1993-'94 Costa Rica #2 & Personal Stepping Stones

Costa Rica

For a few summers we sent Shaun and Sarah to California for a month to visit with my family. My Mom used to do the same thing with my brother and me when we were young. She'd send us to Seattle to spend long stretches of time with our Grandma. I loved it too! I was such a tomboy and there were a lot of things to climb and jump from on Queen Ann Hill where she lived. From Grandma's windows I could see the Space Needle, Boeing (where My Granddad worked and had a stroke), Puget Sound, and Mt. Rainier. It was spectacular. Sometimes we'd spend our Christmas vacations in Washington too. 

While there I was in the habit of catching snakes. One day I caught over twenty of the skinny black creatures and put them in a box. I left the box in the middle of Grandma's living room. When she came home from work, (she worked at the Bon Marche), she found the box full of snakes and screamed, "TAMMY! GET THESE THINGS OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW!!!!" and she ran out the door to a neighbors. 

For some unknown reason I got the dumbest idea...

"Hey,"I said to my brother, "let's send the snakes down the laundry shoot. That way we can put them out in the back yard." Grandma had a hole in the linen closet that went straight down to the basement where her washer and dryer were. The hole was about a foot in diameter.  

"Ok!" said my brother, and he ran down stairs to the basement to catch the snakes. I grabbed the box and ran to the shoot, "Are you ready?" I asked my brother.

"Yep." I heard from below. I can see his face looking up at me. Excitedly I turn the box over and started pouring the twenty wiggly Garter Snakes down the 1ft. hole. I had to herd them to get them all down.

"WOA. STOP!" I heard my brother scream and shuffle. I looked down the hole and saw twenty snakes darting in all directions around the washer and dryer, lawn equipment, tools, and boxes. My brother was getting them off of his face. "Not all at once idiot!" he yelled.

"Grab 'em!" I hollered. 

"Daaahh! Come help stupid!" It took us an hour to catch 16 snakes. We couldn't find the rest. Grandma never knew.

Grandma's House. My brother and I are on the left. 

   

This year while my children were with their Grandma and Grandpa in Huntington Beach, Mark and I took our second trip to Costa Rica.    

I always liked going to a place more than once. One gets the chance to do the "should haves." For instance we looked the four-wheel-drive rental truck over much closer this time, and we asked for two spares. Good thing too. Another advantage is knowing how to get to all the surf spots. My spanish still wasn't very good, and I really sucked in the field of directions. A Tico will add phrases like, turn at the pig in front of the bank, or, stop after the fifth gate where the two polls are on the left. "No problem." I'd reply totally bewildered.  

But the best thing about going to a place the second time is knowing what NOT to bring. 

I was never a Prima Donna. To date I've never had a pedicure or a manicure, however, I'll admit, I can pack a bag full of outfit options, matching shoes, tons of toiletries including hair products, sunbathing necessities, and books. Costa Rica taught me how to enjoy real simplicity like...swimsuits, tank tops, board shorts, one dress, rainbow sandals, one set of very old sneakers, undies, two beach towels, and a good hat. I still took books. Mark and I would pack a water-proof (good for boat rides) bag with surf supplies like wax (we brought lots to give away to local surfers), ding repair kits, extra fins, rash shirts, booties for walking over rocks, sunscreen, and two sets of flippers. We also packed lots of candy, stickers, yo-yos and bubble stuff for the young local kids. Mark would take three boards, a 6', a 6'8", and a 6'10" big wave board. I'd take two, my 5'4" and 5'6". It got to the point that I bought all my toiletries from the local markets when I traveled. This lightened my suitcase a lot and helped out the local villages.

Something I learned the hard way was the importance of making copies of all my identifications like driver license, birth certificate, card numbers, and passport. I learned that lesson along with, don't take anything you don't want stolen. Hiding stuff is mandatory. Before surfing, Mark or I would sit under a tree checking out the surf. While doing that we'd slowly dig a hole by wiggling our toes and feet. Then we'd stick a zip-lock containing our important things in that hole and burry it. We also left our truck window down and the doors unlocked. Sometimes we'd get out of the water to find our beach towels gone, but that was "no problem." 

FYI: When you travel out of the country, you have to have a minimum of six months left on your passport.   

  

We flew to San Jose and headed straight for Jaco. This trip we surfed Hermosa at 8ft. The waves were thick and felt like a hammer when they broke on my head. No matter how small Hermosa is, the inside will nail you to the black sand beach in no time, and when its really big, well, look out. Hermosa breaks boards. The waves are fast, hollow, and sweet. It's great for powerful maneuvers. Sometimes the drops are so quick it's free-falling steep. When paddaling back out I learned to bob-and-weave between the peaks and the people taking off so I wouldn't get hammered so much. The place can get a little crowded and the peeks shifty, but its fun and a real nice beach.  

This trip we traveled to Dominical but the waves weren't that good there, so, after spending the night we headed back up north to Tamarindo. Two flat tires, one speeding ticket, and multiple stops for fruit, souvenirs, and outhouses later, we pulled up to 6ft. Playa Negra and a Costa Rican sunset. We were elated! We went up the road to what was then the small town of Tamarindo, got a room at the Pueblo Dorado and settled in. For the next few days we surfed Playa Langosta, Avellanes, Witches Rock, Ollie's Point and all the river mouthes in between. The waves were 6 to 8ft. the whole time and the winds were light most of the time. 

This was a great trip. Costa Rica is heaven for a person who likes rights point breaks, warm clear water, and hamburgers the size of your head. And at this time there were plenty of uncrowded places to paddle out, because all there were were bumpy dirt roads and cows. Everything was cheep and getting a boat for a surf excursion was an interesting adventure in itself. Over the years things would change a lot. 

My Dad

On the personal side, this was when I got in touch with my Dad for the first time. My Mom and he were divorced when I was 2, and Mom moved my brother and I to California shortly after. I only saw him once when I was 11. We all went to his sister's (my Aunt with her big family) who judged my Dad as a sinner lost forever. That visit lasted a day and I don't remember much of it. Except I recall I stole a training bra from my older cousin. It was my first bra. 

What I knew of my Dad was from papers I found in boxes stored in my Grandmothers basement. The papers were of a lawsuit for child support. I didn't understand the words back then so I lost interest quickly. Occasionally I'd ask questions but the answers were so vague so I stopped asking. My Mom never said a bad word about him, however, she would say I was a lot like him. My Grandmother said he was a Smuck and left it at that. In 1994 I started becoming curious as to all the blood running through my veins. How much of it was Smuck blood and how much Finnish blood? 

I called my Aunt to get his address. Her reply was... 

"Here it is, but why would you want to waste your time? You Dad is a looser. A total waste of space. The Devil breaths down his neck and he likes it." she said over the phone.

"A lot of reasons." was my reply, "And I have no expectations." That was true too. If the man had remorse I wanted him to know that it was not needed for me. I understood the fallen nature of humans and I forgave him for not being involved with me long ago. Stuff happens, life is crazy, and my parents were very young. My Mom took very good care of his-and-her children and gets major props for it. I will always love and respect her for all she gave up for me. She's my Mom and has my heart. But, at this point in my life, my Dad was a man who held some of the keys to my human nature and I wanted to know what they were. I also wanted him to know that my brother and I turned out pretty well and he didn't need to worry. So, I wrote him a letter, and sent it to Spokane Washington, where he had been the whole time.  

In the letter I told him all about my Mom, brother and me. The letter had pictures of every one including his grandkids in it. He wrote me back telling me a little about himself. It was really cool. We did this for awhile and we mailed each other Christmas gifts. Then it stopped for some reason. 

Later I went to my first Dunning family reunion. I hoped to meet him there. He didn't show. My Aunt and Uncle were there, and I met my younger half-sister and half-bother from my Dad's second marriage. I also met a lot of other Dunning family people. Most of them were from my Granddad's second marriage so, they weren't really blood relatives. I took the kids with me and we were warmly welcomed. I think it was because we were novelties with this Indiana farmland family. We were surfers from the beach, and offsprings from the the Black Sheep of the family. I knew I liked my Dad when I heard he was a loner....much like Jack Kerouac. Unfortunately I would not meet him until I was over forty. That was when I found out my Mom was right, my Dad and I have a lot of the same natures. 

The house that the reunion was at had lasted three generations of Dunnings. Shaun asked my step Grandmother if he could take a very old book, (A Wounded Heart by Charles Garvice. Published 1901. First addition hard cover!) I was fascinated with. "Sure." the Matriarch said. Shaun gave me the book for Mother's day. My kids have me so figured out. 

                         

The Dunnings. I'm on the right, with my half sister and half bother.

The kids are in this picture too. Where's Waldo? 

This year I went to a local Bible study at CB that was run by a friend. We'd all chat and then paddle out together. Ultimately, the Paster was far too gentle and kind in his preaching and I soon got bored. He didn't want to step on anyones toes and I respected him for that, however, I like to step on toes. Hell, I'll stomp on anyone's religious feet if they stick them out with the intent of kicking. These CB studies were more evangelistic in content and I found them extremely milky. Going proved I needed another Bible however, and I got myself Bible #4 and retired #3. Its pages were falling out in chunks, and I had written notes everywhere within its 66 books.  

I'm on the left

Bible #4 is a NIV Study Bible with lots of historic information. This would be the Bible I would take around the world with me, along with historic readings from the dawn of civilization. I liked reading the Bible in the mornings with coffee. Still do, but now I'm on Bible #5. The historic information in my new Study Bible got me interested in Western Civilization along with Greek and Roman Mythology. To date these studies still interest me. It was another reason, in 1994, that the church handled me with care. The history of God, Man and Beliefs became a passion with me. The whole thing about Jesus made perfect sense, so, I never waver on him being the Son of God, however, I was finding out that there were a lot of dimensions to that revelation. Studying myths helped my understanding of Devine Royal Sonship. I was also learning more about the Catholic Saints and how human they were. My studies gave me a natural high I quickly got addicted too. Mark didn't read the Bible much. He was more of a "practical" man and felt that God was letting him be The Boss of his own world. We had different definitions for the word Faith.