I had a brilliant idea last week. It just came to me, out of the clear blue. Well, perhaps that half bottle of Cabernet had a bit to do with it, a little, but I climbed into my cyber-pen and sent off a note to the esteemed editor of this wonderful on-line publication.

"I want to commit to a regular column again", I brazenly announced.

To my pleasant - and not complete - surprise, the editor, one I call a friend, enthusiastically responded and considered this 'great news'. The next morning, after a night during which my liver performed it's usual miracle work and rendered me with a body and brain that beheld barely more common sense than the inebriating potion which had caused the overflowing of eager voluntarism the night before, I reflected.

I must admit, without the assistance of aged grapes I may have never taken the step but now I had and it gave me some sense of purpose that had been lacking.

No, I have not been bored or any of that, it's just that most of my time had been taken up by work and scores of other matters that proved hardly motivating to the creation of anything artistic. Sometimes the drudge of work is just that; it wears you down, even on wonderfully productive days and all you want to do afterward is crash. Please don't take that to literal; as a full-time participant in the Aviation Industry, I'm aware that this verb should be used carefully.

For those of you who perhaps remember me, there was a time when Inside Costa Rica had a whole arsenal of columnists. There was Barry, who unfortunately is no longer with us, and Michael, who's still with us but somewhere out of reach. Together we blasted the audience of Inside Costa Rica with all kinds of opinionated contributions. It's what big-headed egomaniacs like to do!

Ah, those were the days! In was 2002 and financial tumult was rolling across the little country in the center of the isthmus, like a big boulder crushing financial dreams of riches and wealth. I was sending out a newsletter to fellow unlucky victims who stupidly had forked over cash to a Ponzi artist, a small-time forerunner of Bernard Madoff, if you will.

Recently I had the opportunity, after applying an incredible amount of much persistent pressure, to visit the lonely grave site of El Viejo, the oldest brother and brainiac behind a financial scam that dwarfs in the presence of Madoff's handiwork but was nonetheless enormously far-reaching in it's destructive aftermath.

Rest assured, I will, a few columns down the line, share the story of the voyage to this lonely resting place of a man who some still consider the 'safe-keeper of their funds'. While desperate hope eventually fizzles and burns out, pure lunacy burns bright and eternal. Some ex-pats of the convalescent persuasion, Geezer Gringos, if you will, prove that to this very day. While they have no longer any followers, the intense heat of their rabid rage keeps the light of lunacy at full blast only to illuminate the stark void where common sense departed long ago.

But while as 'skyboy' I penned fervently about this disaster to the readers of my newsletter, as a columnist I managed to entertain a variety of subjects, personal experiences and more often than not, just stories. While it was a pleasant experience to receive laud for this, it could not measure up to the immense pleasure of creating something out of nothing. At some point I stopped writing the column, it is strange because I cannot remember when or why. It is easy for me to determine how and when I ended the Re*V*iew, the name I had given to the regular newsletter to my private mailing list. The game had played out, the money was gone. A more accurate way of putting it is that there was never any money; there never is in a Ponzi. So there was no longer any reason to keep babbling on about it.

But why I stopped penning the other I veritably do not know. What I do realize is that I should have never stopped. So, thank you red, red wine and the right mindset that it put me in. I am back and I will write. My tales will take you from near locales to far away places, from the surface of the earth to flight level four-one-zero, some real, some not so real.

Even before I decided that settling in Costa Rica was not for me, and because of the amount of time I spent outside its realm, the old column was called "Outside Inside Costa Rica". A clever play on words referring to my whereabouts and the name of this great publication. I cannot remember who thought of the title but I am happy to credit my editor with it. My first self-imposed task, in conjunction with my next - and really first - story will be to think of a new name. At this point I honestly have no idea whatsoever, I entertain suggestions.

Coming up with true stories and wild tales is one thing, to think of an all encompassing header is quite another. We will see and by all means, stay tuned! I for one, am looking forward to this undertaking. As much as my newsletter was a journey that invited any and all to come along, I would like for my meager contributions to be the same.

Hank