Every MLB baseball is manufactured in Costa Rica, yet the game itself remains an elusive myth.  People have heard of the sport, but in the Costa Rican mind, it only exists north and south of the borders. When my son brought his baseball to school, kids asked to hold it. They turned it in their hands and ran their fingers along the stitching, examining the … Continue reading A Costa Rica Baseball Lesson

When my fifteen year old son and I are crossing a busy highway ramp to climb over guard rails that come up to my crotch and skitter down a fire-ant ridden trail that runs along a steep embankment much like a goat trail, there is nothing to do but laugh. I might get hit by a car. Somebody might see my underwear. I might get … Continue reading Tragedy or Comedy: You Pick.

My grandmother used to have gauzy curtains that I would wrap myself up in and look out the window. I could see the outlines of things and tell where she was in the back yard, but reality was fuzzy. I could see what was out there, but not make out all the details. Those dreamy, impressionistic moments shifted my balance a little and clarity was … Continue reading Don’t Bank on It.

I collapsed into the cab, wet, cold, and exhausted, prepared to pay anything asked of me just to get home. I had left school nearly two hours prior and hadn’t gotten more than a few miles down the road and couldn’t find my way back to my house on the buses, so just said to hell with it and grabbed a cab outside Alejuela’s City … Continue reading When It Rains It Pours

Exhaustion has won the emotional battle tonight. An entire world away, in New Hampshire this morning, my son and I lugged 4 suitcases, 3 backpacks, a box of school books, a large bag, and a guitar through the airport only to find that 3 of the suitcases were a few pounds over the limit. To avoid exorbitant fees, we opened up all of our luggage … Continue reading Dead Butterflies Dipped in Wax (Or: It Hurts But Will Be Okay)