Our Move to a very Foreign Country

Let me begin by saying that the furthest thing from my mind was leaving Venice, California. I was very happy there, especially as a writer. I was working on the local paper, “The Beachhead”; I was reading poems I had penned in The Rapp Salon, the monthly poetry group run by Elena Secota; I was writing and marketing the first two books of my series, “Destiny’s Consent”. It felt as if I was not only a writer, but I was a writer with a community. I was very content.

In 2013, my husband, Michael, and I vacationed in Montezuma, a small town on the Pacific side of Costa Rica. We were there for three months, enjoying the warm clear waters and waterfalls. We stayed at three different places along the coast of the Nicoya Peninsula, one of which was a large property in the jungle, teeming with wildlife: agoutis, coati mundis, howlers and capuchins. We were charmed, not only by the animals, but by the lavishly landscape grounds. When the owners mentioned the estate was for sale, Michael was very enthusiastic about buying it; I not so much. My vision of retirement was more the lavender-fielded Provence in France, not the rusted roofed cement buildings reminiscent of Tijuana.

As our vacation was concluding, and we prepared for our to return to California, Michael was getting more and more depressed. I assured him that I would make arrangements for us to return to the jungle property the following November for another three months. With that plan in place, we returned to the U.S., and I happily continued my literary life of poetry, book writing and local journalism. I was also an active member of a 12 step group to offer support in quitting smoking and attended three to four meetings a week. I was engaged and happy.