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.)