Category: Captain’s Blog 2019

Not traveling with Wounded Knee Twomey.

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Well, for those of you following along at home, I had my shoulder and bicep surgery yesterday. The month started with Scott’s knee surgery and subsequent bleeding debacle, sick bellies for the dogs, ct scan, and aspirations for the Bumble abscess. Finally, now, I’m the patient. As with marriage anniversary year appropriate gifts, the first year is paper, the 25th is the silver anniversary, while the 23rd is orthopedic surgery.

I had my surgery yesterday with the super handsome Dr. Parsons, who I say is so incredibly handsome that he’s like an eclipse in that you have to avoid directly staring at him. I just hope that while anesthetized I didn’t profess my love for him or verbalize a sex dream that he unwittingly did not know he was starring as the lead actor in. When I came out in the recovery room, the most excellent friend, Mansi Kothari, was there as my guardian angel, who thankfully drew the line on just feeding me, driving me, drugging me, but called a nurse to help me into my skivies. Great judgement! They placed a catheter in my neck, so I’m styling like Frankenstein, as pain meds course into me from a little pain pump purse made be Dolce and Gabapentin. This sweet bag is the bomb and has had me completely pain free. Unfortunately, Dolce will be depleted by tomorrow afternoon. I’m saving my dilaudid for a painy day. The transport person at Mount Sinai put the TRANS in transport, as he/she/they were transitioning gender, while simultaneously transitioning my care from hospital to home.

Now that Scott & I are both home on the disabled list together through January, he spends his time on the couch in the front porch, me in my jacked up recliner complete with USB port for my phone, Yeti on the living room couch and The Bumble odd dog out, as 1 of 2 scenarios will unfold. Scenario 1) The Orthopedic Gift of the Magi, in which he will be my arms and I will be his legs trading personal comfort for the comfort of the other. Or Scenario 2) Big Brother-wedded and stuck home together for 60 days at Home Edition. In this version, Scott will continue to bombard me with steady airings of Fox News. Ann Coulter, and Sean Hannity, while I seek to annoy him with continuous speaker phone conversations with co-workers with a backdrop of Mumford & Sons and the Lumineers in the background. May the best cripple win!

 

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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Well, about 37 years later, mi amiga and I are trying out our conversational español learned in class. So far we have been successful in getting a taxi (same word in inglese), finding the baño, y ordering cerveza. While we are here for the shoulder season, my shoulder es malo with my rotator cuff prohibiting many actividads. Upon arriving, however, as I’m Marriott Royalty, we were whisked away to the Cacao Suite; which if measured in Hershey Chocolate square footage, would be about 375 million bars. Since Patty was sorry to have missed the rainy season, she used our seven shower heads to recreate the rainforest experience flooding the baño and causing 15 Costa Rican families to seek refuge by climbing banyan trees until the flood waters receded compliments of the maid doing turn down service. We spent a lovely, but short day at the beach, as the sun goes down at 5:15p. Patty thought that my bright pink rash guard wouldn’t stand out against the brilliant sunset, so she decided to point me out in this picture. Today, we saw mucho crabs, an iguana, lots of butterflies, an iguana and a Costa Rican skunk. La playa es muy peligroso at the hotel, so tomorrow, we will go to Tamarindo. Buenas noche! Remember mi casa is su casa.

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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We started out by immersing ourselves in nature going to a Nacional Mangrove Forest and Estatuary. On the way over, we met some older Canadians. The gentleman seemed ready for edema season or he was experiencing elephantiasis to become one with animal kingdom. Costa Rica has 5% of the world’s bio-diversity having the most species of wildlife per square mile. Good thing for leadership training at work, I’ve had my bio-diversity training, otherwise I might’ve made some insensitive comments about the blue heron and be deemed a racist for favoring the white ones. After a short hike in the foresty jungle, we saw monkeys overhead and I momentarily forgot my bio-diversity training taunting them with slightly better posture and self-control for not flinging my poo at others or eating a bug off Patty’s head. It did seem that many of the insects were clueless, as the buzz was that the wasps stuck their stingers in the bees pollen supply causing them to start the #bee-too movement. In the jungle, something bit me; which hurt like a bitch. Will it just be a sore wrist or will it be the genesis of my origin story as a superhero? Only time will tell if the swelling goes down or if I’ll become “Mosquitowoman”ridding the world of terrorists one case of Dengue Fever at a time. While I earlier saw a sloth, hummingbirds, tons of other water birds, and the monkeys; we did not see the crocodiles, so we said “See you later, Alligator” and headed to Tamarindo to hit the beach and shops.

We spent a scorching hot day at the beach. While the endless stream of bead, coconut, whistle, palm frond and shell art vendors accosted us to buy their wares stating that it was happy hour; which was seemingly every hour. My happiest hour was when they weren’t around. Patty decided to take her happy hour the old fashioned way with 2 beers for $5. Our return shuttle never came to pick us up, so things were dicey for a bit as we stood in the darkness pondering whether we would have to start a beach hair braiding concession stand. One of the locals got us a ride home in the back of a cart with some chickens to be sold at market. We opted for the 1990, Hyundai Elantra. With my pending superpowers, I should be able to fly back next time with Patty tucked under my good arm. Buenas noches!

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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Today, we went on a sunset cruise leaving at 12:45p, since the sun sets at 5:20p. On the drive out, we came right up to a bicyclist, who had been hit by a tour van. He definitely looked muerte to us. That was not the sunset that we had in mind.

After taking a lovely sail surrounded by honeymooners, feeling like old married washerwoman, we stopped to snorkel, kayak, & paddle board. As soon as I jumped off the boat, my vest rose from their position of protection on the Double D’s slamming into my airway like a karate chop, as my mask and snorkel simultaneously filled up with water causing me to swallow a sizable amount of the Pacific! I choked and coughed, while being serenaded by Jack Johnson. I needed someone to hold me “Upside Down” and slap me on the back. We saw the most amazing sunset, although fellow passengers said that my face turned as many colors as the sky, during the aforementioned choking incident.

After sundown, we hung in the pool, only to learn more about Costa Rica from our sage cleaning woman, who leaves us facts like, Costa Rica has no military. It’s only Air Force is a flock of seagulls. Tonight, we learned that we are staying in a region called Nicola; which is a well known Blue Zone meaning that most of its inhabitants live well past 100. Apparently, they don’t cycle or swallow snorkels full of seawater. I think I’ll go find a nice nettie pot and call it a day. Buenas noches!

 

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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Today was a slow day, hence the Captain’s Log has me and Patty laying like logs by the pool and ocean. Our resort is so isolated that it’s a 15 minute drive to a main road. If it weren’t for the 5 star accommodations, I would think we’d been kidnapped and that Scott would be receiving proof of life shortly. While everyone takes US dollars, it might be the 170k colons that Patty is flashing around that might make us targets. Good thing that Costa Rican’s are ranked the happiest people on the planet. In an index of all countries ranked on longevity, feelings of well-being and ecological footprint, Costa Rican’s scored 64, yet Americans scored only 37.4. As I’m in my 1400 square foot suite, which will be happily cleaned by a sage Costa Rican maid, it tells you that money (or even Marriott Bon Voy Points) can’t buy happiness. Maybe when you live here and avoid being killed in a lava flow, eaten by a shark, eaten by a crocodile, eaten by a jaguar, contracting dengue fever, poisoned by a scorpion, falling from a cliff, or drowning in the heavy rip currents, then scrubbing a toilet is a joyous release. In the meantime, I’ll sit by ocean knowing that I can derive my own happiness ordering frozen drinks from a happy waiter. As is their saying, pura vida! I don’t iguana go home!

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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Today, we left our 1400 square foot suite and traveled 90 minutes to the Bay of Papagayo, where we are staying at El Mangroove, a very hip eco-friendly hotel in the middle of a mangrove forest. We were told by our bellman that at sunset monkeys would be in the trees above our balcony. I saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil, but also saw no monkeys. As we waited until dark to see monkeys, I got excited when I saw movement nearby only to realize it was the reflection of my calf in the plexiglass. Tomorrow, we will go on a safari where I’ll see my hip and my forehead. We did see the North American species known as the Canadian Marriott Elite Caller, as this dentist, Dr. Barry Schwartz bragged about how he as a doctor and Platinum member gets great upgrades and treatment. As he told us about his hotel rooms around the world, he managed to drop that he was a “Dr” with every other word. It turns out that dentists have one of the highest suicide rates, but that having to listen to him was the causal effect. I wanted to tell him that we were in the best building and not him and just stayed in the biggest room yet, but we Titanium Elite are in our own Fight Club. The first rule is never share that you can play 5-on-5 half court basketball in your room. However, although we didn’t see any monkeys, we met my new friend, Bigfoot, as you can see. Now, that’s a guy who needs square footage. After being out for Costa Rican nightlife; which goes to 830p, I must get some sleep before our last day with a big tour. Hasty Mañana from an undisclosed suite in the jungle.

Traveling with my friend Trish from Mrs. Toralbas’ Spanish Class.

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Esta es una dia finalemente. Since it’s our last day here, we did the Mega tour of Buena Vista at Rincon De la Vieja; which consisted of ziplining (bad idea for bad shoulders), water slide (even a worse idea), horseback riding (bad idea for me and the horse), locally sourced lunch (bad idea for restaurant chains), volcano (bad idea for virgins), and hot springs (bad idea for mattresses). We started out at a waterfall with our trusty guide, Humberto, who seemed to be suffering from a blood clot in his eye from a non-disclosed tour mishap. Once we got into the mega tour, I was convinced in several languages that ziplining wouldn’t affect my shoulder. Turns out the ziplining itself does not, but as they hook you in, you must jump/pull yourself up. That not only affects shoulders, but on the 2nd run, it also affected the zip-lifeguard, as in jumping up, I inadvertently kneed him in the gringones.. Aye caramba! He went down, while I went up. I guess I hit him square in the zipper line. I quit after that, as my shoulders could not shoulder on. I walked back on hanging bridges passing this 500 year old ficus tree. (Doesn’t look a day past 480!) Patty finished all 7 runs joining a Canadian tour group getting embraced by them like a Canadian goose, who returned North after a long winter. We both took a pass on both the water slide and the horseback ride ending up by the volcano. Got to lav it! We then did the steam room, mud bath, and hot springs, as Humberto took 87 pictures of us and an armadillo. After a locally sourced lunch that Humberto explained to us in great detail, we headed back. Just as Humberto explained cream of squash soup or that we could put marinara sauce on spaghetti, we’ve found that Costa Rican’s explain things to us, as if our heads are still soft from our births saying things like “this is the couch in your room (long pause), here are towels to dry off with (extremely awkward long pause)”.

On the way home, I thought I saw a cougar, but the woman couldn’t have been more than 5 years older than her boyfriend. So, Patty and I realized it was a jaguar that we were seeing sleeping up in a tree. After another no monkey see, no monkey do evening, the sun set on our Costa Rican vacation. After bidding goodnight to the aforementioned couch and towels, we called it a night to get up super early for our long trip home. As they say here, “Pura vida!” Until next time!

 

Traveling with the wayward warrior cheerleaders.

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Lynne Messner, Ellen DeFlora Sciortino and I mixed it up and instead of going to a Palm Beach spa, we are in Vancouver. The only thing this place has in common with South Florida are the mullets. It’s going to rain the entire vacation, so Lynne is the whitest entity that we will see in the Great White North. In fact, I’ve taken up curling, as the keratin washes away and I am left with my native Jewfro. As expected, the people here are incredibly polite. Even at the hockey game tonight, when the Canucks fight and check, they say please before hitting the Red Wings. Lynne stayed behind and Ellen and I went to the game. We decided late, so came about 1/3 into the game; which with the exchange rate being 1.33 US to Canadian dollars, equaled seeing a whole game in the states. We bought tickets from an incredibly polite scalper, who allowed Ellen to go through the security before I paid him. Just like they do in NYC at Madison Square Garden! We thought instead of seeing the Canucks, we were going to get Canfucked, but Dudley Dooright hooked us up. Every time you pay for something here, it’s like Wednesday sale days at Macy’s that you’re not exactly sure what you paid, but it’s far less than you expected. If you don’t want to pay in Canadian dollars, they’ll except 1 Dunkin Donut for every 1.33 Tim Horton’s. Unlike the Yanks, the Canucks won. After being up almost 24 hours, it’s time to send in the Zamboni and call it a day, eh?

Traveling with the wayward warrior cheerleaders.

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Today, we borrowed umbrellas from the polite bellman and went over to Granville Island to the market; which had a huge farmer’s market, shops, and food stands with many foods to choose from like poutine, donuts, salmon or poutine flavored donuts, poutine topped with salmon, or donuts filled with poutine. Lynne Messner chased her lunch down with a nice glass of maple syrup, while Ellen DeFlora Sciortino drank a sidecar of poutine gravy. We’ve yet to exchange any of our currency for Canadian cash mainly since we all remember a time that we were denied a gumball or a laundromat coin operated washing machine or a parking meter, as a damn dirty Canadian coins infiltrated our American coin slots. I will not be party to filling our American coin slots with similar looking, yet suspiciously tinnier currency!

We went to the 1000 acre Stanley Park. If you get the special drink at the park’s concession stand, it’s served in a commemorative Stanley Cup. We took a horse drawn carriage ride around the park taking in the sites. As I tried to blend in with the native totem poles, somehow my singular face and lack of height caused me to stand out from the crowd. As we tried to get a cab out of the park, I called the Yellow Cab Company (Checker was still in the penalty box from last night’s hockey game) and spoke to a rude dispatcher. I found out that since Canadians are so polite, they import rude dispatchers from NYC along with squirrels from Central Park. In exchange, we were given Canadian Geese that shit all over parks. Anyway, the cab didn’t come, as it got wetter, darker, and colder. After an hour, just when we thought we’d need to find some hibernating bears to snuggle up to and weather the night, a Mexican man graciously led us out the park into Civilization. Once we told him it was urgent and we NAFTA get right back to our hotel, our friend from the most southern part of North America saved us.

We ended our night in Gastown, a hip neighborhood that has nothing to do with farts, especially old ones.

Traveling with the wayward warrior cheerleaders.

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Today, was like planes, trains, and automobiles as we traveled to Victoria by taxi-ferry-taxi. Victoria, or as I call her, Vickie, is the capital of British Columbia, as parliament sits in its beautiful harbor. Depicted is that government seat during the 15 minutes that it stopped raining on this trip. We slogged through the rain to the Empress Hotel, but failed to impress the Empress with our soggy clothes, although our’s looked better than the Emperor’s new clothes, We went to the colorful Fisherman’s Wharf where we sought refuge from the incessant rain on this guy, Noah’s houseboat, but he sent us away for being a trio of the same gender.

As we returned to our rooms, I now understood Victoria’s Secret, as I blow-dried my bra, sweater, and jacket. I’m going to be their first runway model with chub rub from the friction of my wet jeans. I felt like I’d been Canadian Goosed! At least I was fortunate to find that a salmon had swum upstream up my pant leg to defray our dinner cost. Better to bear Victoria’s Secret than to have Prince Albert in a can-adian city!