There is a global ripple running.
I ran this morning and strung together my distaste for the manufactured beauty of his country, against what I find gorgeous here. It seems that my eye and heart tend to be drawn in by innocence and survival. Untouched overgrowth, or a landscape ruled by nature with man's childlike fingerprint smudged in, are what I see. I see jerry-rigged wire weaving together splintered branches and pieces of trees, to keep the acres of roaming cattle and chickens and horses and goats from wandering. I see a card-house/farmhouse at the helm, with a collage of tin and plank squares as the roof, flying colorful laundry and lanterns. There is something about homemade. Hard work that can be seen in both innovation and imperfection. Something about tinfoil in labs, cardboard forts and treehouses with trapdoors that endear me so.
I would never presume to relate to the abhorrent atrocities that face many countries world wide. Especially within this last decade of motherhood, I have been nothing but an observer; many times horrified at what I see and how my feet are momentarily cemented. There is so much happening, all of the time, that I can't understand, and hurts my brain to try. Still lately, I can't help noticing something of a rumble rolling under us all. The cities and families on islands and farms and in forests and mountains have been plagued with an earthly virus; just under the skin of daily reality. The skin is starting to blister to reveal and prioritize, ending the world procrastination and unison sigh of "later.." Dried wells, hurricane frequency, wildfires, internet hate-families, Facebook bullying, Twitter beheadings. Our planet and humanity are wearing tragically thin, and begging for attention.
Here in Guanacaste, effects of global warming, political calculation and human inequality are screaming, as well. Same virus, different country. In my next few posts, we will see how the middle class, and ultimately compromise, cooperation and the comradery of man still exists, and how they have made themselves heard.
The middle class represents every man's ability to succeed; to help each other up, to relate, connect and coexist with the planet for the future betterment of their culture and of every family's growth and survival. Handshakes and eye contact and smiles and manners still exist here, and are standing together to continue. Appreciation for their beautiful home, and recognizing what humanity brings to the landscape is what the people here believe. It's all so simple and sweet, and somewhere along the way, such thoughtfulness and respect became viewed as pedestrian.
Trading in real and precious for the Pinterest snapshot. Just my observation.
Townhouse complex in Las Catalinas
...directly across the street from this home