Mother Knows Best

November 19, 2012

A form-fitted intricately blue patterned billowy dress embraced Solante as she hollered “Oi?” from the low lit windy verandah. She came bearing a look I knew well. Expressions of a similar loss. Her powerful determined and know-it-all eighteen year old son was making his way swiftly to danger and destruction in the great city of Sao Paulo with a trusted neighbor. Marco (their names all resemble the other, only need to replace one or two letters and I cannot keep them all straight) resists boring, stifling and dash your hopes Registro, yearning for the fascination and thrill of the promise of easy cash. Solante can’t help herself as she tumbles into Alice’s hole to the hand-ringing place of terror and drug-induced thieves, illicit men and opportunistic enticing so-called friends. Holding both hands in front of her face, she draws in the hideous news stories flashing before her eyes from the television screen. Faces that resemble Marco, the shape of his shoulders and strong stable legs startle her. “Those must be my baby’s alluring shoes that thief threatened off him!” The girl, woman, old man, string of out-of-focus faces are him, she simply knows it in her weakened breast and distressed heart.

We talk of being mothers. We have the slimmest of chances to set a prevailing example before the children (for they will always be thus) are off and running in the opposite direction from where you are insistently pointing. We do the very best we know how with what miniscule information we have. Marcela, the only girl in the sizable family lives with Solante’s sister in a nearby town. The eldest boy, Marcelo (I told you!) stays with his grandmother in another state. It must be exceedingly yet painfully heroic to make that stab at your heart decision to allow someone else to raise your children, in spite of the fact that they are relations or can provide sufficient food and safe shelter you cannot.

He will make mistakes without a doubt. You can only pray that he has the courage to recognize choices that are in his best interest, I urge her to consider. Laughingly remind myself, as I share, that I continue to make numerous gruesome mistakes and yet live to tell the bloodthirsty tale. I held a rough weathered weary hand and kissed her innumerous wrinkled cheek and off to church she went after spending time in the fields going to the only other salvation Solante accepted-Mother Earth.  

I reflect on Taelor and her exuberant adventures at Hamline University in St. Paul. Wonder when she too will face that trek to the big city/international travels/partnership/children/peril and ruin! Considering her mother…who knows what will inspire her to take her further from me. I can’t wait!

in mom's memory

Eventually all loss is washed away. Bliss follows like eyes of a portrait. Grace persists. 

It was December 8 1993

Mom called with a tentativeness she never portrayed. She announced a cancer diagnosis and was given a six month prognosis. I declared I would come home as soon as I could. Did not leave her any room to argue.

Within a week I had the house and all of our excess belongings sold. Bags packed, goodbyes all around and Taelor and I were off. John Henry made plans to drive Kibby and Aja across the country when he could.

Eighteen years ago is a long time to recount this story. Taelor and I were housed with Louise in her vast Frank Lloyd Wright design home in Madison. We visited mom every day though there were numerous times Taelor and the other grandchildren were not allowed in the family house. Taelor was the youngest of the kids at nine months. I expect an acceptable powerlessness of not witnessing these children as grown ups though perhaps she just couldn’t tolerate the accelerated noise level. 

Couch bound, mom vacillated between a grimace and cheerful resignation. When visitors came to call she rallied and presented her old vivacious self. At times I couldn’t believe the transformation and questioned whether she was really ill. Jerry Seinfeld and Phil Donohue were her saving grace, subtle giggles to outright bursts of laughter gave us all relief each night. Her favorite meal was angelhair pasta with olive oil and fresh ground pepper. Until the time she rejected any sustenance.

The third to youngest sister, Angela was mom’s main caregiver and spent the majority of the seven months by her side. Angela, your precious commitment and dedication to mom was incredible. I honor and respect the time you relinquished from your life to be with her. 

She had lapsed into a coma and died on Father’s Day. It was far from a peaceful and graceful Hollywood death. A relief from visible torment nonetheless. Dad insisted it was purposeful so we would all remember the anniversary.

I think about her frequently. Wonder what life would have been like for our clan of 37 if she was still with us. Would she have marched down to Brasil to collect me or badger the surgeon with alternative options? Or would she have mellowed in age and calmly sent me an email of support and encouragement, declaring her love and acceptance of my decisions?

Time on my side

November 17, 2012

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Marlon swaggered in with his short cropped hair, athletic shape and a warm smile that rarely lets him down. He was uncharacteristically early for English class yet I didn’t want to squelch his eagerness so I relented and charged in on his limited vocabulary. He thoroughly expects to be able to remember words from one class to the next. Damn near impossible so I recommended, once again, that he prepare flash cards. Perhaps I can get the students to purchase and generate them as a group project. I will assign gangly pre-model doe-eyed Camila the task of buying the index cards for the keen teens.

Luciana’s staggeringly skinny daughter peeked shyly around the verandah to observe our meeting. I encouraged her to participate. I have yet to encounter a child who doesn’t earnestly want to learn my native language. So glad for this opportunity to give these young people the chance to hear the language from a North American. Both the school books and daily homework assignments are riddled with errors. If nothing else, they will remember how to pronounce “th.” I show them where my tongue lies with each letter and unique sound. We don’t have much time together (I pray!) so I am covering as much material as I can in one hour on the days they actually show up for afternoon class. It is a delightful respite from my preoccupation with my current circumstances. 

Making fettuccini for lunch today with sautéed eggplant. We’ll see just how that turns out, eh? Salt is the only seasoning in the house so I will just have to make do.

I finally received the box from my good friend, Marlys. Turns out there was an issue with the PO box key that had to be resolved…I get more insight every day..What a perfect gift of shirts (although I don’t think anyone else cares that I sport the same tops over and over, IDO!) and chocolate. We made a cake in the bread machine and added some of the said powder to make it extra scrumptious! The enclosed letter was icing on the …cake. The card is beautiful Marly and I look forward to leaving it as a thank you note for Ana and Dario. I am also gifting them the plastic box which they could well use in the office area. You will be happy to know that I recycled the duct tape to reform my crutch pit pads and I reinforced the rubber bits at the bottom…nothing goes to waste..surrounding brown paper is stuffed in the wood stove for starter, masking tape is securing the plastic protector on the wall for the painter. Aren’t we just so resourceful!

Also obtained the card my dear Aunt Judy sent way back on the 5^th of the month. Such a cheery card on a gloomy chilly day. I scooted back to my room to read it and begin a letter in response. Since I hope to, plan on, consider “done,” pray and count on being gone from here lickety split I discourage any more mail or packages. I will let everyone know of my plans as soon as I am alerted to the viable options.

Labor Intensive

Novmber 16, 2012

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Unpardonable envy of those steady stream of capable steps outside my partially ajar door as I rouse from a fidgety sleep.

This afternoon thin as an immature bamboo branch Luciana will arrive on her dependable bike to sweep through the spacious house cleaning it inside and out. The complex and multi-layered class system in Brasil is evolving a bit. Every middle class family from upper to lower, has a maid. She either lives with the family in a small room off the kitchen or comes and goes on either a part-time or full-time basis. Most have weekends and holidays off to spend with their own brood. If the servant has children they are typically residing with one or both of the grandparents or another family member. A grand majority live in the favellas or much further out in the country. Either way, it is a long and tedious bus ride.

Along with a maid a great majority of middle class and higher families have a cook. Consequently the dutiful wife/mother does not have this skill set. It is clearly a status issue. The maid, depending upon where the supporting family lives, has a salary of R$15 (US$7.50) per ½ day to minimum wage R$800/month (US$400.) When tragedy strikes a family and the breadwinner father loses his job or dies it is the equivalent of a national disaster. The entire extended family holds conference to maintain the integrity of their indispensable servants. It is unspeakable to go without the indelible pyramid of support.

When a farmhand, maid, cook or other service worker arrives at the door they dip their heads and silently request permission to enter, mumbling “excuse me” as they do so. They are generally a very humble crowd and clearly well aware of their inferred status.

I have asked several people about unemployment statistics in the nearby city or Brasil as a country. No one seems to know those figures. My guess is that the multifaceted system is so vast and complex it is a hard number to come across. There are many, many people who are working sporadically on an hourly wage to raise their struggling families who have disappeared into the integral design.

North America is shifting extraordinarily as well. I had much difficulty in obtaining steady livable wage employment in the last five years especially. Although overqualified, more often than not, I was offered several posts with absolutely no benefits and a miserable hourly wage for an insurmountable list of duties. Yes, things are ever-changing and I do have eternal hope that each individual country can discover its unique character through every human being. Everyone has something to contribute.

It's a Holiday!

November 15, 2012

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A holiday of some sort today. Woke up late as most people do who have the chance to sleep-in. Thoughtfully there was a dinner-sized plate, healthy cup, chillish milk (the type in the box needn’t be kept refrigerated) largish sugar container, slightly mussed brown paper bag with a few smushy rolls (sounds a bit horrid but actually quite tasty!) cheerful yellow plastic container of  butter and a tub of sweet spread a bit like honey with larger bits of stuff (I know, a highly technical term that only those of you with higher level of education will comprehend!) a partially filled coffee thermos and a stool beside the firm chair for me to perch my foot. How kind!

Sauntered over breakfast since my calendar is vacant today. Hm.

Took myself over to the Horta (fields) meandering in memory of the vast mounds of veggies and palms of mamao. Imagine the plump eggplants hovering over the hearty green leaves, swaying in the slightest breeze. Stiff Couve (kale) leaves umbrella white thin plastic nursing the rows of roots. Perky green cherry tomatoes lurk under penetrating sticky shoots, the perfect match for whomever is munching on the luscious nearly ripe round fruit…Buggers! Young shoots of cukes lie awaiting their prime, plenty to go ‘round! The neglected student farmer humps are loaded with rotting vegetables, hankering to be plucked from their death.  

Dedicated a few minutes to the luscious valley below. The depth of promise in the farms beneath astounds and inspires me. Families devoted to producing substantial amounts of food and livestock to feed the thin to hefty multitudes. Who better to turn our hope and guardianship of the land to than the diligent and resilient farmer? The land owner rarely  accepts a holiday for the assaulted crops, hungry stock and dry buds that refuse to open need attention. Thank you farmers of the world!

 As I march back to the house on perfectly able feet, I wave and “berp, berp” at the crowds in the chicken coops-tortuous traffic back and forth chasing and racing skedaddling and screeching. Oh how I miss asking the “girls” for their daily egg production numbers!

So, I lie on my bed, taking myself back and forth to the fields and coops wondering where I end up tomorrow?

Only five more days until I get my final X-ray!

Happy Trails!

Fishing

November 14, 2012

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“Go Fish” was the highlight of the day. Taught Marquinhos how to play the card game and we only shared about a dozen sets before I cried “Uncle!” Once he began to cheat, I was done. Little Stinker!

Robert Louis Stevenson was bedridden with illness much of his adult life. If he could produce novels like Treasure Island prone…I can at least make an attempt to eek out a few solicitous words, eh?

Friends and family have suggested they are interested in mailing out care packages. Unfortunately, due to the circumstances here, I am discouraging everyone from doing just that. It is just not a high priority for the farm couple to inquire after my boxes at the post office in the city. I do so appreciate everyone thinking of me and my needs yet it is impossible for me to control this aspect of my life. When I am able to receive packages or letters, I will let you know. The best option would be my close friends in either Sao Paulo or Florianopolis at a future date. I will keep you abreast of my travel plans.

A galinha was slaughtered this morning. Reinforces the fact that I do not like chicken! I won’t go into the gory details for those of you who do partake in meat products. 

With Ana and Dario careening through town while delivering produce to quite an extensive list of clientele this afternoon (since tomorrow is a holiday) I am decidedly catching up on breaking news on the CNN channel.

English class with Cristine and her sister, Camila earlier in the day proved to be  uneventful. The latter has had a full two years of English language class in public school yet could hardly pronounce the alphabet. I felt inspired by the simple fact that within an hour, she was decidedly more comfortable with “a” through “g” and had a warm smile on her face.

It is another chilly night so I have three layers on top and socks with Croc sandals (gulp!) on my mismatched feet.

Perhaps chickenless soup for dinner tonight?

Ta ta for now!

burro bust!

November 13, 2012

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A burro came for lunch. He trailed his tie-out rope like a bowtie designated for special occasions finally torn off and dangling in ecstasy. He was chased ‘round the yard a bit before he discovered the gaping gate out front. Off he went. Drat, didn’t have time to get my Ipod to snatch a photo!

Smell of the sea is wafting through the chilled house and out the flung open wide doors and heavy wooden windows. A cool day forces us to don longer sleeved shirts and slacks. I have one pair of pants and one long-sleeved shirt. Luckily for me they match save the fuzzy red and white socks I had to put on..frozen toes…not that the fashion police come to call, if they did, they’d be quite occupied! Enough said.

Pain was so bad last night, I wanted to jump up and howl, prance around the room and shout some very profane language yet I simply plugged my ears with a headset to drown out the hideous mosquitoes and absorb the soothing music of the 80’s. McFab insists the constant ache, dark rich bloody skin and swelling is normal. He believes I will have a full recovery and encourages me to twist and turn my throbbing ankle joints as much as I can tolerate. Yikes! The puckered wounds continue to pull and pinch as they heal. Scrub away with warm soapy water in the shower sitting impatiently on my stiff white plastic stool as I squirm in disgust. My heel to middle foot is still quite numb which actually helps when I scrape and shed the deadening layer of skin. I know…YUCK!

Feeling extraordinarily sensitive these never ending days. Seemingly hardened sideways glances twist at my heart more than usual. Don’t take anything personal is my motto today!  The renovation activity began early, before I know it there are voices outside the French doors to my dark and humming room. Ceiling fan prevents the mosquitoes from landing on my exposed veins yet chills the air and forces me to cover up and wrestle with the delicate linens throughout the endless wee hours.  I am thankful I do not have to be alerted at midnight and 6am to take antibiotics any longer.

Had some sort of heady spiny fish, firm and hearty pasty manioc, preverbal rice and beans, cooked flavorful cabbage and grapelike fruit for dessert. Will have coffee after English class with the teens. Held the cover-the-basics class for one hour and ten minutes this afternoon. Buzzing from the handsaw interrupted our session but there really isn’t anywhere else I can take them, unless they carry me like a pharaoh on a throne. Read advertisements out of the Forbes magazine since it is the only thing I have with me besides advanced novels and complex poetry. I will find something simple on the internet to copy for them.

Meu deus do ceu!  I am freezing!