Punch drunk parents

December 20, 2012

Ethan the two and a half year old terrible tempered strong willed Mohammed Ali lookalike is extracting one YouTube video after another on his Ipad. If only he could communicate directly with some precision I could gain much needed technical direction to upload programs onto my Ipod. If he didn’t run around on his tip toes naked from the waist down and every suspicious puddle of liquid on the floor turns out to be his urine, I would suspect he was a genius.

Last night was a fiesta of mosquitoes in my sleeping area. One of those nights when I don’t think I slept a wink. Drinking incredibly sweet soda and eating butter cookies while chatting in hushed voices with the other adults well into the wee hours of the morning may have had something to do with the restlessness. Passed around a margarita of sorts to accompany lunch today. Lights flashed off and on several times so everything electronic had to be shut down. Denise informed me more than a number of appliances have burned-out their motors so she was emphatic that I not wait on-line for notices of Taelor. She has been diagnosed with mono and a sinus infection, suffered from major dehydration and had to go to the hospital. Having to nap every few hours during the day is wiping her out. She sounds weary and needy. Wish I could be there to hold a cup of water to her lush lips and place a damp cloth on her widow-peaked forehead, rub her back and substantial head of hair.

Planning out the extensive holiday food menu for midnight Christmas dinner. As long as I have plenty of greens and desserts, I am satisfied!  

Weather reports declare tomorrow will be hit a ghastly 100 degrees. We may all dog pile into the above ground pool with cachacas in hand, the kids will just have to make do with chocolate milk or coke. Parents sprinkle sugar on Frosted Flakes, add it to chocolate milk mix, allow the children to eat cookies and chocolate upon waking and I have to swallow my immediate alarmed and perilous expression.

Red Light

December 19, 2012

Searching for a place to lay my head tonight and for the next few days. It is a painful reality. Vehement confirmed promises made several weeks ago and not upheld are certainly hard to swallow without choking on founded contempt. Appear in the mirror like the impoverished child with larger-than-life moon eyes who require daily food rations across the world. It is near Christmas after all!

Theo is madly crawling around on all fours across the tile floor to decipher a world from a toddler’s perspective, assured we have covered all the bases for the arrival of his two and a half year old cousin. Theo desperately craves the chance to pick up Uncle Joe, Aunt Gi and his new cousin, Giovani at the airport. With their three massive bags and a confident driver it is impossible in the pocket-sized car. Theo is begging for an improbable solution. He pouts, stomps, screams, insists and howls his irritation.

Police phoned to alert Joao the car was recovered, blocks away. Whee!

Taelor is fraught with ill health and fortunately completed her excessive final exams so she can sloth, relax and enjoy her ultimate favorite holidays with a slew of cousins, my siblings, their significant others as well as my father. It is difficult to be so far away from them especially when Taelor is in time of need.

House spic and span, professionally organized, decorated, beds freshly made up with the best matching sheets in the house, laundry basket emptied after four loads washed, champagne in the frig and snacks on the table. Dono is pacing the floor, blabbering to anyone who catches her skewed eye that her youngest grandson is on his way!  She can hardly stand the anticipation, has been long showered and dressed up in her spiffy overly long transparent-sleeved maroon blouse fronted with a startling paisley print,  and shiny milk chocolate stretch pants that hug her where a granny shouldn’t be hugged, fully made up and digital camera-ready for the memorable long-awaited event. There are gifts pinched in glittery wrap for both rambunctious boys.

Pending signals of lodging are predicted but one never knows…may end up on the flea-ridden floral lounger on the verandah! At least I can be on the alert for car nabbers.

Desperate people do desperate things

December 18, 2012

Last holiday season Theo’s Secret Santa never showed up for the third graders gift exchange. When the scoundrel came to school the next day, he handed Theo a note declaring his despair and intention to present Theo’s gift in the near future. Day after day, Theo waited for the anticipated present yet the boy failed to provide it even into the ensuing school year. A few weeks ago, the day came to choose names for Secret Santa…who did Theo chose to trade off but the sorry ass wrongdoer from last year! Theo announced he refused to bring the perpetrator a gift…would serve him right. He went so far as to decide he would give him his promissory note from last year wrapped as a gift! We convinced him to be the bigger person and raise above it, etc. He begrudgingly agreed with a scowl. Upon arrival from school today Theo declared the boy incompetent since he gave him a gift he already had! Oh well. Lesson learned, we can only hope.

The death trap Gol car was scandalously hotwired and stolen from the front gate in the middle of the night. In order to alert the police and report the vehicle pinched Joao has to come up with extraordinary back fines and exorbitant past due fees plus interest. The near abandoned car sported a faded for sale sign plastered in the filthy window. One suspicious neighbor had expressed interested in purchasing it but Joao didn’t jumped on it expediently. Now all Joao has to sell is the key! Drama ensued. The neighbor to the left heard the street dogs sound the alarm in the early hours even got out of bed and checked the sandy street but there was no sign of life. He wasn’t sure if the Gol was parked in front at the time. Observant.

Made the mad dash downtown to attend to Theo’s popular-sized footwear again this morning. I adore the center of the city with a maze hidden alleys and diminutive crammed to the brim stores of every imaginable wear. Nothing tempted me from the pitched brick streets since most of my attention was on the tile at my feet. I was afraid to spring forward into the firm cement walls. Wishing I had more time and a pain-free foot to explore downtown at my leisure.  

More documents needed for Dono to arrive into Calgary legally. She will reside there for a year so many of the medical records, medications and authorization documents need to be in order. Took several mug shots and we vigorously voted which proved to be the most flattering for her toothless passport photo. Dono spent the day alone in the house yesterday (72 years old) and was able to yank all of her chin hairs and clean up her eyebrow line. She was sooo proud of her accomplishments and asked everyone as they came in the door if they noticed anything different about her. Cute.

Spoke with her a long time about her life experiences. I know she needs a sympathetic ear. She cried like a baby in disillusionment. Everyone is challenged by the events of the season, big changes coming up in their lives and struggle with emotional backlash attacks our comfort zone. Tomorrow the crew arrives from Calgary via Sao Paulo. I forget what it’s like to have a toddler rule the house!

Floripa Folly

December 17, 2012

Diary of a Wimpy Kid translates into Diary of a Banana in Portuguese! Theo is reading the series and loves it!

Traipsed all around the southern part of the island of Floripa this afternoon. I was giddy to be revisiting my past from the backseat of a hot red car. Recognized some of the growing discombobulated regions from ten years ago. Shopping of any kind is not one of my favorite activities yet it meant more time with my fabulous and more than a bit frustrated friends who have far too much on their to do list. Several shoe stores, BIG market, videotographer, car mechanic (recognized Leo from ten years back, still robbing his clients blind!) coffee shop, bank, then home made my leg swell and throb.

Situated myself in a rigid narrow seat with my glorious leg up on the next stoop munching on palmetto pastels and drinking my favorite guarana soda waiting and soaking in the ambiance of BIG. It is similar to a low end Target with everything under the sun from noodles to float in the pool and have more fun than you dreamed possible without sucking in the body of water to cheese bread. A gangle of young boys strutted around a table with their skateboards and grungy long hair, hip dragging jeans and glean of mischief in their confident energy. Customers request paper thin plastic cups to divide a jug of soda. The plastic crinkles in protest. Not certain how long I ate away the hours but it was two shopping carts full for Denise and Joao at the check-out stand. We got to hop into the handicapped isle since I had my useful cane along. After eying the beverages and delicate stemmed glasses on the conveyor belt, I invited myself to the prior customer’s party, he left me his address…as if!

Sewed the vinyl sack that houses a cushion for the wee one who arrives on Wednesday night. He is 2.5, an adopted nephew/cousin/grandson that no one has ever met in person. Gi and Joe are in Sao Paulo with her mother who recently had a second surgery to remove an ill-fated cancerous lump. Due to the current circumstance, she is unable to attend the Christmas festivities here so I have the opportunity to stay in the rental she would have inhabited. Now I have a place to stay until the 29^th of December. A gift due to another person’s tragedy. I feel blessed.

Dogs bark around the neighborhood. Tomorrow I give Pipo a flea buster bath and draw up a plan for a worm bin. Perhaps start a garden!

Sisterhood

December 16, 2012

I journaled religiously ten years ago. Upon leaving the country I packed everything to mail at later date (when my back pay arrived.) Instead of mailing my goods, curiosity must have gotten the best of Sophy, my then best friend. She proceeded to go through everything I owned, discovered my journals, promptly read through each and every one, page by page. All of my thoughts, actions, dreams, feelings and personal relationships experiences were in those notebooks. She indiscriminately distributed them to our mutual friends who understand English and translated the details to those non-English speakers willing to pay attention to the story. Denise was one who refused to listen to my invaded intimate life and consequently suffered greatly. She was ostracized from our community of friends, nearly displaced from her relationship with her son’s father and shunned from prospective work to the extent that she ended up homeless for a time with her three year old son. That is how much control Sophy had over this fairly large group of comrades. She is wealthy and well-known in this small city, a Brit who buys from a lot of the local vendors that cannot afford to make an enemy of her. It is a very political social network. In the meantime, I had notification that the journals would be burned at my request. To this day, I don’t know if that in fact occurred. They could very well still be in circulation.  Keep your eyes peeled for them!

Firstly, I have no recollection what those journals included. I do recall working night and day for a time on decorative products I completed while employed by Denise. Beautiful and creative baskets of all sizes to sell to a retail chain. Per usual, the laborer makes the most meager sum while the retailer profits the most. Needless to say, the designer’s takings are insufficient as well. I did note these complaints though the project did in fact support my skimpy lifestyle. Secondly, I am humbled, stunned and forever appreciative of Denise’s dogged loyalty and steadfast continued friendship. Astounded that she didn’t ever waiver from her trust in me and resistance to the gossip and ugly unwarranted subsequent fiasco that became her life as a consequence. Allegiance is so under-rated.

Boys are in the above ground pool, efficient women cooking in the kitchen (well, I am watching, supervising really and drinking wine) and catching up on the novellas of our lives in the last ten years! So much has happened, besides the journal crisis, friends died of drug overdose, others disappeared without a trace. I still have a handful of friends around that I need to track down one way or the other. Staying in my old neighborhood for a few days that I hardly recognize though the corner grocery store we frequented is still in business and just as lame as it was back then. Did find everything I need to make my famous fettuccini and muffins. They are requesting my famous giant cookies I used to make. Mrs. Fields recipes were very popular and sold like crazy! The poor vendor ate many of them as well while perched on her chair waiting for her customers. Her personal invoice was always the highest. Poor fat Vera!  

Atta Girl!

December 15, 2012

Chegei na casa de Denise e Joas e Theo e Dono…!

Left Cris’ apartment this morning at 10:30, arriving at the Bus Station (Barra Funda) station at 11:30…didn’t quite turn out that way. The baggage guy who couldn’t be bothered to get out of his lounger chair double-checked his clipboard, nope, the bus leaves at 1:00pm and won’t get to the airport on time for your 2:00pm flight. The chubby lazy yellow shirted pot bellied man insisted the only solution was to drive to the bus station on the far north side to catch transport near the airport then a short taxi ride would take me the rest of the way. Great. We sped off, getting lost several times, turned around more than a few times and arrived at Tiete. Flagged down a brilliant yellow-shirted guy (they are all Federal workers) who charged me R$10 to haul off my bags and rattled off directives while handing me a wrinkled dingy yellowish receipt after telling him I was going to Campinas. Skirted down the hallway, asking several people where I could buy a ticket to Campinas. Down on the end, the red sign, next to us, the second one down…everyone tells me something different..finally figure out which bus company will drop me at Campinas airport. Realize the baggage guy thinks I am going to the BUS station in Campinas so I race as fast as I can down the passage to Platform 1 to show my receipt and explain the change in vendors. Run to the bathroom then onto Platform 28 where I am relieved to finally see my bags again, give the guy a significant tip and hop on. Since the sign on the front of the bus flashes another route, I confirm the destination. The driver snickered when I asked him if we would arrive at the airport in an hour…no missy, more like an hour and twenty minutes! Already knew then I would miss my plane. Had to just try to relax and accept the fact that I would probably be sleeping in the airport. Crap!

A guy jumped on the bus to make a loud and vigorous announcement about his delicious chocolates. He hands each passive passenger a sample and then jumps around in the aisle to accommodate all of the buyers. I can see thru the flimsy curtain, watching the salesman divide his take with the driver. Didn’t seem to me he made out very well.

I am the sole airport drop-off. As the bus pulls away, I struggle with my huge red bag, throwing questions over my shoulder to the passerbyers (is that a word?) as to which door leads to the Azul check-in. A curtain thin flight attendant zealously strutted in front of me, grabbed the handle of my backbreaking bag and pulled it along thru the double doors and insisted one of the reps help me. I sighed to her in enormous relief and expressed my thanks. Of course, the flight is already closed since I was abandoned with only ten minutes before it is scheduled to leave. I calmly explain what happened and the attendant shuffles me off in a wheelchair nonetheless to stand in line at the loja where I can supposedly plead my case and get the ticket changed.

Too many people in line working in their challenges with the reps are vehemently complaining about the cost of the adjustment to their schedules. Loudly! I didn’t even consider another alternative, simply waited and watched. Before I knew it, I was wheeled into the front of another line to get my receipt. No questions asked at the security check. Got help on and off the bus, up and down the stairs to the airplane and escorted to the baggage claim. What service!

So, I cannot believe after ten years, I am in my old stomping grounds in Florianopolis. My friends are incredulous as well. We just keep shaking our heads, exclaiming the miracle of it. Lots of stories to catch up on so I don’t have time to create a more in-depth blog.

As my friend Annie claims, I hate guns!

December 14, 2012

Yasmin is yelling at her friend, Nina thru the door of the bathroom off the diningroom “What are you doing?””Going to the bathroom””Why are you taking soooo long?” “I am pooping” “NOOO! You can’t poop in THAT bathroom, stop, come out, what are you doing?”…Who knew one couldn’t poop in the hallway bathroom? Oops!

Drove in the bucketing rain to a nearby Church Bizarre to find a pair of shorts for the beach this afternoon. Heard of the disastrous CT shootings on the radio news. Incredulous. We all sat in stunned silence. Difficult to explain events of our culture and the severe lack of gun control, in spite of the numerous similar killings, to the Brasilians accompanying me to the church sale. I entered the beautiful serene sacred space in the rectory to consider the families and friends who mourn their tremendous loss and the children and staff that suffered such great heartache and terror. Sending waves of sympathy across the waters.

This experience of mourning is far more important than my not being able to explain to one of my teen students on Facebook tonight that I do not have a real home to go to, that I do not have a job with a steady paycheck, no dresser full of all season clothes, no pristine bathroom with a cozy “Home Sweet Home” bath towel hanging on the rack behind the door, no Cheerios box half full of “O’s” decaying in the kitchen cupboard, no forwarding address to send my erratic pieces of mail when I leave the country. Home, I discovered ages ago, is truly where I am in that moment. Home is being with close friends to discuss the fragility of life and how much we love one another and share in the grief of others.