near Miss

January 31, 2013

The Governador Celso Ramos Hospital emergency clinic was crowded with folks that appeared as if they were wondering when their real life was going to begin. Looking shell-shocked and emotionally distraught, many examined their shoes as though they would be tested on the trademark. Clutching pulpy elbows, limping along with oozing gashes on their swollen knees, winces cross their pitiful line-less features, dark hair sprouts like the Prairie Grasses out of the top of their gauze-wrapped heads, from full fledged casts to partial globs of tissue clinging to the pasty scabbing flesh. We all lean in to hear our names whispered from the white gowned influential figure at the flapping double doors. The authority was handing out alarmingly thin stainless crutches with plastic caps to clutch in desperate balance for the infirm. Wildly veering, stubbornly sticky wheelchairs seemed like endangered species and were only available for the extremely hopeless cases. I joined the gathering with trepidation realizing I really didn’t belong to this clan. Arms bent at wrong angles and multiple wounds looked ghastly in comparison to my swollen inner ankle bone. I tremble a bit in clumsy apprehension and genuine concern for garbling out a wrong word or phrase in Portuguese that would suggest I am an idiot. This crowd has a good idea what their future has in store for them. Most likely more of the same-waiting for up to twelve hours in a room filled with the wrong livelihood for questionable healthcare? I honestly don’t know how good the healthcare is in Santa Catarina. Despite the fact that I knew I couldn’t catch their desperation from simply breathing the air, I stand in pain that comes more from within my heart than my sore foot.

As a handful of names are called we scramble down the long hall, past victims on stretchers covered in sheets and halt in the hall between the examine rooms and a U-shaped area with surgical recoverees. Awaiting the sentencing of the attending physicians, that seem like they accepted a new profession they are just trying on for size and will get back to us with a verdict. is awkward. We stand shifting from good foot to bad in anticipation. I am told, after my inquest, to go to the next floor up to receive my appointment for surgery. Right back where I began the rat maze and series of unfortunate events. My operation is scheduled for 21/3 which is impossible since I leave the country 14/3. At least I know I tried my best, even asked if there were cancellations…the woman looked at me as though she didn’t believe she had to deal with such a lunatic. “No one EVER abandons their place.” Hm. OK!   

Time in downtown was a delight despite having to drag around in the hot sun and my best Sunday shorts and humid black lined sleeveless top. I wandered among the disarray of shops, eateries and purchased stamps alongside the Praca Quinze, one of my absolute favorite spots with wild banshee trees secured with large wooden poles. I wove around the alleys and sampled bits of farmers cheese, snappy crackers, fresh juice and smiles. Very nostalgic stroll.

Hopped the bus and meandered back to Campeche with soaring with a sudden spasm of enlightment…this is joy!

What I want is what I get

January 30, 2013

“Even on the calmest most uneventful day we get many opportunities to see the clash between what we want and the way it really is.” I am reading Everyday Zen by Charlotte Joko Beck simultaneously with two other books. This statement, like many in this particular book, contributes to my daily structure in such a lightheartedly deep and certainly positive way. The thin paperback provides introspection and a great relief as I sort through several short stories, my blog, letters to friends and family as well as daily meditation in my “work” here at Servidao Guanimbe, 111.  

There are people in this household that nurture me as I get back on my foot. They provide emotional and practical sustenance while I crowd out the uncertainties that otherwise plague my adventures. Their security and presence accounts for the sense of refuge and trust whether they are aware of it or not. The smoke and mirrors of the future assault the best efforts I make to remain in the present as a waft of ground beef simmers on the stove. I wonder what resides in the frig to accommodate me for lunch? Taelor insists, as long as it is not crawling away on it’s own, I am liable to eat it!

The spray of multiple sneezes stretches across the vast tile floor as Theo unceremoniously swipes his slender upper arm across his wet germ-infested mouth. Great. The boys tinker around with a familiar plastic tub of Legos and chatter in the unrecognizable mumble of child’s play while lunch bubbles. I attempt to decipher the next step to publishing my blog as Joao stands at the wire fence separating one verandah from the next, a few feet in between on either side, to chat with Gabriel the amenable yet demanding seemingly incarcerated youth. He tends to holler Joao’s name at all hours of the day and night to share clear glass filled with mysterious drink, request an egg, garbage bag, cup of sugar, rice, hilarious story or just a few words of comfort from a friend. Denise is hammering away on her architecture projects, revisiting renovation designs of a scrupulously demanding and well-paying American client.

Deal. I made a deal with myself that I would be in Brasil for six months. The plan included volunteering at several distinctive farms, learning the ropes as a manual laborer on the system of organics, CSA programs, youth at risk projects and to sweat, toil, eat, drink and sleep without charge. When all of that, now known as Plan A, fell apart a short eleven days into the first farm experience, I definitely didn’t live into “what I want.” “The way it really is” turned into a life of daily writing and posting, emotional suffering and extreme physical pain dulled by medications and increased by physical therapy as well as unbound joy and excessive passion for life. Everything gets confusing here, plans change and everyone accepts it as thus was written my very first blog day. How little did I know I wasn’t on-board with the acceptance part and had an incredible amount of work to do around recognizing and processing it.

Everyone crowds around to drink fresh maracuja juice as it recently spun around in the blender. It is a very common custom to intermittently enjoy whatever happens to come out of the oven, from the stovetop or blender and rapidly consumed at any given hour of the day. I accept the cup of juice and revere in the present moment of succulent fruit. This is “the way it really is!” on a most uneventful morning.

Table Dancing

January 29, 2013

Theo abandoned his elaborate cartoonish drawing of a munchkin wizard to slurp from his newly acquired slick silver lingering with a slight scent of coffee thermos. He was resisting writing a letter to his matriarchal grandmother who currently resides in
Canada. She took a tumble and slide down the carpeted stairs yesterday. He had learned this information from her garbled lengthy cell phone message and promptly insisted his persistently exhausted and less than enthusiastic father call her back.

Grandma (Dono) prattled on endlessly regarding her dismount and is in complete agreement practicing ascending and descending with care is essential. “She cannot be in a hurry,” claims Theo’s father, “to receive her Pavlovian Conditioned late afternoon cup of coffee sipped with a long straw!” Theo interjected a story about Panda, a bean-stuffed bear and his constant companion, telling his own extended adventuresome account on the subject of going to Cabeca de Boi in Minas Gerais last week which, he explained, is the farm hotel in a valley situated in the center of a mountain range. He traversed, ice skated, rode on a horse, went on a tour of the chocolate factory, swam in the covered pool, hiked along several trails, played paintball and several other events his grandmother failed to catch since, ever so slightly more animated than usual Theo, sped thru his list of escapades. He didn’t much care for the chocolate factory tour since there were no samples to speak of and prices of the products would set him back too much. “Too bad you weren’t there grandma to help with the cost!?”

It was alarmingly cold at the hotel and Theo forged through all of his belongings, placing layer on top of layer to protect him from the atypical climate. “I caught a virus, grandma, and threw up on the plane in one paper bag after another, didn’t make it to the “privado” in time so I vomited at the bathroom door. I think the lady on the plane was mad at me,” he seemed to brag. Theo continues on, sneezing to prove his point and advise grandma of all the goodies he brought back to share with his family to store on the shelf and occasionally recall those cute fuzzy squirrels inhumanely caged at the farm.

Theo promises to send a long letter to Dono describing the pool out back that has cleared and the fact that Theo is bound and determined to take a dip without his mother letting on. Dad is in charge today and has proven to be more than generous and not put up much of a fight concerning the allotted hour computer time, eating sugary snacks and smoking cigarettes (Theo put that in since he is adding verbiage to this particular story in his efforts to stay alert and engaged versus lamenting off into his own technology-based planet.)

Typical of the region, the building out back is lagging behind the original termination date of February 1. Theo is delighted by the two pot-bellied dark complexioned, scraggly haired, dirt speckled men whom at first glance seem to be brothers that teamed up to build the office. Cigarettes droop from their submissive mouths as they yank thick wire, troop back and forth to the front gate for no good reason, attend to the endless cranking cement mixer, allow the limited water supply to drain unused into the watershed, and add slabs of dripping grey matter between the salmon colored bricks. Theo dances around on the parched inconsistent web of overachieving roots that work hard to be considered grass, collecting maracuja from beneath the glorious sprawling umbrella tree near the developing site. He assists in cutting the top of the fruit to drip into a slanted plastic bag that will be stored in the freezer to make his favorite blended juice in the future. It is also a fabulous addition to the cachaca mix! (That is my favorite, similar to our marguarita in that too many provoke the invitation to dance on the table.)

An unusual gift

January 28, 2013

I believe it is Einstein who claimed “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”

Recently received a number of messages from friends who wonder why on earth I choose to remain here facing venomous snakes, a horrendous incapable healthcare system, often lack of fresh drinking water and other extreme circumstances. This was my more recent reply:

Yes, I am very happy to be in Brasil. I think, with all of the "good deeds" people can offer throughout their lives, it is difficult to really give benevolently if one has not experienced a culture outside of our mostly privileged one. It is clearly a much more challenging life in Brasil. One that my friends and clients face day-to-day. It is no wonder we are deemed as rich (and Ugly!) Americans. Although I have experienced long-term unemployment, lack a home (not homelessness, hm, how is it different I struggle to explain to my Brasilian friends?) and have not acquired a college degree I am rich(!), I am privileged, I am a citizen of the Number One country in the world.

Life in Brasil is similar to the majority of the world and all that entails. Without these experiences I would not be who I am today. Have to dig deep to escape my perception of how things "should be" and accept, be patient, grow, learn, shift my idea of why we, and I specifically, are here on the planet. I believe everything happens for a reason and it is up to me to choose how to react and respond to it. Sometimes the screaming meemie comes out! This South American country and its people are rich beyond my imagination. I am learning to appreciate my Self in respect to being a part of a passionate and daily challenged life here.

As before, it has been one of the best and absolutely worst experiences in my life. Thru that, I find, comes the most growth and humility. And I wouldn’t trade it.

So in this case, I am not sure I agree with Einstein’s theory above. Knowledge and awareness of life in various neighborhoods, numerous cities and states in Brasil is powerful and far exceeds most people’s wildest imaginations. I am thrilled to share it with all of you through my Blog.

There are very few cockroaches in the vicinity…it used to be, ten years ago, anytime we opened a cupboard, cabinet, silverware drawer…hundreds of cockroaches flew every which way to escape the flip flop descending down upon them. Hm. Kinda miss the thrill of the hunt!

911

January 27, 2013

Joao bravely drove to the hospital on his own in the wee hours of the morning, progressively suffocating from his Angioedema symptoms. I vaguely recall hearing his voice at my door and he claims to have knocked. I thought I was dreaming. Dragging door-to-door, weakly imploring for help at the gated entryway of each intimate neighbor proved fruitless so he embarked alone. There wasn’t a doctor in attendance at the local hospital this morning, no one expected for hours. Joao asked if the doctor is usually on time, “Occasionally” seemed a satisfactory reply. There were several other patients in the waiting room, one woman was projectile vomiting after being given some fluids. Joao finally received the call to visit with the attending physician who had just recently pulled-in.

Eventually the doctor who appeared to have graduated from Medical School yesterday, after perusing Joao’s medical note (refers to his diagnosis and medications to avoid, including Cortisone,) reviewed his symptoms and its onset then inquired what treatment and remedy he would like! Joao, in a state of complete anxiety and exasperated despair, replied with a resigned shrug, how should he know what is appropriate? The kindergartener left the room and entered with a dark bottle and syringe. Joao asked her what medication she intended to inject him with. The youth showed him the label-Cortisone! Then what would you prefer? Cashasa, Vodka, Cocaine, Morphine he wanted to shout and instead gave her the name of a remedy he has taken successfully in the past. After the injection she told him he could go home though he was obviously without a companion. Is it safe for me to drive? Of course! she exclaimed emphatically. Oh boy. Joao was in tears and shaking in trauma as he relayed his story.  

Joao rests from his shocking ER experience and I am riveted to the Unity podcast this afternoon. Realized my favorite singer, Rachel is performing and I close my eyes to draw in the memory of her face framed in gorgeous red hair. She warms my heart and the service creates a renewed signal between me and my friends in Minneapolis. I can never seem to get that right…myself, me?

Four red roses with garnish and a carefully wrapped gigantic chocolate bar grace the table for Denise and Theo’s arrival. Joao is so terribly excited to have them back in his daily world, scurried about the house and property making sure it is a pristine presentation. I teasingly handed over a rubber child’s spoon to add sugar to his coffee. He has changed his shoes umpteen times and brandished new jeans and a belt to complete the ensemble. Bread warms in the oven, French wine stands admiringly on the service bar and Theo’s favorite Guarana soda chills in the frig. We will slurp stand up and salute coffee while admiring the spic and span house and recently raked yard for an hour and a half before having to leave for the airport across town. Pipo will get his flea bath after I have my afternoon coffee. He can’t wait!

Got Water?

January 26, 2013

Out of city water. We have not had rain in days. In the middle of a shower, soapy and alone in the house the water supply dries up to a dribble. Wonderful. The flip switch happens to be on the back side of the house. It ignites the sub pump to project water from the well into a substantial grey tank that sits out back which then feeds into the house. Thank goodness there is a larger towel on the hook in the bathroom, I have a miniscule-sized camping towel. Would have had to decide which one small area I could cover-up! Hop along dripping water onto the tiled floors and scoot outdoors. Failed to slip on my flip flops so my feet wince in pain from the sharp gravel as I plunder round the corner to the switch. I listen for cries of horror. Silence.

Saturday Farmers Market is comprised of such fond memories. It is located on the dirt lot in front of the church at the start of our old street in Rio Tavares. Every Saturday I would hike down with my cloth bags and select fresh produce from the farmers. The workers set up a tarp (this is an addition and much appreciated on hot days) to cover the wooden boxes of fruit and vegetables as blue plastic sacks float around the area like soaring birds in search of nesting materials. A scale parked on a box at the head of the line is manned by a smiling young man with checkered shorts and hunter green t-shirt with a faded apron over the top. His black socks camouflage the farmer’s tan he sports and worn strapped sandals are covered in dust from the puffs circling around his feet. He snaps his fingers at the young boys who are available to help haul and load the items in the customer’s cars. Many people are leaving the area on foot with shaky-wheeled metal carts or with fingers obviously pinched from the heavy load.

Another tent is erected off to the side which holds various other products. It brings me joy to recall all the times I used to sample the little cookies, crackers, unfamiliar treats to choose the delectables we would enjoy through the week. Cheeses, honey, eggs, a variety of dried salami, fresh cakes, breads, and cookies grace the square counters. Large bins hold the bulk sweet and savories for self-service on one side. The biggest change was a ticket number machine to keep order. The customers take their time choosing purchases and everyone waits patiently for their turn while nibbling on samples and exclaiming to one another over the selections. Brings me such pleasure to be there again. Can’t wait for next Saturday when I insist we all get up early and go to the Feira together.

Head to the beach for a walk and few minutes of relaxing in the sun before making pasta with Shitake mushrooms with cream sauce for lunch. Walter came over last night who is staying at the house next door and wanted to borrow some time on my laptop. He seems lonely so we invited him to join us on the Feira run, to the beach for a dip and have lunch with us.

It is now clouding over and we are praying for rain. Many of the houses in this neighborhood do not have a sub pump and therefore no holding tank. I am certain the builders of the new construction around the corner don’t concern themselves with the lack of drinkable water.    

Nowhere to be found

January 25, 2013

Wake up at leisure and, just prior to opening my eyes, realize I am somewhere other than frigid Minnesota on a squishy daybed in a dark basement with an alert Tyrus on his round cozy pad at eye level, fuzzy and erratic cats curled up by my feet.

Later believing I am taking the short cut to the Health Clinic I get turned around…OK LOST! Got me thinking about the literal and figurative significance of the word.  Misplace, mislaid, missing, gone, vanished, nowhere to be found, gone astray, opposite of found. The consciousness of “lost” is unique here, not the locale but my frame of reference. As I explain my reason for being in Brasil with Dr Marcos Edelweiss (no, I am not making it up!) McPractical I understand why he becomes lost in the paraphrase. I am frequently gone astray from my own life! Am I lost here?

Occasionally there are erratic periods I hypothesize what the hell I am up to, what mayhem is around the corner that requires me to merrily bounce off of or definitively recover from. How I organize, arrange, control my daily schedule as well as my relationships that sporadically vanish and I consequently must readjust or bust.  

Financial confidence, habitual structure, consistent concrete friendships and support, loads of reading and stimulation of new information helps me remain found within myself. Even when I feel lost, I am not misplaced every minute of each day. I can sense the difference and notice the marvel in feeling centered. Now with my meditation practice I realize the slight and at times. not so subtle. triggers or thoughts and feelings that take me away from my solid footing are more apparent. I discover more compassion for my journey that includes fear, awe, uncertainty, surprise, pain, inspiration, miscommunication, joy, insecurity and inclusion.

So, lost my way and quickly recovered to land at the Clinic. McPractical suggested two options for my surgical plan. I turned over a referral sheet to the make me stammer unceremoniously handsome front desk clerk who will fax it to the hospital. Also guarding a note from above physician to present to the hospital clerk that requests imminent surgery. McPractical insists I need a lot of luck from the Angels and suggests I bring along a book and arrive first in line to be attended to. He chucks the idea of my having osteoporosis symptoms and tears off the chocking bandage from my foot and lower calf adamantly maintaining it is worthless. Although I do not feel much respect for his medical orthopedic skills I am happy having him in my court. McPractical assures me it could be up to two years to receive surgical treatment. We’ll see!

Back home “Saturday Night Fever” cd blares “Staying Alive” and everyone in the house is singing along! No one is above dancing with arms zig zagging across their body, hips jutting to mimic infamous dishy John Travolta in his prime. The Bee Gees, Janet Jackson, Sting, Eric Clapton, Def Leppard…if I close my eyes I am content and the opposite of lost.

Shout out

January 24, 2013

Last night I practiced meditation which seemed a lot more like struggling with myself and severe physical discomfort. Shifted, scratched, overheated, stretched, fidgeted, spun, tore off my shirt in overheated exasperation, attempted to bend my knees, fought off the concerns about the up-and-coming clinic visit, banging resounded from the neighbors disturbed my serene thoughts, barking alarmed dogs and incredulous drone of constant dratted mosquitoes in my ear. Deemed my meditation “unsuccessful” and shrugged it off realizing I can practice again tomorrow!

Two brilliantly mismatched women and a slight girl of about five were efficiently waiting on the concrete steps at 7:20am as Joao pulled into the unmarked health clinic lot. We all chirped good morning to one another and calmly kept track of our place in line as patient after patient approached the stark off-white building to receive medical attention. Sliding doors opened at exactly 8:03am and everyone politely lined-up to tear their assigned paper number starting at 783 from the roller near the doorway. One of the last to arrive, a obviously home-dyed job middle-aged woman with a congenital limp, elaborately tattooed stubby legs plodded defiantly up to the front desk and boldly checked-in before anyone could tackle her. What gall! None of the other witnesses created a stir so I sat in glaring silence as well.

I confidently set up my medical appointment for tomorrow at 4:00pm. Pretty anticlimactic since I put on my best shorts and dressy black top, snappy earrings and flip flops with a smattering of subtle lipstick to accessorize my gauze bandage-bound instep to upper calf. May in fact walk to the clinic tomorrow (it took me half an hour to saunter home this morning, past the sewage-tainted lagoon and around several corners) and don my fancy wooden cane. I’ll surely be sweating and in out-of-control pain upon arrival. Everyone claims I need to chora muito (cry like your life is ending) or I will not get prompt orthopedic service and surgery will demora (be delayed until the far future.) 

Constant shouting occurs over fences, thru gates, horns honking to announce the arrival of certified mail, water jug delivery, pharmaceutical paraphernalia, the stern bank representative, firefighters, appearance of construction material, visitors, maid, manicurist, groceries, pizza, ice, picole (popsicles,) service workers and nutrition-less bread. Never a dull moment.

Rafael, the eight year old who comes and goes next door ate six boxes of candies that were purchased to attract the rats to their demise. Jorge searched for the enticing goods to set the traps prior to leaving town for a few weeks. He was furious and insisted on calling a family meeting to interrogate each of them, one-by-one, about the missing sweets. No one fessed-up. Much later, Gabriel, the older brother, found the stash of unoccupied packages in Rafael’s room, in the shadows under the bed. Grandma had a good laugh over it and recounted the story to Joao over the fence later in the day. I’m certain his horrid stomach ache was punishment enough. Rafa rode for over seven hours in the back seat of the car to Porto Alegre with the weight of the candy and his conscious.

real life

January 23, 2013

The house phone thrilled endlessly until Joao and I met at the table to pick up the gadget, half his features are swollen like an infected tooth (as I can attest,) eyes blinked rapidly as though he were startled out of hibernation. As expected, a dial tone responded on the other end. The cordless is ancient and hasn’t the capability to retrieve a number. Just like the olden days!

A rainbow startles out of the sky due to the exposure from the sun peaking thru the drizzle. When we lived on the Big Island, triple rainbows were the norm…sigh.

Is this the real life or is this just fantasy…as the Mastiff-cross howls in emotional pain next door, windows slam in the gusty breeze, rumble of dogs barking in the back drop, drone of neighbor’s chatting, hammering resounds from the construction site across and down the street I wonder. No mundane bills to pay, no cheeky Happy Hour dates, no cell phone to charge, no ridiculous traffic jams while listening to alternative news stations, no quickie phone conversations to my friends and family around my hectic work schedule, no angst about the cats scooting out in the frigid temps, no harried drives to the University to pick up my girl and whisk her off to wherever she needs to go in the short designated time between class and work or meetings or ..

Many of my Brasilian friends are self-employed. The woman across the street is an Architect, the neighbor to the right is a Real Estate Agent, to the left of us are in and out of the house since they live in Porto Alegre and come here for holidays and summer months, numerous other architects in the group, a dentist, PE teacher, orthodontist/craniosacral therapist, sales clerk, students, professors, personal trainers, nutritionist. It is a difficult economy and the majority of my friends are in the middle class status. Quite a number are hand-to-mouth and count on resources passed on from one to the next. Since a lot of people are renovating their homes, Denise and her partner Fabio have a line-up of clients. They are very careful about the finances, do not begin the job until they receive a deposit and create a realistic contract for the projects. I know a few designers who have been burned in the past after generating most of the work and not getting paid in full. The justice system is faulty and corrupt so filing suit is uncommon.

By the way, the curled snake was captured yesterday by one of the three slender, red outfitted firefighters. She/he was popped into a Coke bottle to be taken to the University museum. I suggested they drive a mile or so and jiggle him/her from the plastic trap and let her be free versus stuffed and displayed in the “venomous Jararaca snake” case. I showed no fear of the eighteen inch predator, taking photos and touching its smooth body and the firefighters were incredulous. Joao hurriedly stepped back to the opposite side of the car port in obvious distrust and great alarm. I am only sorry the snake is on death row.

Off to bake some banana bread!

Snakes alive!

January 22, 2013

I long for a creative artistic talent like Odilsa’s painting, you all know her as Dono. A spattering of her work adorns the walls throughout the house. Black and white heartbreaking nude native absentmindedly drapes her infant across her body, head dropped in timid resignation. A child with wide expectant eyes precociously takes in the audience and vividly contrasts his mother’s acquiescent expression. The dates on her varied works range in the late ‘90’s just prior to my meeting her in 1999. The final work is a headless heavily swathed figure with ill-shaped bare feet exposed, peaking out from the hem that stands alone on a simple wooden platform. She was a relatively famous pianist and artist in Sao Paulo. Today she departs on her long excursion to Calgary. Joao appropriately phones her to say goodbye yet refrains from explaining that we are having our coveted afternoon coffee which she never missed! Dono tearfully told him she’s sp incredibly homesick already!

Making thick sweet jam from papaya, maracuja, cherry juice from a jar in the frig, a bit of this and that is gurgling on the stove. A huge sticky, delicious mess in progress! Bees and flies are hovering ‘round the stovetop. Down to the wire in the pantry and freezer so we are getting willy nilly creative with our meals. Frowned at the corn but tossed it in the pasta salad at any rate, boldly sharing with Joao about the horrific GMO’s and such. He doesn’t take it personally that there are dreaded food stuffs stored in the cupboards so I feel obsessively compelled to rant and rave about the food industry in our country.

Taelor has decided to embark on another excursion to Thailand this summer, chaperoning a group of High Schoolers from her Alma mater Port Townsend HS in Washington state. She is thrilled with the prospect of joining another close friend and strategizes with me, while chatting on Skype last night, about fundraising and working her little fingers to the bone until she coughs up the funds. She also has to pay for the airfare to Seattle. I am considering joining her and heading to the West Coast to see my friends! Wouldn’t that be a scream?

My right knee was significantly better this morning but certainly not bendable enough to hike up the metal steps on the public bus to head home after the clinic. I plan on hitching a ride with Joao in the next few days when I can maneuver the transit system comfortably. I hesitate to confuse the issue if I show up with a large bandage on one knee when my real challenge is having surgery on my left foot! My Portuguese is probably not sufficient to provide the details and work my way around the story with humor and grace. So forget it!

Joao awoke with half of his face swollen and pain in his upper arms and chest. I finally wrangled his diagnosis out of him. He has Angioedema. It is swelling in deep layers of the skin usually around the face, lips and cheeks, upper chest, arms and the fluids come on suddenly.

A massive crash and Joao hollering, breathing rapidly, plopping himself heavily on the sofa in the doorway…jararaca, he cries! Of course I have to climb the wobbly metal rusted ladder to see for myself. It is a small black snake with diamond pattern that is now curled up in the corner of the wood frame of the car port. I suspect she has eggs or would have fled the area at the sound of alarm so close to her head. She is extremely poisonous (the same type that lunged at Tatiani, the empregada and she was subsequently helicoptered from her home to the ER for immediate treatment.) Checked Google for snake removal since Joao insists he has to get rid of the maid killer or Denise will insist on moving from the house when the rumor gets out. The choices are to trap it (can conveniently purchase a box on the attached link) or leave it be (and move) or fling it with a long tool that has a hook at the end and bag it to relocate the snake. I suggest calling the authorities, Joao is on the phone asking the city official what he can do. Of course, with his hyper-sensitive system, it is best he stay far away from the culprit. The recruit is on his way. Stay tuned!

Dodo Dudes

January 20, 2013

Severe burn scars from stark white to deep pink cover what skin is visible. I was fortunate to catch a glimpse of Mama’s face through the slanted kitchen window as he stepped into the yard from the vine-covered gate to heartedly embrace Joao hello. It gave me time to brace myself for the proverbial kiss on his wrinkled, puckered, hideously disfigured cheek and grasp his withered hand in mine. A shadow from his baseball cap constantly embraces his damaged face, half of which seems to melt into itself. As a child, the majority of his body was consumed in flames and I work at studying him with calm set eyes while he interjects in the conversation or turns to me when I speak or enter a room. His feet appear unmarred and as the eye travels up his blemished body to his shocking bulging walleyed eyes that stare in different directions to the stark black full head of unkempt hair I marvel what his life must be like.  

I understand he does not want my sympathy or empathy. When he insists he will “break the camera” when I press him to join his nephew and Joao in a photo at the beach I simply laugh and softly push him towards them. As you can see in the photo on my Facebook page, he is hiding in the shadow of another disappearing into his own clothing. One of Mama’s arms is bent and unusable, back hunched like an old man yet I suspect he is younger than I. His mouth overflowing with straight white teeth and often breaks wide open into a smile or barking laugh. He slopes sharply when he walks as though there is a deep wind on the left side and yet he chivalrously would not take no for an answer when offering me assistance down the misshaped irregular wooden steps to the wild beach this afternoon. Everyone else trudged ahead without hesitation.

Joao Henrique proudly told me about his relationship with his uncle a few weeks ago on the long drive home from the southern beach. They are exceedingly close, he declared proudly, rely on one another for consistent moral support and deep devoted friendship. Mama (his nickname that has an accent over the last “a” but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to insert it!) works full-time, has his own apartment and refuses any financial government assistance. They talk of future plans and Joao tells me how often his uncle declares his love for him (which is kind of embarrassing, admits Joao Henrique.) I am so honored to meet this man who has obviously struggled with his health, independence and life without inscrutability and anonymity.

Everyone in the family that has spoken of Mama has projected profound pride in him and been inspired by both his open personality and immeasurable fortitudinous. I have encountered numerous people in the past, The Courage Center residents come to mind, that have been as daringly courageous and persistently resilient.    

It makes me laugh uncharacteristically when Mama whispers his interest in the women on the beach, nudging the other guys while hoots and hollers at those on tv shows, just like any other dodo.   

Shifting Geres

January 19, 2013

A youthful Richard Gere is the best example I can come up with to describe Leo, the car mechanic who is here bent over (oh my!) juggling around under Denise’s hood…doesn’t that sound racy? About time I had something to focus on other than my dreaded lookout for the yellow Correios van! I remember Leo from years back when he gave me over-the-top Bug repair estimates. Could never justify the extra expense despite the cute tush. Nothing extraordinary about his personality, I recall, yet makes me sigh in dashed hopes nonetheless. He married and has a beautiful home in Lagoa now. His knife hacked hair doesn’t take away from those soft brown eyes, creamy olive skin, hint of yesterday’s mustache and bright straight teeth. A simple t-shirt and nylon drawstring shorts, havaianas slung on his feet and a glaring gold wedding band mark his place in my new memory bank for future reference.  

Just tracked a box on USPS.com and it is being sent back to the sender since the address was incorrect…oh boy. How discouraging. I didn’t realize just how heightened my sense of anticipation, fully attentive and aware until the slightest noise from the street made me start in expectation. Living in the future of joy, such a silly thing like a child thinking about Christmas and the unattainable undetermined pleasurable lumps propped under the tree.  Hadn’t realized just how much it owned me…considering what I could possess that was inaccessible here in Brasil. Acceptance is the only outcome.

Nerdy computer hacker showed up at the gate to work on the numerous uncooperative devices. White izod shirt, baggy burmudas and thick black unattractive glasses parked on his stubby nose, Bluetooth in his right ear, sensible sandals with Velcro straps are well matched to his pitched voice. Pockmarked face takes me in, a rush of a glance and past me to the doorway he seems eager to be in the company of electronics rather than establishing stilted painful small talk with me. Can’t say I blame him since I do not know any of the terminology in English let alone Portuguese! Shocked by the consuming noise of the vacuum cleaner as he goes to work on the hard drive…with my luck I would have sucked up half the room including the computer innards. Oh well, guess he knows what he’s doing…

Leaving books behind for Denise’s American friend that I have consumed since arriving December 15^th;  The Bridge at Andau by Michener (story of the Hungarian Revolution in 1956,) The Five People You Meet in Heaven, A Reliable Wife by Goolrick (recommended!) Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by Sedaris (yes!) Weep No More My Lady by Clark, Tolstoys’ War and Peace, The Postmistress by Sarah Blake (also liked very much) and onto One Breath at a Time Buddhism and the Twelve Steps by Kevin Griffin which I am revisiting since I have the time. 

Taelor and I have a Skype date which she is standing me up for a much deserved nap between shifts at Dunn Bros. Working her way through her astronomical medical bills. Welcome to adulthood!  

Gotta run, Leo alias Richard is scooting under the body of the car…

Unzipped

January 18, 2013

My zipper was open.

Joao got wind that his stolen car issues are being resolved. Early this morning the mechanic pulled up to the house to pick up Joao to go to the car pound to inspect the wounded prey. Several parts have to be replaced and the cost of the repairs detailed out. If the sum of said restoration exceeds the value of the car, Joao will part it out and is required to then approach the bench and tell the authorities the outcome. The R$1500 in fines is lurking though he is no longer obliged to pay for the typical incurred storage fees. There was an extensive interview, a series of personal questions and evidently Joao passed the “good guy” test and the additional fines were dismissed. A temporary relief of anticipated expenses since, of course, something else will come along to burst his alleviated bubble…this is Brasil and he is on the upper end of the lower middle class after all!

Finally the day arrived to take care of my foot problem. Joao and I zipped off to the nearby hospital after the lunch hour and between rain bursts where there is promise of a doctor who specializes in orthopedics. Due to the torrential rain and cracking thunder the usual standing room only waiting room crowd was sparse. I waited in the cracked plastic blue seat for a mere ten minutes listening to the drone of the nowhere needy as I patients passed the time.

Perhaps he was once handsome and appealing yet this morning, while waiting his turn at the hospital, I overheard a scruffy faced, wispy hair (quite full at the back and shiny and nearly transparent on top,) wide nose and thin lips character tell his tale. His prolific father left his mother to have an affair with a woman across town who was seemingly more demanding than mum with ten children in need of daily food, clothing and constant attention. Years passed with no direct word from dad, though the rumors of six other siblings pierced through the waves of inexplicable abandonment. And truthfully more unidentified brothers or sisters exist whispered ‘round their incestuous community. Somewhere in the middle of this life of drama, the stocky man continued, he discovered the woman he was dating in his late teens is…his sister! OK, well, his half-sister to be exact. At the end of that sputter I was called in by the attendant.

The straight-faced, matter of fact, stiff, blonde, trim, efficient and pasty white physician at the hospital turned me away after I relayed my need, suggesting I a. go back to the local neighborhood clinic to get a referral for an orthopedic surgeon (and the line is very long for an operation) or b. go directly to the downtown hospital and request surgery as soon as possible though there are no guarantees it would be any quicker than the local clinic. Either way I believe I have to arrive in extreme and obvious pain and extreme agony to get closer to the front tenth of the line that curves around the block and down the street with bleeders, bones protruding thru the skin, oozing gashes and agonizing shrieks. Oh boy, I have my work cut out for me!

Selecting vegetables from the bins of apparently rapidly rotting produce guarantees a few good salads this weekend. Two heads of lettuce, a few small squash, sack of yellow onions, a bunch of bananas, two carrots and two firm green pears ran R$9.15. Joao scraped up the .15 and we were off. Aim to lose some of the Christmas holiday pounds that stuck themselves unwelcomingly to my butt. Cheese, bread and too much beer have been the culprit of my added weight. Hence the salad fixin’s.

Then we come home to find…an exposed pair of visible black underwear?! Great.  

Pitch a fit

January 17, 2013

Who are these people and what am I doing caught in the web of their lives?

Joao is hiding under the kitchen counter so the insane bread vendor won’t see him and insist he purchase her airy baked goods. Who am I to hurl grimaces in anyone’s direction due to their silly behavior or fear of facing an uncomfortable situation? Hysterically shouting “Paulo” (this crazed seller calls Joao by a different name each time she comes to the gate) and waving to me encouragingly from behind the vine crowded fence out front. The frizzy haired woman sporting a disheveled outdated floral print dress grips a crumpled box and refuses to give up. I suggested quite firmly as I step out the door, that he is not interested in her products. Her plastered ear-to-ear grin implies she has no clue her bread is tasteless and lacking nutrition not to mention spendy. Joao spouts complaints until she is well out of sight beyond the dip of the eave.

As The World Turns continues as I discover only today that Dono suffers from Munchausen Syndrome that is a psychiatric factitious disorder wherein those affected feign disease, illness, or psychological trauma to draw attention or sympathy to themselves according to Wikipedia. Her facial pain is another issue or so one of her physician’s suspects. Wow, I had no clue!

Theo hurled screams, as the story goes, and thrust himself wildly over the passenger rail as Denise hauled him towards the small aircraft to leave his father for a ten day vacation at a resort outside of Sao Paulo. Theo’s separation anxiety was a shock to all of us and jutted in our faces and apparently came out of nowhere. Joao seems stunned and uncertain as to how to react to that unexpected and violent behavior. Obviously these past few months of preparation for a shift in their lives (Dono leaving the house for six months to a year-the determined length of time quite another new piece of the saga) has greatly affected everyone involved all the way down to the kids.

Mosquitoes rush in yet I welcome the cooler evenings and subsequent breeze from the open screen-less windows. Burt’s Bees Insect Repellent has been my bedtime buddy since I left Sao Paulo for the farm October 8^th. Cheers to a sensible, citrus drenched and practical companion.

Hair aflame

January 16, 2013

The wheelchair sported a thick chain and heavy padlock around the left main wheel making it improbable Dono would arrive at the gate without pitching sideways. Sure makes it difficult to imagine who would prove to be low enough to steal a wheelchair from the Florianopolis airport yet desperate people are known to do desperate things!

Nine pounds overweight forced me to extract items from Dono’s bag to include in her carry-on. Shuffling through her winter season clothes to find the most weighed goods while Dono’s concerned teary eyes looked on drew empathetic stares. Worn flat overstretched sensible shoes, various tins of milk chocolate bars embraced by gift bows, cosmetic bags (doubt the agents will stop her at the x-ray unit since Brasil does not have the same security issues, evidently, where 2 oz or more bottles of liquid are not a safety hazard) and a bulky shawl to use on the plane lightened the unlawful load. I do believe the bag was still significantly over the limit yet the slender and sympathetic bowl cut hair, straight clipped nails and pristine uniformed agent was kind enough to wave the culprit through.  

Theo lent Panda to Dono to hold and caress while waiting for the youthful and exuberant TAM agent to accompany her thru security and onto the designated gate, up the unsteady narrow staircase (promised they would carry her if need be) and coax her into her assigned seat. Dono was rattling on in her usual low tone when no one can make out a word she is whispering while Joao and Theo nodded like the bobblehead in the back window of the car. After leaving in closer I could feel her breath but failed to understand a single word. And off she went!

The bed is dismantled, sheets in the washer, floor swept, remnants of clothes, toys and notes put in their place as though Dono never existed. Six months to a year in Canada could be the best choice for everyone, time will tell.

Shika was out on the sandy road as I popped by to feed her again this morning. She is using her back fractured leg so it must be healing itself. Dishes piled in the kitchen sink, flies buzzing around the bits of food and plate ware. Plastic bags, crumpled gift wrap, various plastic toys, shoes of all sizes, clothing that I refused to get close enough to identify, cushions, bedding and crumpled socks strewn about the house next door. Elena will arrive this afternoon to wash up, pick up and put everything back in its proper place until the boys decide to stave off the hunger pangs once again. When mom’s away…Cookie was indignant when she discovered her ex was sleeping in her bed versus in one of the guest rooms. What can I say?

Despite Joao’s best efforts, the pool continues to look like an algae experiment gone bad. Luckily the neighbor to the left bought an identical unit and the boys are romping in the cold tap water this afternoon in the steamy heat of the day. They race in one house after another, traipsing wet prints and a dripping suit across the floor to grab a bottle of soda or packet of cookies before one of the adults yell in anguished protest.

Instead of hanging out and glaring at the passerby vehicles while waiting for my box(es) from the Post Office I will head to the beach. One was sent Dec 17^th, the other Dec 26^th so I continue to discourage my friends from sending anything else.

Joao just pulled out his deck of spiritual medicine cards to toss a few around while we sit and have our afternoon coffee. Unfortunately I can hear the espresso machine bubbling, yes bubbling…burnt smell wafts around the house…yuck!

What is fear..or is that feeling in my gut excitement? Or perhaps guilt, faith, trust…how do I determine the exact sensation without immediately defining it as ____________, I tend to jump into life as though my hair is on fire and maybe, just maybe, it is time to throw water on it and let the steam dissipate before accepting a definitive definition. Reconfiguring the furniture and shifting personal belongings around makes for an empty space in the middle to contemplate and accept the new surroundings with promise. What will happen next?

Wait loss day

January 15, 2013

Too hot to sleep sans a twirling fan in the dreaded heavy heat of the night so I dress to creep down the stairs to park on the sofa below the zipping ceiling fan in the livingroom. Not much relief nor chance to fall back into a deep restful sleep because Joao gets up soon after and begins to rattle the dishes, I hear the burst of flame to light the stovetop and rustling of the paper bag housing bread rolls. Denise makes her way out of the bedroom later than usual. She has been plugging away at her architecture projects since dawn to assure their completion prior to her departure for a much deserved ten day vacation with Theo. Joao has left to perform a massage. The table is set, per usual, for the family and a sweet note was propped in Denise’s coffee cup to replace his warm and tender good morning kiss. Sentiments, she read aloud, of love and affection gave me a burst of happiness for my best Brasilian girlfriend and a slight twinge of grief for the one who lacks a partner to share dark coffee and kisses each morning.

Old and feeble Shaggy Dog lookalike is springing back to health. Shiska popped-up this morning to greet me when I staggered over to Cookie’s and ate (the dog, not me!) all of her raw hamburger/rice/carrot/oatmeal flake mixture as I applied Tellington Touch. She is now placing her shattered leg on the ground and bouncing into the yard to do her business. I am pleased by the quick response to my care. Mauricio (the dreaded ex) wasn’t even vaguely aware of the slick vomit lingering under the diningroom table directly behind his bent dark curly head last night so I was glad for the late check-in visit. The Oriental rug has observably seen better days but I didn’t want to add injury to the go to wrack and ruin process. Some unsuspecting well-wisher snuck Shiska the dreaded indigestible nuggets. She is a visible victim of her circumstances with a houseful of boys.

A maid scoots by Denise’s later in the morning as I lurch my gaze over the fence searching for the long-awaited Correios man like a leering stalker. Can’t help myself..there are several packages I anticipate breaking the day-to-day routine. As a youthful compacted woman clutching her weathered once rich olive pocketbook as though it will get away from her roams by I holler hello as she turns with startled grin. The neighbor across the sandy rutted road glances over from his cement colored balcony with thin criss-crosses weaving their merry way ‘round the open areas to prevent the unsuspecting children from falling to their certain doom. I understand him to have one branded t-shirt and now dowdy khaki below the knee saggy shorts since he appears each morning for the past five, just exactly the same. He nods sympathetically as though he knows my secret longing is once again unrealized. I can only sigh with impatience for the subsequent mail delivery day.

The above ground pool has glistened out-of-this-world brilliant green for days. Joao insists he knows what he is doing to correct the aiming to peel your skin off problem yet we latch onto our suits, towels and noodles in obvious discouragement regardless of his thwarted confidence. Had counted on a last despedida (farewell) splash as a family. Joao hangs his damn near bald head in begrudging shame. We tease him into chortles and outright bursts of laughter because no one wants him to feel badly. Can’t be good at everything we cheer! Grab half-liter beer bottles and salty snacks and head for the beach.

Daffy departs

January 14, 2013

If I could flip back in time I wouldn’t be peering over the fence everytime I hear the hum of a motor coming down the track. Expecting a box or two and scads of letters from friends and family…right? Since I got the heads up about the mail via email, I get frustrated, anxious, angry and exasperated at being in a developing country while waiting for something as simple as a box full of protein bars! Technology isn’t everything it is cracked up to be.

Cookie is having an above ground pool set up in their back yard. The rounded-shoulder melted looking gardener is partnered with another sad and aged looking man with a small sombrero hat, droopy mustache and clothes that hang dangerously as though from a recent severe weight loss. Our eyes meet over the surrounding lush plants and I feel worlds apart. It isn’t simply a language barrier but a complete lack of my understanding of his life relative to mine. I can only speculate an existence free of expectations which lead to disappointment and despair, loaded with profound worry about the next project let alone receiving money at the end since the ex-husband is known for his slippery ways, spending the material money versus purchasing what is required for the job. The disadvantaged and poorly educated working class has a long haul to climb up to a middle class lifestyle. There are so few in the center of dirt poor and exceedingly wealthy.

Can our lives really be determined by what we do in life, who we wish to be or do or feel? Seems to be the case here. So much depends upon the family one drops into and what part of the world it is. Even the brightest, most benevolent, pale complected and gorgeous are challenged when hatched in poverty.

Dono is packed and ready for her trip. Theo gifted her with one of his favorite stuffed animals to take along for company, a fluffy in bits yellow duck named Daffy.   

Alarmed by the Germans

January 14, 2012

A village of German/Brasilians trouped in at 8:30am on a Sunday morning thoroughly shocked and alarmed that it was a “sleeping house” as though we were a bunch of deadbeats sloughing our lives away! Well, perhaps we are, visiting and fussing over technical challenges until 2:00am, dividing chocolate bars and shots of dark rum. Scrambled to make coffee and set up the table for breakfast-rolls, cheese, lunch meat, orange marmalade, cream cheese, butter, Joao’s fresh bread and coffee fixin’s. Pipo escaped out the gate so there was a bustle to try to woo him back before he woke up the inhabitants on the quiet rural street…no such luck. House after house has several dogs to sound the “some devious dog has escaped and we are unfortunately imprisoned inexplicably stuck behind the fence” alarm.

A jaunt to the stormy sweltering beach exhausted everyone so beers tabs are ceremoniously cracked and lunch thrown together (some sort of roast with country white wine, herbs and quartered onions, whole chicken and tough looking curled dried beef, dripping pink pork dish) mayo and yoghurt dolloped potatoes on the stovetop bubbling away and several leave for a market run. My plate filled with salad greens and a bit of the oozing potatoes. One sister-in-law commented on the lack of meat on my plate and everyone turned to stare. Foiled again!

Plate after plate emptied, dishes scrubbed and dried, efficiently placed in the pantry and everyone piled in the cars only to discover the friend who came along to drive the car (since Joao’s brother inexplicably doesn’t drive on the freeways anymore) has disappeared. Turns out he went for a stroll because someone mentioned the spectacular lagoon around the corner. Another twenty minutes of everyone perched on chairs under the verandah as though they had already said their goodbyes and were uncomfortably embarrassed to enter the house once again. Joao’s mom took a quick nap after fighting off the urge to doze.

A few hours of cleaning and sorting, shoving things under and behind to make way for the new herd arriving for Dono’s party. Open house ensued, beer and soft drinks on ice, little appetizers by the hundreds, sweets of all sorts filled the table while everyone straddled stools, aluminum padded chairs and benches to take advantage of the spread. Dono tried a slice of everything, drank several glasses of beer and stayed up way past her bedtime though she skipped her afternoon nap. Announced her retirement several times and sauntered back into the room with her thin strap pinched teal dress slightly askew. A die hard! She seemed in very good spirits and appears to welcome the chance to get on a plane in a few days to leave her country. Chin up.  

Crabby Grannie

January 12, 2013

Shisha the neighbor, Cookie’s ancient terrier mix dog who has one shattered leg and a swollen hip, fleas and ticks, loss of appetite and has to be carried outdoors is under my care for twenty days while her master goes to Sao Paulo for spinal surgery. There is another aged Miniature Greyhound/Chihuahua mix (my best guess) dog and an irritable orange tabby cat to include in my pet sitting services. Fortunately for me they reside in the house over the fence where I can keep an eye on them throughout the day. Looks like pate, sausage, raw meat, cooked eggs and rice for meals, mixing medicine and carrying the exceedingly thin pup in and out of the house, shifting ‘round the beds and scooping dry food for the cat to round out their care. Yipee!

A beach day with a picnic lunch with the crew was delicious. Got in a shockingly cold swim and physical therapy then assisted Dono to the car to take her afternoon nap. She waddled out of the car an hour later with her cane scraping along the gravel and asked for help with her mid-afternoon medicine. We packed up soon after and Dono shouted in complaint since she wasn’t ready to leave. She can be a crabby bugger when she gets her undies in a bundle!

A bad guitar player and singer were entertaining at the bar. They were making such a racket we could hardly hear one another speak. Several families were sharing the small beach, avoiding the Seadoos scattered around just off the shore. Too bad they allow the water toys so close to the swimmers.

Back at home as I folded laundry I found an albino creature that resembled a spider but had a bumpy shell at the back. No one but Ethan (who’s 2.5 mind you) would take a closer look. He then followed me out to the yard and followed me around for several minutes asking me what I was doing as I combed the nasty fleas out of Pipo’s coat and massacred them between my fingernails, swept the cement area and started a load of whites. Nice to have someone take an interest in what I am doing!

Tomorrow brings a houseful of visitors to send Dono off with many hugs and well wishes. Her haircut is hideous but we don’t have the heart to break it to her that the back of her head appears to have been put in a beater. It will grow out, we all insist. Everything else seems to be in order for her. She asked me with a sideways grin if I was going to miss her when she leaves. Told her Pipo and I will be standing together by the gate waiting for her return. She giggled like a school girl.

Bus (ted)

January 11, 2012

It’s a comforting feeling to be able to catch several buses in another country and not be bothered with intense anxiety about treking my way back home, searching for a battery for my stopped watch (R$15) and discovering the new Post Office downtown, rummaging around for a flea comb for Pipo (R$12) and a daytimer for the new year. Additionally the story of the stamps happens to be correct, not all of the Correios carry stamps and since I failed to take a number when entering the site, I lost my place not once but twice…don’t have the Brasilian self-assurance to insist I was waiting in line and strut in front of the efficient and bad-mannered customers. Gave up sending Taelor a 6” by 6” by 1” bag with a lightweight item because it amounted to R$44! Sorry Taelor, I will hand deliver it in March.

Walked one long and one lagged step at a time, darting between racing cars (pedestrians never have right of way and I forever feel as though I am taking my life in my hands even on a lazy neighborhood road) and crossing from one side to the other of the wide avenue to peer into shop windows and check out prices of items of interest. R$49.99 x 2 or 10% discount on school items draw my attention. When I see the daytimer I want, I will know it. Leather bound, purse-size and enough space on a page to make several entries, an interesting print now and again or inspirational saying. Have yet to find the one that will make me cluck in delight each time I pry it from my purse despite the efforts of many a sales clerk. One slight and intense woman with large brown pink lidded eyes asked if it was for a man or a woman. Told her it was for me and let her guess! Feeling sassy I suppose!

The young slumped smartly dressed woman sitting directly in front of me on the bus was gasping for breath, coughing into a cloth larger than a napkin and floral printed to disguise the hideous contents, throwing her head back to collect more fresh air. The unassuming teen wide-eyed disenchanted turned up nose and clipped haired girl who slid in next to her kept looking back at me as though to say, “I desperately want to relocate to another seat but I am too embarrassed and don’t want to hurt this one-foot-in-the-grave woman’s feelings!” Most people were partnered-up chatting comfortably and emphatically.  Brasilians always appear to be having a good time kissing one another resoundingly on the cheek and heading exuberantly for a cheerful and sweet life. Of course, it is only like that in the movies!

Did end up going the long way around on the sandy rutted road to the house after swinging off the bus near the padaria because I was keeping track of the reedy beady- eyed gent swaying back and forth ‘cross the street on his battered blue dented bike with several plastic sacks full of tins, leering a bit too sinisterly for my reassurance. His slick parted shiny hair reminded me of the bad guy in a “B” film that creeps everyone out and the audience detests him for his sorry untrustworthy looks from the start without really knowing the character. Turns out to be a harmless cara (dude.)  

Sneezing, chilled and my tooth is beginning to bother me again…argh!