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By now some of you may be wondering why in the world we would choose to live in a place that presents so many challenges. Well, for starters, when I open my eyes in the morning and look out past my feet, here's what I see from my bed:

The mountains surrounding our property fall down to the sea directly in line with the front of our house, offering us a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. The little white dot in the center of the picture just below the horizon is Laguna Mar Hotel in Javilla, about a mile away as the crow flies. Our house sits on a little rise 214 feet above sea level, so we catch all the ocean breezes funneling up the valley, keeping our spot considerably cooler than it is a few minutes away at the beach.

As one who has no use for cold weather, I'm in the right spot. The coldest temperature we've ever seen at our house was when the thermometer dipped down to 65º early one morning a few years ago. At 9º north of the equator, the sun is really, really strong, but most of the time it's not too hot in the shade because the air is drier in the Nicoya Peninsula than in other parts of the country. As soon as the sun sets, the air cools down to a perfect temperature for a night swim and some stargazing.

In the morning when I swing my feet over the side of the bed, I look out big glass doors to the pool. I am ridiculously fond of my pool. I can twirl around in the middle of it and, except for a tiny peek of Pat and Mic's roof in the dry season, see nothing but unadulterated nature for miles. I'm a water person. Once I get into my pool I have a great deal of difficulty getting out. That's why I usually go in after supper, when my chores are done. I float, I stretch, I swim, I dance, I bob, I meditate, I hang from noodles to decompress my spine, and then Bill and I shoot some baskets and don't keep score: the perfect lazy girl's exercize. The privilege of being suspended in warm water under thousands of stars every night to wash away the cares of the day is a large part of why I love being here.

Here's Edna enjoying reflections of twilight:

The recent news from Beirut and Paris set me to thinking again about whether moving here would be classified as a quest or a drop-out. On one hand, when I hear what's going on out there in civilization, it sometimes makes me feel as though I've abandoned the other people of my kind working on making the world a better place. On the other hand, I feel it's much more effective for me to send out positive, loving vibes from my perpetually recharging soul than to discuss endlessly the insanity of other people. Monks and nuns do this from their monasteries and convents. This grandmother does it from her pool.

Bill pointed out that there appears to be a big bubble at the bottom of the sunny pool photo. Yup, I live in a bubble, alright. Sometimes my bubble is glossy with rainbows and I float along in a dream, but quite often it pops and I plummet back to reality. However, the longer I live sustained by nature, the less distinction I see between dreams and reality, and that's how change can be allowed to happen.

This is what I see when I stand at my kitchen sink. I look out to the top ridge of the mountain and picture Maria von Trapp belting out The Sound of Music as she frolics among the wildlife. My kids say they often felt as though they were being raised in a musical, the way I'd sing my way through every day. What the world needs now, more than ever, is love, sweet love. 🎵

My job here is to take all the love growing inside my bubble and plant it so it can grow.

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