Decisions vs problems

February 4, 2013

The Right Thing

I was grounded in that moral fiber of

wanting to do the right thing. I was so

sure that this was the right thing because

it was so obvious and even those who

were persecuting me knew, and I know

they knew..I was doing the right thing.

But they didn’t want me to do it

Because it was inconveniencing them

And I knew that.

Wangari Masthai

Noble Peace Laureate 2004

The foot searing beach was jammed early this morning after a restless night of sciatic nerve and lower back pain. Pipo and I mildly considered running through the oily bodies screaming and yipping in glee. I took the lead and chose to hide our merriment since anything beyond a normal pace proves to be impractical still.  Proved to be a steamy walk back home through the medium-class neighborhood of furious dogs thrusting themselves at the iron/wooden/wire gates that separated the sequestered from the free.

A 21 minute meditation that followed our arrival was mostly uneventful, floating images of familiar faces and decisions that present themselves as problems and determinedly put back in their place of the Decision category once again. Oh, you know, the decisions of how to get the adversary metal taken out of my foot, what delectable to make for lunch, where on earth I am going to live the remaining years of my life, when will I have the time to spray flea/tick prevention on the lawn, how I am going to make a decent livelihood, what exotic gifts to purchase for the unfortunates back home, how I am going to spend the rest of my five weeks and three days here?

When will I know it is the right thing? How do I recognize it? Why hasn’t it shown up yet? Who will show it to me? What consequences will I have to deal with? Where will it happen?

Ah, the suspence!

Godzilla Attacks!

February 5, 2013

All work and no pay make for an empty refrigerator and crabby friends! 

Fiscal worries create fear and anxiety that bleed onto the other household members including the dog, next door neighbors, folks up and down the street, throughout the city and state, around the country and ekes into the world at large. Each sensation of disconcert is like an eye drop of water in a bucket, spreading out to the edge and cyclically returns the way it came. Back and forth it moves repeatedly until the molecules of the liquid itself seem to change and alter form.

Unexpected laughter fails to reach the crows around the eyes, sounding sharply hollow and gravely forced. Small decisions such as purchasing school supplies for the up-coming year turns into a Godzilla overwhelmingly threatening the vulnerable citizens.

The garage door is not moving up and down properly, all of the florescent light bulbs mysteriously burn out at the same time, the weed eater halts unpredictably, credit card charges grow like cancer in a petri dish, the cars are both on “E,” eyeglasses break at an irreparable spot, a tooth breaks off while crunching on a carrot stick, food disappears as if gorging on itself. The alarm is unmistakable.

Tomorrow has arrived.

A classic comedy is in order, as with trepidation, belly laughter reverberates throughout the planet and beyond, entrenching the masses with joy and promise. Time to heat up scrumptious leftovers and turn water into wine.

Open Season

February 3, 2013

Waiters make 10% of the take from their tables. No salary required. A mouth with shiny blue braces shadowed by a black shirt followed by matching jeans and black hi-tops approached our round table positioned adjacent to the U-shaped pizza prep area. Two athletic wiry handsome chef-capped men shared the space with an un-smiling proficient woman, hands flying, flinging toppings on exact rounds of whole wheat crust that made their way into the coal flames. Theo and I were quite entranced by the well-orchestrated performance. As expected the joint was packed with polite pizza lovers donning knife and fork. Never see people eating pizza with their hands!  

“More one please!” Theo has been suffering from a virus the part eight days, his stomach feels sick after meals and at bath time, yet he snarfed his two pieces of ‘za slathered with mozzarella and linguisa without a complaint. The waiter received R$14 for his efforts, parking lot attendant accepted his R$2 and we drove home in the drizzling evening content with the thrill of getting out on a Saturday night with a crowd.    

Lazy, rainy, chilly (ha!) Sunday. Headed to the Pharmacy to ask the pharmacist what to do about Theo's red, inflamed, streaming eye. Yes, still have a pharmacist on duty at every pharmacy to talk with directly about the symptoms and get advice!

Gotta get back to watching the animated animal film Theo chose at the video store, Bicho vai Pegar 2 Google Translate says “Bicho will pick yet it’s really Open Season 2. Oh boy!

Iemaja's Wish

February 2, 2013

Dodging the Super Flies in the heat and welcomed breeze. What a great relief to awaken sans the incessant cement mixer whirring out back next to the messy pile of office construction.

I can still feel the sand adhered to my tanned lower back. Schlepped to Juaquina across the busy Avenida Campeche to join the nearly nude beachcombers accompanied by a spattering of colorful umbrellas with small toddlers digging to the center of the earth with spatulas and buckets beneath the welcomed shade. Today is another day of request of Iemaja who is the illustrious Goddess of the Sea and has the ability to grant our wishes, if she is coveted and gifted with some treasure that appeals to her ostentatious manner. I was surprised to see flowers scattered along the wet beach, washed up from last night’s presentation. Immense stout bees took full advantage of the heady blossoms which caused me to smile in glee.

A first year birthday party commenced hours ago just across the now drenched sandy road with delicacies such as Skol beer, miniature hot dogs, cheese, chicken and beef-filled mini quiches, chocolate cake with swirls of thick chocolate, laced with strawberries. Yum! Could only delicately and politely scarf one rich piece. Drat!

A family from the Land of the Giants, on the north west side of the state, who reside on a farm have children of four and ten, I would have guessed six and twelve years old. Huge bellies hung over Bermuda shorts and butts jutted out just as far from behind, poor things. Ate and ate voraciously like there was no tomorrow to be had. The Princess of the party was wobbling around, eyes as big as the plate she ate from. I was presented with a magnet as a remembrance, those baby blues piercing thru the lens to grown up to become an ice dancer or  architect like her thin as a crochet hook pixie-nosed mother.     

Was able to follow the story in Portuguese on the DVD we shared late this afternoon, crowded around the big screen tv. Grateful for the chance to see a more recent film, it has been four months, nearly to the day, since I left the States. Following long conversations and entertaining crowds with a few of my own made up stories told in a language other than my native one has its satisfactions.On a gratifying rainy day I got my wish.

Dogs day

February 1, 2013

As I lie in the hot fine sand and generations of fleas skitter across my back, around my abdomen and along my spine I hear the clink of chain against chain and the human appears around the corner to shout my name. “Pipo! Are you ready to go to the beach?” she asked in a excited squeaky voice that humans use to encourage and engage children and pets. I jump nearly slipping sideways over the lump of wood that lines the extensive sand box I have claimed since the little human left with his large plastic toys and car shapes that were rigid to lay on.

The clip is attached to my loose leather collar, much looser since we started heading to the beach and schlepping around the neighborhood daily. Urinating on the enemy’s scent every few paces to prove that I have been here last and dominate the territory, we weave our way down the hot bricked path, between fences that house little deranged scrappers, medium-sized scruffy mind-your-own-business yappers and the big, oh soooo large and ferocious beasts that yammer in envy that I am out and they are sequestered. I don’t have time to challenge them because the human is on a determined mission to get to the water. We approach the hot molding sand just beyond the sidewalk that leads up to the narrow dense path then climbs up atop the Dunes and salty breeze from the sea. The human stops to pause and stoops to slip off the loud slapping things and we continue on. Other humans advance towards us and will certainly pose a challenge for me since I don’t like the clanking of the flat objects they carry. The strong smelling bigger forms are especially disconcerting. The human attending to me stops at the wide openings prior to a tapered path to allow the humans to pass around us. I feel more at ease and secure.

This sunny time is very uncomfortable so I halt and plop down in the dark places to feel cooler. The walk home seemed very long and I stopped many times, weaving back and forth in front of the human who grasped the clanking chain and forced me to one side or the other of her. The human had high energy as home got closer and rattled “Pipo, let’s get you plenty of fresh water when we get home, ignore those jealous ankle-biters and save your energy.” The border banged shut and two of my bowls were filled to the brim with cool water, such a relief to lie on the tile in the cool with a breeze blowing over me. I can hardly feel those crawling things along my face and ears! Nap time!

The human claps at the gate and Chika and I barge forward to see what is going to happen. This human always has something to inhale for each of us but makes me wait until Christened Chika eats first. I have been penalized and reprimanded severely when I  growl and snap when something I like to eat is in the vicinity. I cannot help myself, I have to protect my share and get anxious and whiny when intimidated. The other human comes to make the long escape hatch widen but I cannot get out, they are too quick.

Ah, smelly treats waved in front of my long snout. I grab and swallow what I can before someone else moves in. Large tub and white wrap appears that means getting wet, bottle represents heavy wet sensation running along my spine and rubbed into my body, black thing reminds me of having my feet tight and sharp snaps at the ends make me jump in surprise every time. The past trauma of stabbing pain and an alarm cry and pinch soothes me and the human relaxes. Not sure what this human is going to do but I hang my head in anticipation.

I shake in expectancy while hiding under the little space making myself unseen. Yelp, squirm, throw myself upwards when the wetness hits and that doesn’t stop the human so I relax and eventually stop shaking. The draping over my body feels good and the rubbings are nice, more soft food that I gulp while shaking again. Ears and teeth are wiped and surprise me. It doesn’t hurt but is unfamiliar. I shriek and squeal, wiggle my way out, out, out and am released, free! Race around like a young dog. Lots of rubbing then the escape opens wide again and the human is gone. Curl around to doze.

near Miss

January 31, 2013

The Governador Celso Ramos Hospital emergency clinic was crowded with folks that appeared as if they were wondering when their real life was going to begin. Looking shell-shocked and emotionally distraught, many examined their shoes as though they would be tested on the trademark. Clutching pulpy elbows, limping along with oozing gashes on their swollen knees, winces cross their pitiful line-less features, dark hair sprouts like the Prairie Grasses out of the top of their gauze-wrapped heads, from full fledged casts to partial globs of tissue clinging to the pasty scabbing flesh. We all lean in to hear our names whispered from the white gowned influential figure at the flapping double doors. The authority was handing out alarmingly thin stainless crutches with plastic caps to clutch in desperate balance for the infirm. Wildly veering, stubbornly sticky wheelchairs seemed like endangered species and were only available for the extremely hopeless cases. I joined the gathering with trepidation realizing I really didn’t belong to this clan. Arms bent at wrong angles and multiple wounds looked ghastly in comparison to my swollen inner ankle bone. I tremble a bit in clumsy apprehension and genuine concern for garbling out a wrong word or phrase in Portuguese that would suggest I am an idiot. This crowd has a good idea what their future has in store for them. Most likely more of the same-waiting for up to twelve hours in a room filled with the wrong livelihood for questionable healthcare? I honestly don’t know how good the healthcare is in Santa Catarina. Despite the fact that I knew I couldn’t catch their desperation from simply breathing the air, I stand in pain that comes more from within my heart than my sore foot.

As a handful of names are called we scramble down the long hall, past victims on stretchers covered in sheets and halt in the hall between the examine rooms and a U-shaped area with surgical recoverees. Awaiting the sentencing of the attending physicians, that seem like they accepted a new profession they are just trying on for size and will get back to us with a verdict. is awkward. We stand shifting from good foot to bad in anticipation. I am told, after my inquest, to go to the next floor up to receive my appointment for surgery. Right back where I began the rat maze and series of unfortunate events. My operation is scheduled for 21/3 which is impossible since I leave the country 14/3. At least I know I tried my best, even asked if there were cancellations…the woman looked at me as though she didn’t believe she had to deal with such a lunatic. “No one EVER abandons their place.” Hm. OK!   

Time in downtown was a delight despite having to drag around in the hot sun and my best Sunday shorts and humid black lined sleeveless top. I wandered among the disarray of shops, eateries and purchased stamps alongside the Praca Quinze, one of my absolute favorite spots with wild banshee trees secured with large wooden poles. I wove around the alleys and sampled bits of farmers cheese, snappy crackers, fresh juice and smiles. Very nostalgic stroll.

Hopped the bus and meandered back to Campeche with soaring with a sudden spasm of enlightment…this is joy!

What I want is what I get

January 30, 2013

“Even on the calmest most uneventful day we get many opportunities to see the clash between what we want and the way it really is.” I am reading Everyday Zen by Charlotte Joko Beck simultaneously with two other books. This statement, like many in this particular book, contributes to my daily structure in such a lightheartedly deep and certainly positive way. The thin paperback provides introspection and a great relief as I sort through several short stories, my blog, letters to friends and family as well as daily meditation in my “work” here at Servidao Guanimbe, 111.  

There are people in this household that nurture me as I get back on my foot. They provide emotional and practical sustenance while I crowd out the uncertainties that otherwise plague my adventures. Their security and presence accounts for the sense of refuge and trust whether they are aware of it or not. The smoke and mirrors of the future assault the best efforts I make to remain in the present as a waft of ground beef simmers on the stove. I wonder what resides in the frig to accommodate me for lunch? Taelor insists, as long as it is not crawling away on it’s own, I am liable to eat it!

The spray of multiple sneezes stretches across the vast tile floor as Theo unceremoniously swipes his slender upper arm across his wet germ-infested mouth. Great. The boys tinker around with a familiar plastic tub of Legos and chatter in the unrecognizable mumble of child’s play while lunch bubbles. I attempt to decipher the next step to publishing my blog as Joao stands at the wire fence separating one verandah from the next, a few feet in between on either side, to chat with Gabriel the amenable yet demanding seemingly incarcerated youth. He tends to holler Joao’s name at all hours of the day and night to share clear glass filled with mysterious drink, request an egg, garbage bag, cup of sugar, rice, hilarious story or just a few words of comfort from a friend. Denise is hammering away on her architecture projects, revisiting renovation designs of a scrupulously demanding and well-paying American client.

Deal. I made a deal with myself that I would be in Brasil for six months. The plan included volunteering at several distinctive farms, learning the ropes as a manual laborer on the system of organics, CSA programs, youth at risk projects and to sweat, toil, eat, drink and sleep without charge. When all of that, now known as Plan A, fell apart a short eleven days into the first farm experience, I definitely didn’t live into “what I want.” “The way it really is” turned into a life of daily writing and posting, emotional suffering and extreme physical pain dulled by medications and increased by physical therapy as well as unbound joy and excessive passion for life. Everything gets confusing here, plans change and everyone accepts it as thus was written my very first blog day. How little did I know I wasn’t on-board with the acceptance part and had an incredible amount of work to do around recognizing and processing it.

Everyone crowds around to drink fresh maracuja juice as it recently spun around in the blender. It is a very common custom to intermittently enjoy whatever happens to come out of the oven, from the stovetop or blender and rapidly consumed at any given hour of the day. I accept the cup of juice and revere in the present moment of succulent fruit. This is “the way it really is!” on a most uneventful morning.