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Urban Eclectic Jewelry

Handmade Jewelry For The Bohemian Soul

Tree Trimming

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I have learned a ton about how much behind the scenes maintenance goes into operating a large, over populated 1st world city like Los Angeles, where I’m from.  There are so many things that are the responsibility of your local municipality.  Everyone pays their taxes and so for the most part, things are maintained.  I didn’t learn this by living in the city, I learned this by living in the country…in the country of a country of a developing 2nd world country.  (That’s a mouthful!!)
By living in a place like this, it has becomes painfully apparent that it’s necessary that I put everything I’ve learned in my “other life” (i.e., city dwelling) regarding basic safety — behind me — and embrace other ways of doing things.  Because let me assure you, there are ways of fixing things that you never in your wildest dreams would have imagined.
Like tree trimming.
When a very large tree went through a growing spurt and extended it’s oh so heavy branches up, over and beyond the stores that make up my “corner of the planet”, my husband inquired around town about who might be good with a chain saw.  I know, “chain saw” – it sounds pretty creepy, however, (another lesson learned) apparently knowing a guy that’s good with a chain saw (or a machete!) is someone you want in your inner circle.

I had no idea what it took to trim down a large tree — I’d lived in a large city in an apartment for most of my life, I never had to worry about these things.

So, my husband located a friend of a friend of a cousin of a neighbor’s nephew’s daughter’s second husband’s father’s, neighbor’s second wife’s brother’s, ex-neighbor, who not only was known to be good with a chainsaw (I prefer not to inquire further into this “skill” nor how he gained this reputation), but was small and limber enough to take on this tree trimming job with the help of 2 other guys.

It went like this…..
Like a monkey, he scaled the tree, chainsaw in hand, and tied a rope around himself and then to the tree.  Another very long rope was then tied to the tree up where he was perched right above the portion that needed to be executed.  The free end of the rope was tossed over a strong branch of a neighboring tree and the end of the rope held securely by a faithful friend on the ground.
The concept was, Chainsaw Guy, gripping the trunk with his legs, revs up the chainsaw and cuts the trunk (ahem, minus any safety goggles) about a foot below where the rope is tied around it.  Then the large, heavy newly cut piece of trunk swings down top speed while Faithful Friend holding the rope which is looped over the other tree branch, tries to control this flying tree trunk like a giant pinata.
Try to picture this, the momentum of an extremely heavy, solid object free falling out of a tall tree. Seriously.  It’s horrifying to watch.
 
After this – I noticed tree maintenance more often.  Most times I just have to look away – terrified that I’m about to witness a tragedy.
Look at how high up this guy is – – a bit above the bar’s sign.
 Yikes, watch those fingers!!
I’m getting  used to things like this, slowly but surely just accepting what IS.  I’m learning to chuckle at the things that sometimes seem ridiculous and realize it’s these things that make me love living here.

Shake, Rattle and Roll!!!

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Coming from Southern California, I’d say that I’ve experienced my fair share of Mother Nature realigning her tectonic plates from time to time.  From a small kid on, you’re taught that when the ground gets ta’ shaking, get under a doorway or preferably under a large sturdy table until the shaking subsides. Growing up, there were always rumblers here and there that were unnerving – but for the most part it was just part of life living where I lived.  Usually the ground would lightly tremble, you’d stop, take note (waiting to see if it’s just a little one or it’s going to get stronger) and then went about your business.
However, when Ms. Mother Nature decided to shift things around this past Wednesday (Sept. 5) at 8:42 a.m., I was totally caught off guard.  Standing in my kitchen cooking breakfast, it took a few milliseconds for it to register what exactly was happening.  I guess my earthquake sensors are a bit out of practice and I didn’t register “earthquake” nearly as quickly as I would have living in LA.
I had just returned from a hike when I felt what I interpreted to be dizziness, but then realized that there was a rumbling noise all around me.  Suddenly the mental hiccup passed and it registered “EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” and I went into auto mode of looking for a a sturdy table (uhhhh…don’t own one) or doorway….(uhhhhh…..questionable Costa Rican construction) to seek shelter under.
But in Costa Rica – that’s not the proper game plan.  See here, there are no large sky rises showering glass down, nor high power lines, or billboards, however there is some rather shady construction at times so the outside is exxxacccctly where you want to get.  Lucky me, my knight in shining armor Costa Rican hubby responded more accurately and pulled me out of the house.
As we ran out the front door, the roof of our patio was trembling and clanking and there was this loud rumbling noise from all directions. (SCARY!!!)   As we reached the front gate the ground was absolutely rattling and it was difficult to stand up — and still the noise.  The shaking kept getting stronger and at that point all I could do was pray “Oh God, please keep us safe!”  It really began to seem feasible that it was going to keep getting stronger.  It was surreal and I thought “could this really be happening???” But then, the shaking stopped and we looked at each other and ran to get the car keys and get to higher ground.
We live about 1/4 mile from the beach and having no idea where this large quake was epicentered – we had to get up and fast.  For all we knew it was epicentered directly in front of where we were and a wave was headed our way.  Our town is 21 feet above sea level.  Not a good place to be had this huge jolt generated any large wave action.
Luckily, we live at the base of a good size hill which is probably the best place to get to quickly in situations like these.  So off we went – quickly — tuned the radio to the news and sat above the town overlooking the ocean.  Slowly the hilltop starting filling up with other residents of town after a tsunami alert was issued for the entire Central American Pacific coast.
As news started coming in we learned that the earthquake measured 7.6 – epicentered less than 40 miles from my home. Ah-ha.  No wonder I felt that sucker so hard.
It really was quite a shaker!!  As I recall other quakes I’ve experienced I’d say the only one that would really qualify as “large quake” would be the 1994 Northridge quake which measured 6.7 — significantly smaller than what I felt with this shaker.  This was by far the largest, strongest earthquake I’ve ever felt and let me just say ….whoa!
Experiencing something like this in a place that is so “off the map” really does make one think about things like emergency preparedness.  Had this been something more serious, where I live (out in “the country”)  help would not be coming anytime soon.  This has really impressed on me (and hopefully others) the importance of putting some thought into what it means to be prepared and to immediately get those items together.
There have been lots and lots of aftershocks in the past 3 days.  We keep getting jolted awake by shakers like this morning’s aftershock which registered 5.6 — still a good size quake. I’m hoping things mellow out soon.  My nerves are a bit rattled….literally.

Got Gas?

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Gas stations.
Add this to the ever growing list of things that I’ve always taken for granted.  Not even taken for granted really – just never thought about.  I’ve always lived someplace where there is a gas station literally on every corner.  Getting gas is something you do “on the way” to wherever it is you may be going.
Here however, I live about 10 miles away from the nearest full service gas station.*  The next closest one is about another 10 miles from that one.  Most people, including us, don’t make it to the actual gas station all that often because the majority of people’s driving is local in and around town errands and business.  So, we keep our cars chugging along thanks to a few locals who set up their own gas vending locals.
Meet my “local” gas station.

It’s not fair to even call this a gas station, because it’s an old wooden shed, filled with gallons and gallons of gasoline in someone’s yard.

 

You pull up, honk and someone from a nearby house comes out, retrieves the requested number of gallons ($6/gallon) from the shed, and dispenses.  And that’s how it works.
By the way, the spray painting on the shed reads “We don’t lend gallons, we sell them”.  I think that’s a good policy for a gas vendor.  Don’t you?
*A lil’ side note about “full service” stations, they are a bit nostalgic in that there are pump attendants who pump the gas and clean your windows.  They’d probably check your oil too if you asked.

The Dog Lady

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So, a little something about me (if you don’t know this already) is that I am craaaaazy about dogs.  Seriously, you know those weird “cat ladies” – I could all too easily become the canine equivalent….almost.  I love ’em, love ’em, love ’em!!

My nickname among some has become “The Dog Lady” and perhaps with good reason.  I have so many dog “friends”.  Some are homeless, some have owners, some are now mine!  Neighborhood dogs come by to visit me and sit on the porch with me while I drink my morning coffee.

Not only do I love dogs, THEY LOVE ME TOO!!  Dogs follow me, find me, sniiiiiifffff me out!! Lost dogs seem to show up in my presence, as if they’ve heard through some grapevine that I am the Doggie Messiah — a savior for the weary and hungry.  They show up at my door.  They find their way to my shop.  Recently, one even turned up INSIDE my house!  Stories to be told.

So, my husband and I have 5 dogs.  Yup.  You read it right, 5, f-i-v-e.  Well, 4 and 1/4 if you want to be fair (4 big dogs and one that’s a 1/4 of their size).  Having this many dogs on the beach in the country is a completely different experience than having that many pets in a city.  The dogs have space, the beach, freedom and lots of time with their human counterparts.

When my husband and I met, he had 2 dogs:

Onyx — a bundle of love and tail wagging.  If I was able to rename her, her name would be “Pig Pen” after the Charlie Brown character.  She’s a Black Lab and absolutely cannot stay clean for a second.   She’s constantly dusty and dirty and always has some sort of gnats, flies or mosquitos caravanning behind her.  In her defense, what she lacks in cleanliness, she makes up for in unconditional love and faithfulness.  Age 10 and counting!!

Merlin, the big, the brave and the bad.  Can jump and almost do a full 180.  Loves to swim and play fetch in the ocean waves.  A sucker for any kind of petting, but a fighter.  You know those signs people put on their gates that say “Perro Bravo” or “Guard Dog” – those signs were made for him.  A mix of Lab, Dalmation and who knows what else.  Aged 5 +/-

To those two, I added my one dog, Johnny (aka the worlds bestest dog ever), who passed away two years later in December 2009.    After Johnny died, together we adopted….

Maya, the delicate, timid little princess (but growing braver every day!).   A lover of chasing the ball and sitting on the porch watching the world go by.  A 12 lb. little mixture of Mini Pincher, Wiener dog and for sure some kind of Jack Russell.  Approximately 2 years old.

Then a few months later….

Carmen, my first accidentally adopted dog.  I first met her in the summer of 2008 and thought she was a street dog.  She did have an owner though and about a year after I met her, they gave her away to another family about 15 miles away.  She was gone a few months, then ran away from them and showed up at my door.  The prior owner could not figure out how she had found her way back to town.  I’d say she chose me.  A gorgeous mix of  Ridgeback, Pitbull and who knows what else.  Approximately 3 years old.

And finally, my last dog.  (Really!  I don’t want any more!)

Lola, my second accidentally adopted street dog.  The most beautiful dog ever.  A complete street mixture of a little of this and a little of that dog (locally called “saguate”).  These street dogs are incredibly smart and resilient.  This lil’ girl showed up about 1/2 a day from starving to death.  We tried and tried to find her a home, but it just didn’t happen.  She ended up staying and a few months later was run over by an SUV.  She walked away without so much as a scar.  She’s like Wonder Dog.  Approximately 1 1/2 years old.

These are the dogs I call “mine”, however I have tons of pooches in my life.  I have a whole other life that goes on between me and these dogs and me and the outside world.

Stay tuned.