It Is Only A One-Bedroom!

Houses and babies have a lot in common. During the first few months, you try to figure out the appendages and whether it is what you had hoped for. Now gestation has had its effect and our baby is starting to look like a home. (Our house is a bit of a premie, the Lovely Nim has used PhotoShop to “paint” our house a bit prematurely.)

Casa de Animas is not the home that we would have planned for in a financial meltdown. That home would have been our shipping container with sky-lights. Having taken the construction plunge, we are now “stuck” with our creation. Readers (plural?) of this blog will know that the gestation has been almost six years. It is only a one-bedroom home, but what a one-bedroom it will be.

We arrived at “just the right time. The contractor is now getting down to the fine details. In general, contractors will default to the expedient if not give clear direction to the contrary. By way of example, our contractor did not think that more than one color in or outside the house was necessary. Likewise, why mess with different types and colors of tiles, when one will do? The Lovely Nim has literally spent days with her chauffer (“at your service”) driving from one supplier to the next. Costa Rica is a small country. In a spiraling construction economy, vendors simply do not have unlimited stocks of materials – particularly imported items.

We have now been residents for a week. With the house, catching up with friends and actually practicing a little law, we have been amazingly busy. We are loaded with communications devices courtesy of Al Gore and the Internet. We have a landline, a Tico cell, a US cell, a Vonage Seattle number and my office phone. There have been a couple of times that more than one phone is ringing. More than once, the yell “Please get the phone.” Followed, by “What phone?”

To the recipient of my calls, it appears that I am sitting at my office desk rather than surveying a beautiful valley in Ticolandia. My assistant says it is spooky when I call her or am on the phone as her unit lights up with “He is busy”. This week as I spoke to several clients, the neighborhood rooster spoke up. “What is that?” “Nothing,” I replied. “My partners are under a lot of stress in this economy and have become a little chicken-shit.





In our short week, we have been disappointed and hugely pleased. One example, the house features a spiral staircase that swoops down from the second floor in about a 260 degree arc. Having seen a staircase by another contractor (really ugly), I was afraid that it would bounce. No problemo now, but ten years from now – who knows. I then discovered the staircase was to be of concrete. Ohmigod, concrete is ugly – what are we going to do? When we showed up, the artisans were putting the finishing touches on a truly elegant curving staircase with broad stairs that even a future geezer could navigate on Prozac. Who would have believed that you could sculpt such a majestic feature with a little steel and concrete?

A word from Sousa the Portuguese water dog. "While my domestic staff was getting regular updates from Continental, nobody told me anything. Here I am stuck in my kennel in a noisy aluminum tube with a nearby Chihuahua rambling on about his career in fast food advertising. No food on this flight! My water bowl was frozen and then sloppy. Hey! Isn’t this thing supposed to have oxygen masks? Finally, we arrive. I have no idea where the hell I am. My staff is there grinning like fools. I am tired and dehydrated. I look forward to going home and amusing Peter by chasing some tennis balls in the morning – he easily amuses. What a minute here, this place is warm. Who turned on the summer? I froze my butt off in Seattle with this summer clip – maybe Peter planned this from the beginning.

At first I thought, I will do the Porty mind-meld on Peter and he will take me home. For the first few nights, I stood by the bed and got as close as possible – people have bad breath. There I stood eyes wide open “Take me home, Peter, I chanted” For three nights, I tried. I managed to keep him awake by not compliant. The Porty mind-meld has never failed before. Peter has a weak mind and I can use the meld to get him to play, feed me or scratch my butt. No matter how long and hard, I stared and focused, we are still here. In fairness, I am getting used to it. There are some terrific butts to smell and the food better. Peter and I fixed some coconut/macadamia muffins this morning with fresh mangoes and some homemade chorizo. Now that is a dog’s breakfast if I ever saw it.

Watch my jowls. When the Obama's put a Portie in the White House, the world will be a better place."