Everything At Stake

Here I am, once again, everything at stake, clouded in tears and suppressed anger. Pitching a hushed fit since I cannot for the life of me figure out where to go from here. Without direct contact with my usually reliable friends and concrete plans for tomorrow, I am devoid of options. Where is the opening I can eek into? Silence is steadily claiming my life along with greedy mosquitoes. Feel as though a train wreck lesson is hurling forward in my path at rapid speed and me without a leg to stand on!

One reader commented, “Sounds like you are having a great time!” Hm, guess that is one way of looking at it.

Finally my box (still have yet to receive yours Angela) planted itself in Ana’s Caixa Postal. Imagine my delight as I reserve my joyous anticipation in attempt to pry open the package gifted to me by Judy. A fountain pen nearly snaps in half, the hair clip doesn’t suffice so I hurdle along through the tiled house to snatch a steak knife. Thank you, thank you, muito obrigada! I have a new selection of reading material and goodies to gobble. Took two and a half weeks to arrive.

Dario’s evil streak screeches the metal-based chair back and forth so inherently indicative of their disquieting relationship. Ana’s head jerks in abhorrence reaction which is exactly what Dario counts on with his second grade charm behavior. Top of the food pyramid beer devours the frig. An elephant in the living room meat dish consumes the yellow table with a satisfying plate of plain sticky white rice to appease the vegetarian in the house. What’s a girl to do but divide the stash of chocolate from her delightful aunt who has generously shared delicious vices gained from father’s side of the family.

An invisible man arrives to who park himself behind the pillar while sincerely exploring his financial acumen or lackthereof with Dario. I suspect it is the familiar chicken killer from the neat farm down the road who owes a substantial amount to the sitio. He materializes thin as a chop stick clown jeans drooping from his hips as he jerks them in indifference though puffs of disbelieving smoke curl from his lips. His topless sinewy frame is clean and athletic from chasing the fowl around the butcher’s yard prior to sacrificing them. He is risky business handsome as he gestures his arms in confidence and clearly trouble with self-assured floppy untied gray tennis shoes. Sun glasses tip on the crown of his head to shake a stick at the low impenetrable clouds in the opulent sky. Another voice babbles incoherently from the opposite side of the verandah. Husky, petite, tall, bulky, shoeless or not stimulates my vivid imagination. Shy and hesitant to present myself and explain my existence is more than I can tolerate now. They barrel off with a loud unmaintained muffler. Dario’s empty pocket amiability will be the demise of the farm.

Air calm and dense from a mid-morning rain while near damp clothes glare from the feeble line to settle down for days on end without the desired result. Accustomed to the chortle from the roosters and chirping birds the sounds escape me until I consider my next line of prose. How will it be in the bustling city with cars, endless people on the streets and burble from neighboring windows once I depart from the farm? How many nights must I toss and turn with the disorienting urban clamor? If and when that occurs!

Marquinhos turns up with two bags of churrasco (bbq flavored) thin moon-shaped chips. His mother insisted I have them. We munched in silence each with our own thoughts of brilliant escape. He inevitably took a few pics of himself before announcing it is time for café de tarde (afternoon snack) and off he marched. I adore the fun-filled time with this chatty and exuberant nine year old.  He is truly the son of his likeable mother always cheerful and ceaselessly grinning from ear to ear. Pieces, the two of them. Figures.

Friends Forever!

November 23, 2012

College friends rock! In my experience, the most deep rich and long-lasting hearty relationships have been with my post college friends, the few years after I left University of MN and ventured out on my own. Today Lava Pe (Wash Your Feet is Daniel’s nickname) one of Ana’s closest college friends dropped by to uncharacteristically hang out have a hot lunch (I made dried eggplant and a cabbage salad) and buy a number of veggies. Very handsome blue eyed wonder, tall and on the husky side with flappy non-descript striped button down shirt and baggy jeans dragging along suede shoes, a startling contrast to the typical Havanas everyone dons. His hair is nearly buzz cut short which consequently causes his stark eyes to pop out even more dramatically. Lava is cheerful teaser, helpfully attentive listener and a great supporter of the farmers. Each and every week he insistently buys a boxful of fresh organic produce and dutifully pays crisp cash on the spot. His wife just as darling and they are expecting their first child next year. Their current brood one giant male Visla and a short-haired male dapple grey Dashund puppy take up most of their energy.

Ana became animated and affable giggly like a school-girl at her first science fair. In his animated mood, Dario also wore a shit-eating grin that made me lighten up a bit. I was not pleased to hear he had forgotten to go to the Post Office to collect my long-awaited boxes. Lava Pe had offered to pick up the packages. We could swing by his house on our way to Sao Paulo this weekend to get them. Plan “B” was discounted immediately since Dario failed to locate the PO Box key he had been given this morning. Sigh. Nothing seems easy at this point. I become easily disenchanted perpetually at their mercy.

I discovered Paulo, the inconsistent painter is 47 and has three children….wishing he could have one more little girl in his life before it is too late! His eldest is a young man at 23 and lives in Sao Paulo, second oldest is a daughter who’s 17 and the youngest is 14 who both live here with him. Brasilians adore big families. I can’t think of one incident where someone didn’t make a comment that I have “only one” they might as well add “Poor thing” since their expression seems to mimic the sentiment.

No sign of Solange today. She popped by yesterday to ask me what number my underwear is. She was going into town today to buy me a souvenir…such a benevolent woman! I hated to point out that my panties could be recycled into three pair for a Brasilian girl. We’ll see what she comes up with…gimminy!

A few days left on the farm. Packed and ready to go save my toothbrush! Not certain of my plans at this point. My girlfriend in Florianopolis has informed me the reformation of her spare room has been delayed and she cannot house me unless I want to stay on the couch in the living room. Hm. So I am putting other feelers out. An endless adventure standing on my own…one foot!

Snake in the grass

Thanksgiving 2012

Feels as though I am trapped in a challenging unsolvable Where’s Waldo page. Wearing the same outfit but unrecognizable and invisible to those who search desperately to find me.

A leg-length lagarta (lizard) was entrapped and tormented today. Battle with my feelings of anger and resentment in disbelief. Marquinhos diligently snapped photos for me. He suggested it was dying and thankfully leashed the assailing troublesome Preta dragging her from the scene. She was barking incessantly and biting the terrified creature from behind to avoid the clamping jaws. In anguish and frustration I could not inquire about the outcome. The bleeding mouth dripping bright red as Reinaldo scooped it up by the long whip tale. In the end Marquinhos admits his sympathetic dad was certain the animal hidden in the grass was a venomous snake and threw an enormous rock at it’s head to prevent it from “pegging” anyone.

Left alone the majority of the day with my intermittent grief and required detailed preparation for one remaining class with my sole English student, Cristiane.

Tested the waters by placing my stubbornly misshapen foot on the dry tile floor, gingerly experimenting with its ability to flex. Exercises (thank goodness for the internet!) are mandatory and painstakingly gradual. An improvised ace bandage wound around my atrophied leg while awaiting the opportunity to buy a “sock” that will improve circulation.

Am pleased to see Solange (Marquinhos corrected me on the spelling of his mom’s name as he insists upon looking over my shoulder as I type) was able to squeeze into the carmel stylish goucho pants I presented to her late last week. She pranced and twirled for me in obvious delight. She has been such a glittering abundant bright spot in my lonely and secluded world on the farm these past four weeks.

Appreciate it is not only what I have to share in my life, especially in these insufferable  past few discerning months, but more importantly where I am when I tell my story. Would my words be poles apart if I had spiraled in Toronto, Port Townsend, Minneapolis, Sao Paulo even? Are events exacerbated by the remoteness of a rural locale, lack of stimulating social structure, constant silence drifting off fern and fauna, vibration of an inaccessible undulating washing machine, roosters crowing, silent energy of the farm house, insistent shouts of GGGOOOAAALLL! from the droll of the tv, insistent protective barking, tapping away on the plastic black mini-table while I lean semi-prone mending leg propped in semi-relief. 

News Flash!

November 21, 2012

Euphoric! I cannot express just how relieved I am after the consult with McWonderful today.

Arriving a few minutes before the appointed 9:00 hour, I knew better than to pull a Mannix move jumping out of the moving vehicle from our past hurry-up-and-wait experience. After successfully checking-in at the hospital clinic, I hunkered down with eyes peeled for ammunition for my Blog. If it weren’t for the ample-eyed sweet disposition petite receptionist at the front desk I could still be parked in the unforgiving vivid purple plastic chair not realizing I was lingering in the wrong waiting room! Drat! She accompanied me, lugging my resilient well-used BECU (for those of you who don’t live in Seattle-it’s the name of a fairly large credit union) cloth bag securing far too many bit of paper, a hint of mildew worn paperback on Lyndon Johnson abandoned by the former farmer, my taut black leather purse with enough goodies to survive two weeks time in the jungle and essential thermal water bottle generously filled by the sullen teen girl arms crossed in a pissy youth fashion. We ended up in the x-ray area where the bald-headed burly Mr Clean technician cheerfully greeted us as, one-by-one, we were escorted into the secured room for our shoot. I knew the moment I glanced at the image, everything looked as it had in the original film. Simply needed McWonderful to confirm my deduction which he did, two and a half hours later.

In the meantime, back in the front waiting room where I confirmed I was supposed to be via several in-the-know looking people who must think I am an absolute idiot…tend not to share that I am a N. American though that misinformation causes a lot of confusion for people having to repeat themselves over and over. I don’t appear to have a disability nor am I accompanied by a helper or a companion animal!

Ana came back to collect me. Not sure why she was so distressed by the holdup since our last hospital clinic appointment took up half the day. I felt incredibly guilty about the extensive delay and suggested I hail a cab or request an ambulance ride back to the farm (the hospital offers transport for patients in need.) Ana insisted she could hang around but was extremely disturbed and antsy. I raced into the back waiting room when they called my name and slipped into Conference Room #3, uninvited, to wait for McWonderful. I felt I had the right of way since my film conveniently landed on top of the pile. Beat out the cute tall dark polite young man who was limping along with a cane. Ha! Shameless!

McWonderful kissed me hello on my best side cheek with a loud smack and affirmed my optimistic diagnosis. I am able to begin bear down on my foot. He implored for my forgiveness since he gifted me such a atrocious Brasilian souvenir. Claims he will be headed to New Orleans in February. With a “Good luck” and another smooch on the cheek and I departed Conference Room #3 for the last time.

 

Obviously relieved I chatted non-stop on the way home. You know how I can be! I expounded on some of the writings I created and Ana was quiet and reflective. She extended an invitation to join she and her family over the holidays in Peruibe where her parents live the majority of the time. Ana did share we hadn’t really gotten to know one another in the past month and a half due to the unconventional and strange circumstances. She did seem a bit remorseful about the past four weeks. It has been regrettably excruciating and unavoidable as far as I can tell.

As we turned off the main highway, there was a nine year old boy sized beast running across the road. It looked a bit like a monkey to me but Ana insisted it was a “creature of the forest” clearly not a monkey. I will have to ask her to show me on-line. Pulled over but were unable to spot the renegade. I felt a bit discombobulated as though we had just spotted Big Foot or some other fantastical creature.

Since it was on the main rural road to the farm, we made a quick stop at the local clinic to say farewell to McFabulous (more puckers on the cheek!) and get some last minute advice regarding my physical therapy. Unfortunately the PT is off on holiday so I will have to wait until I arrive in Sao Paulo to get a more detailed regime. For now I work on rotations, use a ball for flexibility and resistance and within a month or so should be able to walk without a cane.  

And so my friends, off to the next adventure! Thanks for all of your steadfast support during this month of incarceration. Though the sequestered part of the journey is nearly behind me, I realize and count on further opportunities to learn and consequently grow from. Dangitall!

Teacher's Pet

November 20, 2012

Bruno’s aim in life is to be an empregada (laborer.) His sloped baseball cap masks the brilliant sheepish walnut shell brown downturned eyes. Red-rimmed drippy snuffling nose takes away from his charming pixie face followed by a dramatic pointed chin. He daren’t meet my severe eyes as I lectured Marlon the what to and where for’s of my displeasure. The swaggering teens are 39 minutes late for class. Deplorable. I sternly suggest they must not be interested in learning English. Marlon is an avid chess player so I inquired how he became such a respectable player…he mourned in silence. I think they were all stunned to silence since they had never experienced this obituary tone from me. I lectured them on taking their lives more seriously and pressed them to make a decision to either learn or leave. I am willing to support them in any way possible as long as they do their part. Homework is not an option. When pressed Bruno finally opted for the aspiration to be an Engineer living in Curitiba.  All is relative in a lived experience.

My classes commence with comfortably familiar words and lead into new fairly simple vocabulary and undemanding concepts such as time of day. Repetition is rapid-fire to prevent them from second-guessing themselves. Cristiane benefits the most since she is decidedly devoted and has superior English skills. She is sixteen and wants to find a stimulating secure position that obliges her to speak English. Not wanting to appear disingenuous nor disheartening I encourage her to be creative. Cristiane won an Achievement Award and was granted a semester of gratis English classes. The teacher is persistently inaccurately changing her grammar homework and mispronouncing the vocabulary words. Sigh. There is a University in town where she might be able to take some language classes or uncover a program to enhance her studies. Problematic to say the least.

As the four moderately animated rejuvenated and boisterous students meandered across the verandah I unsuspectingly glanced up to witness a hefty white-bellied snake vehemently wrapped around the sturdy surmising beam above. Paulo insisted on repetitively poking it with a thumb-sized deep green freshly cut bamboo branch and it slithered into his home in the sizable gap between the slats of ceramic tile roofing and the cement block wall. Three quarters the length of my body and perhaps an inch and a half around delicately shimmered with a black diamond pattern and fortunately non-venomous!

I cannot help but wonder the outcome of these innocent raw insolvent most-likely inopportune youths. A tenderness defined by necessity overwhelms me. To seek passion demands absolutely everything of me yet who am I to say they need to be driven as well?  I cannot write my truth without having a witness.  Every single day I am acutely aware that I live in the rich poverty of pain. Is there such a disparity between “them” and me?

Chicken Little

November 19, 2012

Now who’s the chicken?

Scraggly feathered fugitive hens wobble ‘round the yard, scratching in every nook and cranny for juicy bugs and delicate fresh stems. Double trouble! Negihna and Birnabem (the cats) turn the other cheek when the “girls” strut by. It’s as though the sparse felines are embarrassed they cannot take the barren creatures down despite the fact that the chickens are in the bird family. The drowsy dogs also scoot around the two-legged plumed foe. Though there are just two stragglers they seem to be everywhere at once; inside the slippery livingroom, pecking on the porch, out back by the pervious coop, struggling with worms in front of the slick verandah, even in the darkened bathroom and on the marbled tabletop. After an efficient shower I nearly slip on the blob of unashamedly laid excrement plopped indiscriminately in front of the hollow door. Shameless!

The chickens continue their prancing parade until Ana and Jo arrive. Instantly the girls are corralled into the prison we refer to as a coop. The obvious unpopular one (she has a mere handful of tail feathers covering her rear) escapes and ensnared adeptly once again. Both dogs race around excitedly, one caged and whiney while the other incessantly circles around shrilly barking at the unimpressive game. 

Meanwhile a venomous snake is caught in the fields above, head smashed-in to ensure instantaneous and certain death. Solante trophies it ‘round the yard on the end of a wrist-sized stick. I requested a keepsake photo in an obituary tone. She promptly laid it on the small grey stones in a majestic straight line. Life and death come easy on the farm.

Seven more sacrificial hens run around and around then eventually ceremoniously trapped and delivered to the slaughter farm this balmy afternoon. Two startled fowls managed to elude and escape, play “catch me if you can” while the serious olive-skinned slip of a boy, whitish yippy mixed-breed underfoot dog, two thinner than average drabbish men hurled profanities between nervous laughs and Preta, mostly chasing the other pup, trailed behind. Twenty minutes and merely R$24 in collections later the truck sputtered off with its clucking load.

My quandary involves the medium-sized brown furry spider I spotted lurking behind the livingroom sofa this morning..failed to point him (must be a male-too skulky to be a female!) out to the chickens cavorting through the house..drat! Now I have something else to toss and turn about tonight.

And finally, which comes first, the chicken or the egg?

Chicken Little

November 19, 2012

Now who’s the chicken?

Scraggly feathered fugitive hens wobble ‘round the yard, scratching in every nook and cranny for juicy bugs and delicate fresh stems. Double trouble! Negihna and Birnabem (the cats) turn the other cheek when the “girls” strut by. It’s as though the sparse felines are embarrassed they cannot take the barren creatures down despite the fact that the chickens are in the bird family. The drowsy dogs also scoot around the two-legged plumed foe. Though there are just two stragglers they seem to be everywhere at once; inside the slippery livingroom, pecking on the porch, out back by the pervious coop, struggling with worms in front of the slick verandah, even in the darkened bathroom and on the marbled tabletop. After an efficient shower I nearly slip on the blob of unashamedly laid excrement plopped indiscriminately in front of the hollow door. Shameless!

The chickens continue their prancing parade until Ana and Jo arrive. Instantly the girls are corralled into the prison we refer to as a coop. The obvious unpopular one (she has a mere handful of tail feathers covering her rear) escapes and ensnared adeptly once again. Both dogs race around excitedly, one caged and whiney while the other incessantly circles around shrilly barking at the unimpressive game. 

Meanwhile a venomous snake is caught in the fields above, head smashed-in to ensure instantaneous and certain death. Solante trophies it ‘round the yard on the end of a wrist-sized stick. I requested a keepsake photo in an obituary tone. She promptly laid it on the small grey stones in a majestic straight line. Life and death come easy on the farm.

Seven more sacrificial hens run around and around then eventually ceremoniously trapped and delivered to the slaughter farm this balmy afternoon. Two startled fowls managed to elude and escape, play “catch me if you can” while the serious olive-skinned slip of a boy, whitish yippy mixed-breed underfoot dog, two thinner than average drabbish men hurled profanities between nervous laughs and Preta, mostly chasing the other pup, trailed behind. Twenty minutes and merely R$24 in collections later the truck sputtered off with its clucking load.

My quandary involves the medium-sized brown furry spider I spotted lurking behind the livingroom sofa this morning..failed to point him (must be a male-too skulky to be a female!) out to the chickens cavorting through the house..drat! Now I have something else to toss and turn about tonight.

And finally, which comes first, the chicken or the egg?