Formatura-Pre-School Graduation

December 8, 2012

Escaped from the apartment! I contemplated dropping down the five floors via twisted twin-sized Spaceship sheets suspended from the secured balcony. In the end, took the elevator.

Osaldo, Michel’s charming and suave father arrived dressed in crisp matching military tan button down shirt and slacks, hair slicked back with pride. On his arm hung Alishe, hair swinging down her back modest garb of black pants and a silver tank. I didn’t feel underpriviledged in my standard little black dress and chic grey scarf. Chose to hide my hideous scars and scab with a well-used ace bandage and donned both conversation starter crutches for extra support. Swayed down the uneven cobblestones to catch a taxi on the corner to the Clube.

Skirted the turnstile and headed to the elevators. The Clube was hopping with princesses and princes to be. Plastic deck chairs covered in white-fitted fabric lined the hall. The endless presentation of it’s up to you to decide if you are going to be President of Brasil or a dentist, lawyer or doctor or even a teacher lulled the dutiful glittery-garbed audience.  Several erratic songs enamored the parents including two songs in English (just for muah?) “Santa Clause is Coming To Town” and “You Are My Sunshine”..hm. Infinite refreshments followed the Powerpoint collage of pictures of the darlings. Hot dogs slathered in tomato sauce, pastels, mini pizzas and coke, water and beer! After the stress of the day of preparation…beer was a welcomed site! Blacker than black coffee and yummy bite-sized chocolate cookies offered for dessert. Unfortunately I didn’t bring my purse.

Cris graciously invited everyone at the crowded round table back to the spacious apartment to resume the cheery festivities. Her exotic sister Paula dressed in an African patterned outfit with a bone neckline and slim fashionable spendy sandals drove separately with her fiancé, Leo in his customary pressed white shirt and black slacks, chocker and silver bracelets to add to the playboy image. Patricia and Douglas in sensible and nothing out of the ordinary dress joined us with their daughter, Anne. Ana, Michel’s oldest daughter from a previous relationship also tagged along. She and Anne were in jean shorts and longish shirts, spending most of their time in the back, giggling over Facebook posts on their I-phones and speaking in a Mickey Mouse voice drawn from the seized helium balloons suspended from the eggshell drop ceiling.

In the wee hours following inevitably lengthy and seriously complicated conversations while sipping expensive champagne and attending to my uncomfortable ankle I became overtired. With jazzy music reverberating in the background, it is nearly impossible to follow an obscure conversation. At best I catch glimmers of a familiar word here and there…so I sit across from the stimulating tête-à-têtes and glance through the coffee table books.

Kisses all around and we call it a night after 1:00am.

Today is another Groundhog Day-a lot of nothing going on…

Party Whirlwind

Pre-School Graduation is probably more than I can bear but what the hell...little black dress and flip flops will just have to do, accessories include silver earrings and infamous duct-taped crutches. Whee!

Off to wade in the chilled pool with nondescript floaties. Most likely won't take the time to write a blog tonight after the festivities (will fill you all in tomorrow!) I will share the initial page of my first draft of my short story...

Helena is a ward of the state. She is 16, thick about the waist and exceedingly strong of character. People tauntingly refer to her as the “hunted meek” whereas she is actually resembles the unrelenting plank of wood that dutifully supports an immense castle of robust brick and mortar. She is cunning and resilient, mostly unaware of the vicious rumors that follow her like a shadow cast in the depths of a mildewy cistern. She isn’t much liked due to the simple fact that her mouth droops in scorn and her heavy-lidded eyes are too close together for comfort. Helena never knew her parents. They gave her up long before she could remember her mother’s affectionate embraces that tightly gripped her ribcage hoping the irrational apprehension of her daughter could be diminished by intense contact.

The majority of her days were spent daydreaming. Coldness and distrust have been engrained in her. She knew by her horrific past experiences that “love” presented struggle like the cockroach nabbed by a cat crunching down on its crispy shell in spite of the fact that it had just eaten its fill. Love gradually dissipates until there is nothing left but blissful emptiness. She drives the sheep dreamily along the perilous edge of the cliff where few dared challenge the precipice to the plentiful clover-filled fields below. She hardly considers just how much she has already lost in her short life, mislaid the trustfulness and how little she gains in acquiring hard caution.

Bobbi could not get enough of Helena. He thought her looks proved fascinating like a horror movie that draws one eye behind a hand, the other fastened on the hideous scene on the big screen. Bobbi was slender hipped, hosted thick shoulders, waist and neck, lanky with a prominent forehead, one bushy eyebrow sauntered from one side to the other. He was brighter than he ought to be given his dim witted mother and surly father long lost to the drink. Every chance he got Bobbi tracked down illusive Helena to warble around and around her as though he were luring a luminescent butterfly in its interminable flight. His set smile only deserted him when he was understandably uncertain of the response he would illicit upon Helena spotting him in her wake. At times she welcomed the energy of his charms, other days she simply scowled and flipped her scarred back hand at him in disgust. Bobbi knew one hesitant glance at this distinguishable scar would set her off like a rat escaping the deadly clutch of an owl’s talons. It was an instinctive reaction since Helena could hardly draw up the memory of the incident between her father and a frying pan hot off the wood stove. 

A very small key will open the heaviest door. This philosophy is Bobbi’s salvation. He is determined to prove himself to Helena, sweep her off her feet and cherish her to the ends of the earth as in the romance films he catches from the back alley door on Tuesday evenings at the Rose Theatre. He is well aware that dull resentment lurks for Helena since she trusts no one. He believes in his dreamy little heart that he can change all of that for her. He is honorable, a passable cook and has a good habit of keeping his socks and undershorts clean and pressed. Though Helena is know to be formidable more often than not his cheerful and persistent presence will occasionally sway her. As far as Bobbi’s diminishing funds permit he plans on demonstrating his intentions to prove to Helena just how much he can and will take care of her. His sufficient wages as a gardener, keeper of the supple plants in the village’s terraces affords him more luxuries than most. Bobbi simply does the work of three in his earnest to represent strength of character.    

Meditation Insights

December 6, 2012

Sensations drive my behavior. When I feel the slightest bit of hunger gargles in my gut I eat, droopy eyelids cause me to prepare for bed (whether I can go to sleep or not is a different story!) pain itches along the instep draws my fingers to massage the affected area, smell of impending rain prompts me to bolt up from the chair to close the many windows, writing follows anger and joy, loneliness and happiness bring on the intolerance to sit still.

Spent some of the day meditating (after sharing the pool with the pg woman) and feel incredibly grateful for my progress in many areas. As the rain falls, I generate some insights..

When do I consider myself “free?” Today, this hour, minute, second. Stopped by life itself, the momentum of my being shifted and buried sensations uproot and fly out of control with an injury that keeps me grounded like an airplane covered in ice. Ha.

Hard to escape myself and the inevitable endless spinning disjointed thoughts since the accident. Surrounded by my breath, voice, anger, tears, criticisms, judgments, humor at someone’s expense and my deployment. Hopelessness as a framework is not acceptable nor helpful. I am a human being and can’t give up on myself, my life, my ideals simply because I cannot follow the path I felt I was intended for. Dealing with my Self has never been easy so I ran to the next house, city, country, situation. Reaction is a choice. How did I not realize that?

I am more than the worst thing I have ever done. Finding better ways to cope. Tremendous compassion, love and support for me here in Sao Paulo and around the world has made these past six weeks bearable.

Thank you to everyone for being there for me…even though you wish, hope, pray I would be more pragmatic and listen! …and inhale exasperation at my resistance…

Ate amanha!

Olympic Training

December 5, 2012

Unladylike sweating at the pool. Ahem! Had to charge around the leopard patterned bikini bearing pregnant lady to do my umpteen laps around the bugs on the surface bathtub-sized pool.  

Declined the invite to the kids’ presentation at the year end bash at private pre-school. Cris promised to take pics of Matteos in his perky monkey costume, that is if he agreed to wear it. Just couldn’t manage to commit (you know how I am!) to a school event then traipse down several blocks to another event then dinner out and gosh knows what until the wee hours of the morning! My warm red accessory still looks out of sorts to the unbeknownst eye. When I unbecomingly hold up the appendage to the wee camera while on Skype I continue to get the sympathetic…ooohhh! I think it looks a hellofalot better than it did just yesterday. The chlorine does a number on the new flesh so that doesn’t seem to help when I take it out in public. Whaaah!

Had an indistinguishable white cheese sandwich on Wonder-like bread with mayo and mustard and cheetos for dinner…good American meal. Buncha cookies followed, washed down with water. Wonder what they are having?

(If I babysat for your children, you shouldn’t read this bit…)

Reminds me of the good ole $.50 per hour (unless you were a friend of my mom’s then I wasn’t allowed to take any money) babysitting days when I would unceremoniously scrounge around in the deep recesses of the cabinets for anything that resembled sweets. One father worked for the Mars Company and they had boxes of gynormous-sized candy bars stacked on the endless wooden shelves in the basement. “Take as many as you’d like” he stated and more than likely regretted those naive words. Obviously word had not gotten out about the Hill girls!..or I guess I should speak for myself. …me!

(ok, you can look now)

Tomorrow…will seek out a cane and bus tickets for Christmas!

Battle Ground

December 4, 2012

A Five Star Hotel sans fluffy robe, labeled slippers and service bar! Oh I could eek out a complaint or two but it would make me look petty and miserable. Who needs that during the holiday season?

Flurried substantive lunch preparations commence the moment breakfast dishes are cleared. It is the main meal of the day and nearly always includes dishes of fluffy white rice and thick brown pinto beans. Liquid bubbles in the shiny pots on the stove while the empregada and baba argue about who knows what about a doll the maid forgot to give to the kids before they left for school, a hollow plastic fake Barbie Yasmin borrowed from one of her classmates who cried since her friend failed to return it this morning…lunch wasn’t ready yesterday is added to the complaints and raised voices. Oh boy! In the meantime, fish fry and time passes.

Searching for the next exchanting project, interesting program, intriguing job, non-rigorous volunteer post, teaching position, enthralling thing to do. Feelers out here there and everywhere. Have crutch, will travel!

Less than three weeks and Santa comes to town. Began generating cheery Christmas letters, taking a break now and again to slurp black coffee with globs of sugar to shake myself out of doom and gloom sensations that bark at the far reaches of my pea brain. Merry Christmas sentiments can hardly contain grievances of tedium, boredom of the monotony of the good life groundhog day! Having a brief conversation with the porteiro (inexpressive man at the gate) while I unload my numerous envelopes sufficiently folded, glued and double-taped for extra sensitive material measures is the highlight of my day. Other than laboring over a paragraph or two of my short stories of which I have not a clue what direction either of them is going.

A guest arrived at 10:30pm the other night. Her light sing-song voice trailed around the sharp corner and down the long furry carpeted hall. Michel responded in a calm, sensible and confident voice so I assumed it was a business transaction. Not anything nearly as interesting as contraband! Shoot.  

Bottoms Up!

December 2, 2012

Barbie’s bobbing in the blue tiled pool and getting a leg up on physical therapy exercises in her strange one piece black matronly suit! Guess whose evil twin is trapped in the water? What was I thinking when I donated my darling patterned bikinis after departing the glorious beach-filled Big Island nearly seven years ago? Stand out like a sore foot. Have to embark on a mission impossible to locate one of those dental floss suits that attractively hug my buttocks…hm. According to Mike (you know who you are!) I am not armored with a Brasilian tush…thanks for pointing that out, Master of the Obvious!

There is a huge prejudice in this country towards black people. Brasilians tend to avoid the sun not only due to a fear of skin cancer but few lay out since they don’t want to be labeled “black.” A friend suggested, as I don’t have that aversion to the sun, I certainly stand out of the crowd as a foreigner. Well, if the massive dark one piece doesn’t do it…”taking sun” will!

Aim to be gripping a practical cane by the end of the weekend. Looking for something to accessorize with my still surprise myself in the mirror blonde hair or perhaps new fio dental bikini! Chilly pool pt in the middle of a hotish day is a tremendous resource yet it feels a bit weird to hop around at the base of thousands of open windows lurking down on me. Though I convince myself no one cares about the half wet Black Suited Wonder I hate to be the subject of someone’s daily blog. Serves me right.

Levelheaded Wanda loaded my hair-raising oversized plate with white sticky rice, cut soft potatoes, powdery egg bits, bleeding beets, crunchy raw onions and attempted to mask the slab of unappetizing meat with enticing lettuce leaves for lunch. Fat chance! Chatted about nasty hospital encounters while scraping the plates clean. Ju looked so adorable suited in her powder blue poly pants outfit and hairnet.    

Gobbled a piece of luscious chocolate cake from a box, nonetheless and shot of blacker than black espresso for afternoon snack…good to go until at least midnight!

Jealousy in decline

December 2, 2012

The Barbies left for a birthday party. I want to kill my jealousy and the distorted view of my reality. Big woman with gigantic feet dressed shabbily and unfashionably with too much confidence headed for disaster in the absolute wrong direction. That isn’t me. My body and what envelops it is a far cry from the reflection of who I am in the world. Accepting it all; the envy, sense of lacking, depletion, physical limitation, joy in sharing a soggy cookie with Matteos, an email from a friend, the bond with Cris. This is life, my life.

Courageous confident patience.

Striving along with one crutch makes me happy. Hearing about the late night into the wee hours of the morning birthday party I didn’t attend last night story makes me happy. Sending Cris and the kids, who were dressed in charming attire, off to the buffet restaurant two-kids-in-one birthday celebration with cheerful packages Yasmin and Matteos helped me wrap makes me happy. Spending time writing my short stories ignoring the I’m starving sensation makes me happy. Wiggling my a bit less swollen than yesterday toes makes me happy. Whipping up exotic omelets for Michel and I for lunch makes me ecstatic. Bobbing in the pool doing my pt exercises and time in the sun makes me happy. How had I missed all of this happiness…when it was here all along. Silly me!

As I stand above the fancy espresso machine, begging it to behave and whip me up a cup of coffee…I understand my vice has taken control. The waft of coffee beans sets up the Pavlov reaction. What to do about the soggy “v” on my t-shirt front?