wait a while, like maybe twenty years or so, and remember my words. Only then will you truly understand the concept of sharing.

Me? I am still experimenting with her drugs. The good news is that I no longer have to shave as much. The bad news is that none of her prescriptions make me sleep. I think five years would be enough after which WE will no longer be in menopause!

After all the planning and enough food to feed 50 people, the thing is over! I’m speaking of our annual Fiesta del Arbol.

I have no idea how many people were here. A shitpot full seems about right, and a LOT of them were kids which made the whole thing just great. Kids are  soooo cool at Christmas!

We had purchased an artificial tree complete with 1,000 lights. It stands just under eight feet tall, just perfect for our living room,but the thought of assembling that sucker had me not sleeping at night, and I left it in the box in the garage until the last minute… yesterday. I had visions of adding the lights, all the branches… ugh!

I have now officially changed my opinion of fake Christmas trees.

My son Will ws coming (of course with granddaughter Lucia and his wife). He was the designated helper.

We loaded the thing into the house and opened it.

As Gomer would say, “Surprise! Surprise!” . The darned thing came in three parts with all those stupid little lights already installed! The entire “set-up” time from opening the box to turning on the lights was NINE MINUTES! And… the package contained not only a remote control for turning the lights on and off (an idea whose time has arrived!), but also a motorized thingy that rotates the tree! I passed on the rotating tree dealy thinking of how the cats might find a rotating tree with dangly things just too much of an attraction.

Immediately, the kids began to decorate, and the whole tree was done in thirty minutes… no tears! It looks very nice, though I think we will later add a few more ornaments and other goodies to make it a more personal.

Also, as those 1,000 lights came pre-installed, it did not look like other trees from past years.

This was the best of the tree parties by far. ML is already planning next year’s party.

I cannot imagine anything more boring than watching someone else’s home movies or pictures, but if you really have the urge, find the party photos here.

ML has invited Costa Rica to come to our home for the annual tree decorating thing. Well of course she did not invite the whole country, just her relatives which is no more then ten percent of the people here. My son, his wifey and my granddaughter are coming too, so there will be some representation from North America. I invited some childless friends to attend but they suddenly had other things to do. Even free booze could not budge them when faced with 20 plus children.

A large number of these people will be under the age of 15. Maria has been cooking for two days and the house smells super. Maritza baked a cake last night, but had to bake another one today as I sort of ate the one from yesterday. My sweet tooth coupled with chocolate is an issue around here… and especially around the holidays.

I actually love these parties. Ticos do know how to enjoy a party and my wife’s family, with a few notable exceptions, are great people. Christmas is for kids and I am generally popular with the youngsters who may confuse my stomach with that of Senior Clause, especially after that cake episode!

I am not going to rehash what it is like at these parties as I have blogged about this here and here, so you can just click those links if you need background on the cultural differences I face at party time.

I cannot believe I bought an artificial tree! When I lived up North, buying the tree was an event! We almost always traveled away from Chicago to the tree farms in northern Illinois and cut exactly the right one. It always stayed fresh and of course it was “perfect”. We returned home with frozen feet and warm hearts. I would build a fire in the fireplace and then enjoy hot chocolate with marshmallows!

Here, you too can cut it fresh, and we have done that in past years. The issue is the trees, while true “pine” trees, are skinny and just do not “look” like Christmas trees! The fresh ones lasted of course, but the lot-bought ones kinda faded early. The really good ones, imported from the US are very expensive so we just decided the go artificial.

ML picked a nice style that came with 1,000 lights. It is now in the garage awaiting the tree decorating thing tomorrow.

As there is “some” assembly required, it may be smart to go unpack it and get the tree and the lights up and ready, leaving the hanging of balls, tinsel, whatever for tomorrow. Ticos have a reputation of sorta getting sauced early, especially if the booze is free, and the thought of another badly decorated tree makes me tend to the cautious side.

So tomorrow represents our start to the Christmas holidays, and I want to wish Happy Holidays to my readers and to anyone who has mis-clicked and found this blog by accident.

The bird’s name is Qui Qui. It is a yellow naped amazon parrot and it (we are not sure of the sex) is bilingual and quite likely, bi-polar. ML spends hours with the thing, singing to it, changing the cage, teaching to say new things, giving it treats. The bird hates her. I on the other hand pretty much ignore the bird. If convenient, I’ll share a nut or something.

The bird loves me. In fact, I am the only person who can even get near the thing. If I am anywhere out on the terrace, the bird will slide down the edge of its cage and walk over (can fly but prefers to walk) to wherever I am sitting and crawls up my leg and sit on my arm, shoulder… whatever.

The bird has a daily diet of the usual seeds and stuff. It also gets chicken and who knows what else. My wifey, you see, believes that parrots pretty much like anything she does, so the bird also gets toast and coffee each morning.

I have tried to communicate to her that parrots (as far as I know) do not normally consume coffee and toast in the wild and I sorta doubt that chicken, cooked or not, is on the recommended food list for parrots. I could be wrong about this of course. Anyway, it would appear the bird is now addicted to caffeine as it is positively grumpy until Maria has brought it its coffee and toast each morning.

The bird is also a thief and given the chance, will pickpocket you in a thrice. Actually, this is not accurate. It pickpockets ME and I have lost keys, cash, and other items to this creature. However, it appears very healthy and happy and looks MUCH better than nearly all of the loras (parrots) I have seen here.

Pirolina is my dog. I guess I should say she WAS my dog until “that woman” moved in (this references my wife), after which she promptly became HER dog.   This sort of irritates me as dogs are supposed to be loyal. Ha.  She was foisted off on me by my friend Beverly whose son found her 80% dead under a bridge.

Here is a home movie taken about 4 years ago (before SHE moved in and stole my dog). Like most home movies, it is boring to anyone except family. Here Piro, then just a puppy, is playing with Georgie, one of our two Abyssinian cats. Watch only if you have absolutely nothing better to do.

Click here to view the embedded video.

In the morning when we get up and when ML gets home from work, you cannot hear yourself think as all the animals start making noises at the same time.   I guess that is good huh?  My family circus.  Gotta love it.

Now all you North Americans, don’t even START on how sad you are that we have temps in the 50′s. If you’re still living there, it is because you want to. We Costa Rica transplants have voted NO SNOW and that includes NO COLD. We don’t even DO furnaces here.

Anyway, ML will be home soon… so that means we either go to Thanksgiving Dinner or to bed… either is fine with me!

Tell my brother that wherever he is, I will be with him.

Thanks to everyone. I love you.”

Signed: Elmer Fallas A.

(From his suicide note; 8 June 2006)

We got the call last night about 8:30. Marlen called to let us know that when she got home, Elmer, Maria’s 18 year old nephew, was very sick… snoring loudly… had vomited… and could not be aroused from his sleep. Elmer has been living in her home is Moravia for about 7-8 months attending school to learn mechanics. He has a lot of potential.

ML thought he maybe tried some drugs, but I didn’t buy into that at all. This is a REALLY good kid. Intelligent, thoughtful, tall and armed with a very shy and disarming smile. When Maria had cancer, it was Elmer visiting her every day. He is a quality kid. He just did not fit the profile. I love him.

We received a couple more, increasingly frantic, calls and Marlen called the Cruz Roja to send an ambulance. They arrived and took Elmer to the Coronado Clinic. Maria and I got in the car to head over there. Whiloe driving, we received another call telling us his heart was failing in they were moving him to Calderon Guardia, the hospital where Maria has worked for thirty years. ML, of course, starts to come apart as this is her absolute favorite nephew (out of maybe 728) and she has more than once helped hom to survive a set of parents you only can read about in the supermarket rags.

We change routes and wait endlessly for the ambulance to arrive.

When it does, a very sick looking eighteen year old boy is taken into the hospital and placed on a respirator… and of course in go the tubes. He is near death. We still do not have any idea what is wrong with him, but it is now clear it probably isn’t drugs.

It is another hour before we get a call from Carlos. He has found the note bearing the words I wrote at the beginning of this post. We just cannot believe it! Just last Sunday, we took him with us to the beach and my last memory of this shy handsome boy is him running on the beach. So recent, I have not had a chance to blog it. I remember now I took a photo of the surf with its 12-16 foot waves. It was still on my cell phone and I uploaded it here.  If you look, you can just see him by the driftwood at left.

The tears begin as it becomes more and more clear that he took just about every pill he could find in ML’s home. His heart has now lost rhythm and death seems likely. His parents have been called and his father is coming. Three hours away. The mother declines.

We wait for news… at 1 AM we are told that he is stable, but in very bad condition. Tico’s don’t use the same words I am used to. The word grave (grah-vey) is used and as it means the same in English, we hoped for the best… expected the worst. Tico’s under-exagerate these reports. We are allowed to visit his bedside. He is in a coma of course and knows nothing of our being there. His skin is cold.

I am sure that most of you have figured out by now that I am not using the past tense. Elmer made it though the night. As of this writing at 5:30 PM Friday, he is still unconscious but has begun moving and I am told this is a good sign and he will be awake tomorrow. Still unknown is if there was damage done to organs or his brain… and if so, how much.

I remember my kids at age 18 or so. The terrible pressure the US exerts upon its beautiful children at that age as they begin the last steps toward adulthood… those scary moments as they ready themselves to leave home for college or career.

Here, kids don’t leave home. In fact, Ticos are often horrified that we “force” our kids to leave home and follow their lives. We don’t, of course. It is just our culture and a part of growing up in our society. Still, they do not understand why we expect our kids to leave and I suspicion they understand less why we permit it or why they want it.

Here, there is pressure on many kids to succeed, but Elmer did not have that pressure. No university. Nothing. Just preparation for life and earning a living. But here is what I figured out… and maybe I am right. Elmer was just a wonderfully sensitive boy who never learned to express himself or to communicate his hurt to others nor to tell of the demons that must have been in his life. Nobody knew. Nobody expected.

I am tiring of this. I am tired of death. I am tired of near-death. My friend Laurie made her early exit last year. I miss her. My brother Paul passed away some weeks ago… and we still know not those causes, but he too tried suicide just weeks before. Quien sabes?

I do know I am tired of hospitals, dying, pain, and tears… and I know too much of suicide.