Listening to The Archers in Costa Rica

On Monday, as I sat looking over the wine-dark Pacific Ocean, and listening to the day's episode of the BBC Radio 4 soap opera, The Archers, I thought 'what a brave new world that hath such technology in it.' I really can't do without my Archers fix.

When I first moved to England, I could not understand the national obsessions with Radio 4 and with gardening. Gradually friends (including one who later became my husband) lured me in, explaining the joys of Radio 4 generally, and in particular of knowing and caring about the Archer family and its neighbours in the fictional village of Ambridge, the ongoing saga of the 'everyday lives of country folk'. It takes some concentration to catch on. How well I remember the first time I listened to one of the thirteen-minute episodes and was able to say with confidence, 'Ah, that's Eddie Grundy.' We have in our home in Toronto a tea towel depicting the Archer family tree; it is tacked to our kitchen door. It puzzles many a guest.

(I did also learned to appreciate the planting of bulbs and the pruning of roses, but that's another show--GQT, to be precise.)

Thanks to internet radio, The Archers were able to follow us to Canada. Luckily! And now they are with us in Costa Rica. My wonderful parents have brought our extended family, the whole mishpucha, 'The Sixteen', on holiday in celebration of my father's 85th birthday. Here we are on the west coast of Costa Rica, in Guanacaste province. It's a dream come true.

Now, on Saturday, I think 'what an amazing world that hath such wacky creatures in it'. And such beautiful landscapes. It has been quite a week-- replete with sun and beaches and pools and monkeys and snakes and crocodiles and waterfalls and iguanas and toucans and parakeets and hot springs and thrills like boating down the Tempisque River amid crocodiles, zip-lining through a canyon, riding horses beneath a volcano, and drinking pure sugar cane juice (really hope my dentist does not read this post).

But after all the wild rides and wild animals, the memories that seem likely to stay with us longest are after all of the tame and the domestic.  The tame: Mischka the kitten, who enchanted my children and became bosom companion to the youngest, years younger than her cousins and brothers and as such without a constant human playmate. We are endlessly grateful to Luis and Carol, the kitten's owners, who brought Mischka daily to the shaded beach, and let our not-quite-12-year-old look after her while they did business with tourists. Today, our last, they were so busy that they even gave her the keys to their car so she could retrieve Mischka herself. The parting this evening was sad and sweet;  Carol took photos and said she would post them on her Facebook page (CarolsanchezBustos) -- I must remember to check!

The domestic: my family, nuclear and extended, 'The Sixteen'. Here's to all of us, for getting the best from the week, for not going nuclear (touch wood--- there are still a few hours to go), and for enjoying one another's company throughout.  We're not The Archers (thank goodness; as Ambridge seems constantly in the midst of disaster-- for example, poor Tony Archer may not recover from his run-in with Otto the bull), but I am beginning to think we really ought to design our own family tea towel.

Meanwhile, happy birthday, Dad! Y muchas gracias!

Short Years

A week ago I was in Washington DC for the AAA conference, the American Anthropological Association, during which 6000 or so of us anthropologists inflicted ourselves on the nation’s capital. I believe it has survived worse.  

The last time I attended one of these meetings in Washington, my two eldest children were about 18 months and three-and-a-half years old, and we still lived in Durham. The third child existed only as a twinkle in our eyes (what we’ve always told our kids when they asked their whereabouts in a story set before their conception). I recall that we flew from Manchester airport, in a misguided belief that the journey would be shorter and easier than via Heathrow or Schiphol, our usual routes, but really, travelling with such small children meant nothing made the journey easy. On the homeward leg, we nearly ended up on a flight to Manchester, New Hampshire because the airport staff at Dulles had not heard of the new route to Manchester, UK. Only when no one asked for our passports did we get suspicious.

For that long ago trip, my parents joined us from Los Angeles to help look after their grandchildren while husband and I busied ourselves attending panels and papers and business meetings.  We did take some time off to spend with all of them, and made plans one afternoon to go to the National Zoo a couple of blocks away. But before we even left the hotel lobby our chortling toddler reached up and grabbed his father`s glasses, snapping the frames in two-- a complete disaster, as without them, giving his paper the next day was beyond my husband`s visual capacity. So off he went with my father as guide, in search of an understanding optometrist, while my mother and I took the boys, along with a third toddler belonging to a friend who was giving her paper, in a small procession of baby buggies to the Washington Zoo. We oohed and aahed over a newborn giraffe. The three-year-old was entranced and had to be bribed away from the exhibit.

How different, then, was our trip last week. For one thing,  the flight took only an hour. For another, we brought no children, and no parents. Husband`s glasses remained intact. Even more momentous, during this trip, the eldest child, now age sixteen-and-a-half, stayed Home Alone in Toronto for the one night that husband and I were both absent. His younger siblings got farmed out to helpful friends (thank you, friends) but our first-born elected to hold the fort and care for the pets (cats and dog, no giraffes) on his own. He said he was ready; we fretted he would be lonely, maybe even scared. We gave him emergency phone numbers. I left him a frozen pizza for dinner but he did better, creating a beautiful pasta dish replete with colourful vegetables.He emailed me a photo.

The conference involved panels, presentations, board meetings, discussions with editors, reunions with friends. Just like last time, just like all the other years. But husband and I also managed a romantic dinner a deux, and a visit to the wonderful Phillips Collection, where we got to appreciate the art rather than chase toddlers. (We tried that at another AAA meeting, in Chicago, while exploring the Art Institute. 'Uh-oh,' said the tot, aged 1.5 years, gazing at a Picasso. Then he threw a penny at it. He missed. Thank goodness.).

So different now. So quickly. Where has the time gone?

I did visit the zoo again. No toddlers, no buggies. Rather, I jogged through the grounds early in the morning before my session, encountering playful pandas and woeful elephants. The baby giraffe has grown up, and my baby sons are more than halfway there. As they say about raising children, the days may be long, but the years are short.  

Really, really short.

On my return, I asked eldest child how he enjoyed having the house to himself. ‘I loved it,’ he said.