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The Kiss April 5, 2012

Posted by Jen Pappas in Costa Rica Posts, Poems and Misc..
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from August 6, 2009 Journal Entry

Today after our run, we sat down on the lounge chairs by the pool to stretch and finish sweating. A yellow butterfly kept circling my shoulders as I stretched, finally landing on the back of my shirt – mistaking the bright emblem for a flower. It perched for a moment before flying away. I took the shirt off and handed it to Steve who bunched it up so only the flower-like logo was showing. We waited. After a moment, the butterfly again landed on what it took to be a flower. Slowly, Steve brought the shirt closer and closer to his face until he was nose-to-wing with the creature. I held my breath, watching as he bent ever closer, rubbing the tip of his nose against one yellow wing, giving it an eskimo kiss.

It was as intimate as writing a letter.


It Won’t Always be Like This April 18, 2011

Posted by Jen Pappas in Costa Rica Posts, Poems and Misc..
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from August 9, 2009 Journal Entry

Part of me knows it won’t always be like this. Waking whenever we please, pulling out a book to read until we’re finally ready to get out of bed. Flipping channels on an old, 25-inch Sankey TV using a big toe because we can’t find the remote – stumbling across our favorite programs at odd times, in different languages.

We won’t always have the luxury of playing three consecutive games of cribbage during happy hour, waiting for the sun to set, smirking to one another about the underage American girls four seats over, ordering shots (with a chaser!) for themselves and strangers.

No, it won’t always be like this. Preparing a cocktail in our trusty blue water bottle to bring to you down at the beach in between surf sessions. Running errands in town before finishing another book underneath the horrifically loud ceiling fan. Shopping for cheap bags of rice and eggs for that evening’s dinner. Tickling our psuedo pet cat between the ears, dodging piles of trash on the road outside our condo complex. Where later you will return, shower, dress into a different pair of shorts and plop back onto the ramshackle sofa declaring, “What a hard day of work.”

It won’t always be like this but maybe somewhere down the line, something else – equally wonderful will step in and take its place so I can write about it. Just as I’ve done here.