In my ongoing quest to meet girlfriends, I joined two Escazú book clubs. Somehow, when I turned 50, girlfriends took on new meaning. As in: life would have no meaning without good girlfriends. I never felt that way before, but it’s taken me by storm. I had great girlfriends back in Key West: long time (let’s not say "old", ok?), loyal, funny. Husbands are nice and all, but a good girlfriend is essential.

My first Costa Rica girlfriend, Dara Bortman, moved back to the states. Which was their plan all along, but I still can’t forgive her. In choosing between Me and Them (the grandparents back home salivating over the return of the two precious precocious Bortman babies), she chose Them. The nerve. Back to the drawing board.

Through some inconvenient twist of fate, both book clubs meet on the same day: the third Wednesday of every month. Yesterday, I went to both, thinking I would decide which one I liked best and join that one. Of course, I liked them both…

The first started at 10am. When I called to ask about joining in, what book they were discussing this week and for directions, I was told by the 88-year-old grande dame (she told me her age straight off) they weren’t reading just one book because there were too many people. Already I’m liking this one. "Just come," she said. "We are looking for new blood." That would be me. I invited my new friend, Candy – not her real name. No one gets named anymore but Hal – and off we go up the mountain to meet the girls.

Candy and I are the babies of the group BY FAR. The next youngest person is 60-something and there’s a stretch between her and the next babe… We found ourselves in a room ripe with wisdom, walkers, good cheer and generous souls. Not to mention sin hormones, save for Candy and me. A lovely group.

Today’s topic is poetry. The girls read poems from Longfellow; Rubén Darío, a famous, some say iconic, Nicaraguan poet; Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess; The Immigrant’s Table, a collection of recipes and poems written by Mary Lou Sanelli, a 2nd generation Italian immigrant; Horace and the Oxford Book of English Verse on which one of our British sisters was raised. There are two or three other poets read, but I can’t remember names and titles. We talked about Father Divine, Bill White’s Colony and Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence.

Memorable moments were provided by Jo Stuart‘s reading of a poem from Dancing With A Cowboy by Sara Rath. This particular poem was written from the point of view of a flasher: someone who can’t stop – remember, this is in a room of octogenarians – beating off in front of people. He tries, but he can’t stop. It is actually moving and wonderfully written. And generates quite a spirited discussion!

Memorable moment numero dos follows as the grande dame reads from a book of poetry written by Lorna Crozier. Which includes the poem about carrots fucking the earth. Fucking their brains out, to be exact. The poems are terribly clever and we all find this hysterically amusing.

As alternative, edgy and outside-the-box as Key West professes to be, I can’t imagine a book club like THIS there. Candy and I decide this book club is a Don’t Miss. We will DEFINITELY be back for next month’s invigorating discussion with the girls.

Book club numero dos I am certain cannot top this. And, indeed, it does not. It is interesting, though, and the women are my age, reading books and discussing them in a round table fashion. Nothing brilliant, but it would certainly be nice to know the women better. I will read the book for next month, A Good Dog by Jon Katz and ready my point of view.

If I have to choose, though, I’ll be up the mountain at 10am every third Wednesday with my potluck contribution. Ready to rumble.