Holy Cow!

February 17, 2013

Hotter than blazes at 90 degrees and no wind, humidity about a thousand degrees and we are hosting a bbq! Red bloody chunks of sea salt coated cuts of cow…ugh! I can hardly look at the hormone loaded protein sizzlin’ on the grill. I voted for thick slices of eggplant, squash and cheese to nibble on. Beer from the freezer makes me lethargic and droopy. Splash in the chilled pool to wake up long enough to munch on my crispy veggies and enjoy the conversation whipping past me. After coming up on five months in Brasil my Portuguese is passable, as long as I speak fast enough no one suspects the pronunciation isn’t what it should be. I make up words and am able to chortle along with everyone else when some professor type catches my gross errors. 

Interestingly enough there were a few complaints that the bbq went by too quickly. Normally it extends for hours, slurping beverages, chomping away at the stabbed meat clinging to the tip of a fork after being dipped into a special flour mixture with animated conversation across and around the table.

The kids race around the house with the dog and zip by to snatch a charred chicken heart or hunk of crispy meat. North American 80’s music streams from the house. We all bop around while I sing along in a waivery voice.

Old friends gather and the women end up stirring around stories about childbirth experiences. We become hysterical revisiting the fierce details that once caused us so much physical pain. The kids appear ‘round the corner to hear of their beginning. Tomorrow is the start of class for one of the neighbor boys so he plans on telling the bloody events of his birth when he has to “share” with his classmates. Stinker.