Woman at the well

HALANA (part 1)

2011-10-12T18:14:00.000-07:00

Halana could hear Dani's voice. It was like a whisper: "Halana, where are you?" She felt like laughing but of course it was not the moment for laughing. "I have no idea where I am"she thought. And she was afraid.Halana and her brother were trying to find the way to her healing and so they had ventured through unknown dimensions . They were lost, in fact, waiting for something that might guide them out of the strange world where they were. Or maybe, she hoped, finding superior spirits that could teach them what they knew. Something had to happen, or else they could just stay there forever.Sami came close to her with some news. "I heard some noise. We'll probably have trouble. But don't worry, Halana. Remember what the master said: "If you happen to meet evil spirits, you'll be able to know and all you have to do is get away from them. They won't have time to hurt you. On the other hand, if they are the protectors, you must choose the words to ask for help. Spirits live in worlds which are different from ours; they have different values and timing; it's important to know how to communicate."

The Seeress part 3

2011-10-03T10:14:00.000-07:00

"Maybe the Lady of the Cauldron can help you find the way to the Superior World. And it's also possible that your friends may be lost on the way". But , mark my words, she said raising her thin finger, she's powerful but she's also moody. She doesn't speak to just anybody..." Dany shook all over when she suggested his friends might be lost on the way between the worlds. He wanted to ask for more, but the creature started her horses and nothing else could stop them. In a minute all he could see was just dust. Dani felt a bit dizzy and sat down under a tree. He needed time to put his thoughts in order. He rested, as if recovering from a big dream. Yes, it had been a big dream and he needed time to get back to ordinary reality. Then he would find out the way to get to The Lady of the Cauldron. At least he knew what to do. He would have to try it alone 'cause he didn't have his friends with him. Sami and Halana, where are you?

The seeress part 2

2011-09-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

He knew now that something was going to happen. Only now could he understand the message from the wind. It was all very strange. He sensed that it was not for him to decide or even to think, time didn't belong to him anymore, things just showed in his mind, like when you're watching a movie.She was coming and he had to be direct in his questions. Dani was not afraid of her, but he was afraid of not getting the results. The master had warned about her; "If she shows up, she will look in your eyes and decide if she's going to answer or not.You never know what she's going to do. And then my friend, you'll have to understand her words, but it's worthwhile."

Suddenly, the sound of horses galloping. Dani could see the cart through the dust, coming near him. The cart halted noisily, the two horses raising their paws in the air. The woman had a purple cloak and her eyes penetrated Dani's as she approached him.Dani asked his questions and after a brief hesitation she said:

My first story

2011-09-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

THE SHAMAN

Chapter 1- The Seeress

Dani opened his eyes, as if awakening from a dream. But he had not been sleeping, not at all.He could remember having been concentrated to listen to the wind. The afternoon had brought with it a soft breese that was caressing his quietness. It was good to be like that, not thinking.
The Master had been specific: "It's important to listen to the wind, it will bring you precious messages." Dani had started listening to the sound of the afternoon wind, a mixture of sounds made by leaves and branches on the trees but he couldn't remember very well. He thought he didn't understand the messages, he couldn't be sure of anything. He thought that nothing had hapened. And they needed it so !
Sami and Halana had been gone early in the morning. Dani knew they were also searching for something, and they might be lost or even in danger. Where could they be ? He had no idea, He looked around and noticed some change in the atmosphere. He was still where he was before, but there were slight changes in the landscape.It was still the same dirt road, but it was different. The trees were bigger, spreading big branches all over the way.

shamanism

2011-07-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

I had already read some books on shamanism, and I was familiar with Castañeda's explanations on ordinary and non-ordinary reality. I already found that the old beliefs of ancient peoples were the most plausible for my understanding. And then, one day, the universe brought me a book by John Matthews, which tells about the Celtic tradition on shamanism.
It was a turning point in my life. Getting to know the Celtic tradition was like uncovering the book of my own origin, or the origin of humankind. I instantly fell in love with the characters presented, as if they belonged to an old age of myself that had been stolen from me.
First thing I had to do was painting them. "The bride of the Waters", "The seeress" The Lady of the Cauldron", the Lord of the Seas, and others became my favorite inspirations.
After reading Michael Harner's The way of the Shaman, I went to Buenos Aires for a workshop on the subject. I knew that I needed a real experience on journeying and that M. Harner was right person to provide it. Of course it was not Harner himself but one of the members of his faculty.
But that will be another story .I'll tell about it, next time.

A comeback

2011-07-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

I don't expect anybody to read this; it would be almost impossible, after stopping writing for so long. I feel like a person visiting an old house where nobody lives anymore.
I feel like rising curtains for the sun to come in and dissipate the darkness . I can see the old furniture, I can hear the voices of old friends of past times ... Where are they? It's just my imagination, trying to make them alive.
Everything that I once dreamed and said is lost in the past, but today is today. I'll have new things to say and new dreams to dream. You bet it. I'm back.

What Nanny says

2009-07-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

Well, as you should know, she's five years old. One of her most interesting contributions is exactly what she says. Besides dancing beautifully all round the house and finding butterflies to add to my collection, she makes comments that make me wonder what exactly she means. There's always a feeling of not understanding completely on my side. She uses words that simply stay, they don't just vanish like ordinary words. Like the other day when she suddenly came to me (I was at the computer) and said: "I know you will always love me."
Yesterday she was about going to bed when her mother reminded her of feeding the fishes of the aquarium. Öh. mum," she burst out crying. Her mother said: "No problem, you can feed them now, there's no need to cry."I know,"she said, but I also know that they will never forgive me."

HERE AND THERE

2009-03-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

I decided I'm not going to make any desicions for some time. I'll just breathe and eat and sleep and ...

There's a lot of guavas spread on the ground of my backyard. The hens will probably eat them.

My hair is horrible. It will have to wait, too

Ronaldo scored an unforgetable goal. Lucky guy! God bless him.

No more sugar, the doctor said to me. How can I live without sugar? No way! I'll try to eat less, which means about half of a lot of it. I hope it will be enough.

I dreamed I was moving house. I was very busy, but happy.

I saw the number two Pink Panther. The movie theater was so empty, (three people in all) that I could hear my laughing alone. It sounded so awkward, so different from the way I used to laugh. I almost cried.

Why not a second one?

2009-02-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

Nanny is the cutest thing on earth, but she can make faces like no one else.

why not a picture?

2009-02-05T17:44:00.000-08:00

Everybody knows that a picture is worth more than a thousand words.

Back to reality

2009-02-02T09:16:00.000-08:00

I'm back to the things we just have to do because they're what everybody does. Back to our civized prison with our customary schedules ...
After watching the sea for a long time, after playing on the beach as if I myself were a kid, after feeling so connected to nature...
Which one is reality? And what is it that prevents us from living the best reality?
MONEY!

Hi, everybody! Hi, my prison fellows!

Nanny is five now.She's so smart and gorgeous you wouldn't believe. She had a lovely birthday party as usual.

I'm thinking of going back to Rio, my home town. I just feel more alive there. The trouble is I can't have Nanny with me. As you can see, you can't have it all.

It's Christmas again

2008-12-21T16:11:00.000-08:00

And I'm still busy with gifts and recipes for the night when many people will meet and eat together. Things haven't changed much, have they? Babies have grown up a bit, that's true, my garden has new flowers and many of the old ones have died ...What else has changed? Oh, yes, there are new wrinkles on my face, more than I should expect to see.

Next week I'll travel to good old Rio and have a good time. A time for going to the beach, to see old friends, drink the iced beer that I miss so much and, most of all, just sit at a cafe on the boardwalk and watch the world go by.I'll do the things I like to do while they still exist.

Nobody is asking me for advice, but I'll do it, as a Christmas gift:
Do the things you like to do, eat in your favorite restaurants, kiss the people that you feel like kissing, dance the music that touches you... Everything has an end. They just vanish before your startled eyes one day, just like that.Believe me. And have a Merry Christmas.

THE SEERESS

2008-05-31T11:54:00.000-07:00

According to the Celtic tradition on shamanism, she is a powerful being, gifted with the skills of prophecy. The tradition also says that she is a mistress of spinning (see the gold weaving rod in her hands) and that "all who practice this art are ably gifted to perceive the patterns in the great web of creation".
For meditation:
Visualize a road which winds between level green land. Then you can see a cloud of dust, and after some time, a chariot drawn by two black horses. There she is, and she stops the chariot to stare at you. you may now ask her the questions you have about your future ...

Nanny is four!

2008-05-28T10:28:00.000-07:00

She had a big party as usual. I´m the blond happy grandmother next to her. The others are my son and his wife.

Where I live

2008-05-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

this is my favorite tree, and of course my favorite fruit.

A tablecloth

2008-05-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

I just love handicraft!

2008-05-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

Yes, I love keeping busy doing something that I think will be gorgeous as a result of my work. My son says I'm compulsive, I don't know, maybe he's right. Well, I hope I can find people who enjoy doing beautiful things and exchange experiences.

Very soon I'll be showing pics of my work. For now let's just keep in mind that beauty can be found anywhere.

SMOKING QUIT ME!

2007-01-23T16:50:00.000-08:00

I had never seen it happen to anybody, I didn’t even know it COULD happen. I enjoyed smoking, although I knew it could do me some harm. Like all smokers in general I tried not to give it much thought. It was one of my pleasures and I tried to be happy as much as possible.
Suddenly, with no previous notice, I felt nauseated after a cigarette. A terrible sensation followed by cold sweat and cramps. Just terrible. The next day I waited for some hours to have a cigarette, afraid it might happen again. It did.
I thought it over and over, looking for an explanation. A week later I only knew I was afraid of smoking.
This is been nearly one year now, so I think its going to stay for good. I know Ill be much better off not smoking, but what about my breakfast followed by a cigarette? The nights at cafes lighting cigarettes and sipping beer? A drink is much more of a drink if you can smoke too. I miss the feeling of having to light a new cigarette in between a conversation ... I may sound crazy, but I miss my smoking ... What else will I have to lose?

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AFTER SO MANY YEARS

2006-11-10T02:37:00.000-08:00

AFTER SO MANY YEARS

I didn´t expect it to happen. Why not? Of course it might happen. We could have met at a bus stop or at a party, a birthday party, for example, as I don´t go to parties anymore. I could have seen him on the street, or browsing at the window of a shop, looking for a book or a video.

He was suddenly there. In my living room. He had come with other people, people who were busy in their conversation, laughing from their own jokes, so far from my life. We didn´t say much, as we had nothing to say or do. We were like statues of a past time, strange characters of a story that had stopped without a proper end. I asked about his daughter and he was surprised that I still remembered her name. Foolish things that didn´t mean a thing, mere words to disguise the weird feeling of looking at his eyes and being seen by them.

We probably thought of how stupid we were, or how coward. We didn´t say much, as I said, but we looked at each other and, in the middle of all the fuss that was going on around us, we tried to forgive each other for everything we didn´t live.

SPEAKING TO NO ONE

2006-05-23T12:47:00.000-07:00

SPEAKING TO NO ONE

The first time I saw him I found it difficult to hide my laughing; it turned into a nervous laughing, because I knew I was being even more ridiculous than the man beside me. We used to take the bus at the bus terminal near where I lived, so the following times I was careful enough not to sit near him. He wore suit and tie like a normal person going to his office downtown, clean and shaved, but he spoke aloud all the time, as if an invisible listener could attentively listen to him. I was a bit afraid of him, as we´re never comfortable with things we can´t explain.

The first time I saw a man speaking aloud while walking on the street, by himself, I turned my head and watched, curious at what might be happening. Soon after a second one did the same and I could see he was using a cell phone. For a minute I remembered the strange person who made speeches on the bus. Mobile phones can make people look a bit odd, at least for me.

This time the man was not carrying a cell phone. He just walked from one side to the other, gesturing and speaking as an actor rehearsing for a play. I was sitting at a table and watched him during his continuous trip. He spoke and spoke, his arms helping him demonstrate his claims and this friend of yours just staring and thinking about the percentage of insane people who don´t live in clinics … At last I saw the tiny black thing in his ear, but it took me quite some time to understand (…) the impossibility of seeing things as we used to see in the past. I guess there´ll be a moment in the future when we won´t be able to laugh at anything or anybody.

WHO?

2006-04-08T09:11:00.000-07:00

It was not just because of the pictures I saw in an old family álbum. I do think about changes very often; the album was only a good reason for keeping these thoughts in my mind for hours. Whose were those smiling faces, showing in so many different ways, as if living several stories? I knew it was me, I could recognize those existing moments, just as an actress can remember unforgetable roles. But where was I, as I feel myself now? Not in those faces and smiles. Now wait a minute: I still smile a lot; I´m not a sad person, if that´s maybe what you might have understood, but, I simply cannot see myself in those pictures. What I see in fact is a parade of times gone by, with their typical characters and clothes.
Some of them remind me of the post-war, for the ample skirts, others have the scent of the golden years and many others bring up the memories of Mary Quant and Dior. Holy Goodness, how many lives will I still have to live? How much will I still have to learn (and forget) in my time? How many faces will I have to show a world that demands so many changes … I remember when I learned to use a computer, how much joy and relief to think that I could do it like everybody else! Now I hear the news about technology that will enable us to have so many things and I feel afraid.
Being old is no problem for me. Old age is lighter, more childish and less responsible. What scares me is the fear of being outdated and having to go on, just like an insane actor who keeps on looking for a character that doesn´t exist …

WHY?

2006-03-15T14:27:00.000-08:00

WHY?

The hot sun enhanced the shining golden bodies, the sea water was like a balsam that softened the heat stored in the skin and the sky, ah, the sky was so blue that it kept your eyes spellbound and made the beach a moment of collective joy. I didn´t have to look around to see the scenery and the people. I just thought to myself how the beach had become a noisy, hectic place, a meeting point for talkative and, most of the time, drunken friends. Looking at the sea in front of her and, towards the horizon, the greatness of the sky and the mountains that outlined the bay with their sense of eternity, I considered the apparent inadequacy. So what? This is Copacabana, I thought, and this is the moment we´re living in now...

Most of the noise comes from the vendors, I thought. Iced tea, soft drinks, sandwiches, everything was being sold with bluster and repetition, as if people would not notice them. The yelling and the continuous walking of the vendors is part of the daily seaside routine. They sell everything : pizza, icecream, grilled cheese and clothes - there´s a kind of local fashion that you can only find on the beach. Only there can you find those fluttering articles of exotic colors that arouse your senses, not to mention the jewelry, delicate works of art displayed on the hands of beautiful girls. I sometimes allow myself to say that there were more salespeople than buyers.

Looking to my left in search of a girl who sold "pasteis", (I love to eat the ones they sell on the beach) I saw something that was not at all ordinary - a woman who sold (believe it or not!) "parakeets". No, they were not real ones, nobody would want to imagine the cruelty of subjecting such delicate little birds to the horror of the hot January sun. They were little things made God knows how, of various colors and in great number. The woman used the frame of an umbrella as a carrier – with the cover taken off, her own head popped up among the colorful parakeets. It was not so near, but a cardboard sign could be read that said : 1 real.

I couldn´t help thinking about the 1 real parakeets. Only a domestic production line could explain the low price. I imagined the humble house, away from the urban center and the whole family engaged in the manufacture of the parakeets. They had a base of very thin wire which was probably the task of a grandfather, for whom that was certainly easy to do. The body of the little bird was made of styrofoam, I guessed, and would have been made with the skills of a dressmaker, used to cutting and moulding so many other things. The painting required delicate , gifted hands – every family has a young girl with a taste for arts. The children would be in charge of taking away the waste generated by the speedy production.

Why did they think of selling the parakeets on the beach? I decided the enterprise was absurd and fruitless. People buy icecream, sandwiches,suntan oil or similar things; they can buy handbags or clothes, but they don´t buy parakeets, not even for 1 real. I imagined, realistically, the poor woman going back home with all those little birds. Just then I saw the creature detatch one of them from the others and hand it to a woman. Why, didn´t she manage to sell one? Why did that person make such a bizarre acquisition? I then followed the steps of the parakeet saleswoman, moving to a spot closer by and I verified, rather stunned, that the saleswoman was very busy selling parakeets to several other women buyers who, in most cases, even came back for more than one. This was too much. I got up from my comfortable chair and went closer to have a good look at the little birds. They were simple, yes, but beautiful all the same, so light and colorful. I noticed their tiny eyes, so small that I couldn´t imagine who in the family would have been able to stick them on with such delicacy. The woman sold them with authority. “ Take the yellow one,” she said. “It´s the most attractive color.” I reacted :” By no means. Blue is my favorite color,” and went for the 1 real coin.

I went back home holding the parakeet, uneasily, for I couldn´t place it in my bag. It would probably be crumpled amongst the other things and might lose its little eye. Getting home, I looked round several times before I found a place for the parakeet. The simple truth was that there was nowhere to hang it properly – the blue parakeet just joined some other objects that I simply didn´t have any space or purpose for.

Believe me, I often find myself thinking of why somebody buys a plastic parakeet when she doesn´t even have room for it. I had already read about the power of advertising, about the choice of brands, and the fact that we always select what is in our conscious mind. I didn´t understand it. No, I didn´t regret it – I could identify with the blue parakeet, so inadequate and lacking a place to be put. It was now part of my scenery. But what about all those women who bought yellow, green, blue and red parakeets, where are they putting their parakeets now? And why?

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JUST LIKE THAT

2005-11-19T03:45:00.000-08:00

JUST LIKE THAT

The place was big, a large popular restaurant in the small town where we usually go for fishing. The restaurant was crowded with people that brought their families or just came to meet acquaintances, girls wearing their best and waiters running from one place to the other.
I heard something and instinctively looked in the direction of someone speaking loud. There were two women at the table and a man was standing with a purse in his hand. One of the women was an ordinary person in her thirties, but the other one was so small, so slim that I couldn´t tell it was an adult or a child. The guy was tall, a young man like so many other strong people of his age. He threw the purse on the table and, just like that, slapped the small girl´s face with all his strength. The sound attracted everybody´s attention. I was mesmerized at the view of someone hitting a small creature so hard. I stood up, watching them as if I could do something by doing so. The owner of the restaurant came to their table and started saying things that we can easily imagine. He didn´t say much because a second slap hit the girl´s face.
I suddenly saw myself in the center of the restaurant, shouting for the police, asking somebody (I didn´t know who) to bring the police and calling the man a coward. I managed to make him afraid, because he left the table and walked cautiously away from it. All the other people in the restaurant just stared. I have no idea what they thought about it.
The restaurant owner later came to our table to say that the girl was wrong, that they had just broken, she shouldn´t have gone out, and that the second woman at the table was her mother!
We all live on the same planet, but people live in different times, I guess. I know there have been dark times in the past, but we should be living the present, with an eye in the future. Disgusting.

TO THOSE WHO SUFFER

2005-07-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

TO THOSE WHO SUFFER

I once heard something that made me laugh at first and then try to understand. I´m not here to say that I believe in everything; to tell the truth, I don´t believe in many things. What I heard came from my niece, she had been talking to a friend for hours about her boyfriend. Crying and visibly out of control, my niece told this guy all about her unstable relationship and said repeated times that she couldn´t stand so much suffering, although she saw no solution for her problem ´cause she loved him.

Well, so what´s new? There must be millions of girls still crying for their boyfriends. What was new, my friends, absolutely new for me was his reaction. This guy told my niece that she should be happy for suffering, that such feelings, as well as any others we most humans have are the most precious gifts we possess. That, to make a long story short, we should all be glad to be able to suffer.

He then told of a distant planet where people don´t have feelings. They are highly civilized, they have all kinds of technological development and, therefore, a high standard of living but they just can´t FEEL. They don´t suffer, but they can´t love or feel happy. He also said that they´re struggling to find a way to gain our feelings. Using their advanced methods, they´re trying implantations in the brains of many people on earth, people who, inadvertently, trust these aliens for alternative medical treatment. And he said that Myriam, my niece, should be very proud of her tears …

Will that be our future, as we´re always changing? Isn´t he right to say that suffering can be a precious gift?

.

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DEMOCRACY

2005-06-13T08:04:00.000-07:00

DEMOCRACY

I have said something like that before. That democracy can be too expensive. Ladies and gentlemen, I´ve lived different times in my life. Times of a dictatorial regime, when there was nothing we could do but wait and pray that the minds of the men in power would be magically enlightened by some divine gift. We didn´t suffer, believe me. We simply didn´t know what was happening in the backstage of politics. We danced, played soccer and lived our lives.We were innocent: it was not our fault. We hadn´t elected them, it was something imposed , against our will.

Now it´s different. We choose the one who must do his best to improve the country. We have to face disappointment and uncertainty. The shadow of responsibility is a permanent ghost in our dreams and expectations. Once there was a president who was elected just because he was so young and determined and ended up as disaster. Then a sociologist whose main qualities were his arrogance and so called “competence”. (Yes, he was competent enough to disguise the problems) Two years ago we finally elected a self-made person, a man who could identify with the problems of the nation and guess what happens? The opposition, firmly backed by their old interests, is trying to make him incapable by charging him of corruption, their own everlasting fuel. This is Latin America, but this country happens to be the eighth economy in the world. It´s too much money at stake, too much money to be in the hands of an emerging party, they think.

Corruption in Brazil is, no doubt, the root of all evil, and it´s been like this for a long long time. We know it can´t be banished just like that. Corruption is everywhere you go. It´s in your office, at the neighbor´s, in the lives of your close friends. It´s so strong and settled that only a steady government could deal with it. We need a new mentality, something that could only be achieved through comprehensive education. If Jesus Christ were a president in Brazil he would probably be crucified again.

The foxes waited for two years after the election. They knew there was nothing they could do, in the name of democracy. Now they think it´s time to gain grounds again. To make sure that the old system will be maintained by preventing the president to be re-elected. (How dare he be successful or change things?) Who cares if the next missing two years will be a mess, nothing being accomplished due to so many charges? Who cares? They just want to preserve the old status quo that will certainly make them feel comfortable in business. For the sake of democracy, they will probably say … They have the power!

Bla …bla …bla …

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THE GAY PRIDE PARADE

2005-06-06T19:15:00.000-07:00

THE GAY PRIDE PARADE

Cristiano was a small child when his father left his mother with three kids and came to S. Paulo to look for a job. That man never went back to where they lived, a small village in the interior of Bahia, and, after some time, his mother did the same. She came to Rio instead of S. Paulo, not because she liked it better, she didn´t know either city – it was only because she had a sister already living here, in a suburb. He didn´t remember much of that time, probably because it didn´t last long. His mother died after a short disease and his aunt just couldn´t keep them anymore. His older brother was taken to a friend´s house, a man who had a car repair business and was supposed to teach him the job. His sister was twelve then and was taken by a family to help take care of their children; Cristiano was accepted in the same house after they saw him, so unprotected for a six-year-old.

His sister grew up and became a beautiful girl, of lovely white skin and curly hair. Both of them attended a public school and had a basic education that would allow them to have a modest job in the future. The future always happened as a funny thing for Cristiano – one day, all of a sudden, his sister decided she was going to live with her boyfriend and was going to take him along.

When they moved to Copacabana they started a new kind of life. His sister had her own daughters, both of them having the same white skin and beautiful curly hair. Her boyfriend didn´t show up very often, especially after their frequent fights. Cristiano now helped taking care of the girls, picking them up at school and doing the shopping. His sister was busy with courses she was taking to enable her for a better job and, most of all, the daily plight to make ends meet. Life was not easy, but Cristiano knew somehow that there would still be a future for him. He went to the beach sometimes and had a friend he had met at school. He, too, was growing up. Now and again he took a glance at himself in the mirror, while combing the little girls, and was surprised to see his own white complexion and the gray color of his eyes. Once or twice somebody had made a comment about how cute he was. He felt sorry for his sister, now; she didn´t mind her appearance anymore and looked older for her age.

That Sunday she had given him a day off, because she traveled with the girls. He had all the time in the world to get ready to go out to see the parade. He wore a cap that gave him an attractive look, something he couldn´t define, as if he could have changed just by wearing a cap. His eyes were grayer than ever after the slight make-up he used. A friend came to help him decide on his clothes for the occasion and then they rushed to see the parade. Copacabana was feverish, the broadwalk full of people who came to watch and gays who were coming to join the big event. Most of the gays wore extravagant costumes and had very heavy make-up. The parade was colorful and moved slowly but gracefully.

Cristiano couldn´t help noticing many people, men and women, staring at him. He was simply dressed but he was certainly beautiful. He, too, joined the parade with his friend. For the first time he knew he had grown up. He was going to say goodbye to his sister and start living on his own; it was about time. He felt cheerful towards the future. His future. The sky was blue, Copacabana was gorgeous, life was worth living. He was happy. He was gay.

( Cristiano was my neighbor some time ago. I never talked to him, we just usually met in the elevator, he and his two nieces. I never saw him again after the parade, I never asked his sister about him, but I couldn´t forget him … I thought of him a lot these last few days because gay parades are happening in several cities here. In Sao Paulo the parade attracted two million people. Times are changing. I hope he can be happy, very happy.)

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IT WAS FUN

2005-05-24T18:45:00.000-07:00

IT WAS FUN

We came to live in a big city after having already done so many other things. Not me, of course, I was only five when we moved, but my family was already a big family. Six children in all plus an adopted one who became my companion for everything. My oldest sister was left behind, she was married then. My father worked for the Leopoldina Railway, the British railway system that operated in many towns in Brazil. He had been sent to so many different small towns where my mother had to face difficulties of all kinds, with babies coming to life and terrible diseases that they didn´t know how to deal with.

Rio de Janeiro was a second beginning for the whole family. Surviving was of course a problem but my mother´s energy and my father´s discipline made that problem a lesson for all of us. We went to live in a big place that was very common those days and my mother kept busy renting rooms for people who came from other cities, like us. They were young men who came to go to college, to try to find a better job or something else. I grew up among those people, learning from them and from their own experiences. I didn´t know they were not my family, I just saw them as the world I had for me. All of them influenced my decisions, my hair style and my activities in general. They helped me to learn the first things and they also confided me their genuine anguish. Some are more vivid in my memory, probably because they were timid and unprepared. I watched and listened. I had all the time for that, being a child.

I had never heard the word “privacy” before being an adult. I wouldn´t have understood it. Our living room was like a stage where characters come and go after saying their lines. Nothing was so terrible that couldn´t be forgotten a few minutes later : laughter followed tears and commotion for someone, in a succession of events.

We had fun, I can remember that. We all grew up and made our own families. Was it good or bad to live like this? I don´t know. I just think it was fun.

MEMORIES

2005-05-11T07:55:00.000-07:00

MEMORIES, WHY NOT?

I heard that song and many things came to my mind. I thought of you. In fact, I could see you exactly the way you were, your habit of reading the newspaper in bed, delaying the moment for having breakfast; your afternoon walk, your way of telling stories as if they were new to me. It´s unbelievable how well I can remember your voice, your smell and your words. I myself wasn´t aware of having retained so many impressions of a single person.

I miss the way I loved you. I miss my capacity to devote my thoughts to a man in such passionate way. I miss the weeping moments before falling asleep. I miss my insecurity for the possibility of being pregnant of a baby of ours. I miss being so bold as to send you flowers after a quarrel. I miss my sensations when we kissed. I miss my feeling of protection when sleeping with you and I also miss my heartache during the days you didn´t call.

I don´t miss you, honestly. I miss my innocence, my faith in love …

LIKE AN ANGEL

2005-05-03T05:33:00.000-07:00

LIKE AN ANGEL

She was born in Rio. It was after all that mess, mom and dad fighting and finally, oh finally getting a divorce, that she moved to Sao Paulo. She liked Sao Paulo, maybe because she could have peace and an organized life. Those last few years had been a hard time, her father absent from home and her mother making their place a living hell. She couldn´t understand why things had to be like that, her mother sobbing or screaming, taking sleeping pills or speaking on the phone. Never a quiet routine with calm breakfasts and TV programes.

The first years in S. Paulo were nice. She was very busy at school, she made new friends, attended an English course and had lots of things to do to keep up with the new environment. She could even see more of her father – he now came for weekends or holidays to meet her and they talked on the phone almost everyday. She got to know him better this way and when she was seventeen he gave her a present that made her delirious : he gave her an apartment so that she could live alone. He knew she wanted it, so why not make her happy, now that she was starting university? She was making him happy, too. The thought of his child entering university had made him so proud that he wanted her closer to him on the weekends. He felt like having more of this responsible young girl, so pretty and happy. He knew that she loved Copacabana, where she grew up. And that he could buy her a small apartment there, just for the weekends. He also bought her some furniture for the small place and then left her alone with her happiness.

At first she couldn´t believe she was back to Copacabana for the weekends, for the sea that she loved so much and for the easygoing way of spending the hours. The evenings were nice, too, but it was in the morning that she could realize the greatness of being there. Walking along the beach, the heat of the sun on her shoulders, hearing laughter from people passing by, she enjoyed every minute of looking at people, those wonderful people in their bathing suits, so tanned and healthy.

Then she saw him. She saw the tanned skin, the slim figure of a young man in his early twenties. He had blond hair, in contrast with his dark skin. (Was his hair dyed?, she thought when she first looked at him) He had funny curly hair, which gave him the air of an angel. An angel here, coming from the sea, in the hot sun of Copacabana? The thought of his being an angel amused her and they immediately started a conversation. “My name, your name, where do you live”, he didn´t say much about himself except for the comments about playing soccer on the beach; he said he loved playing soccer, that when he was a kid he wanted to be a soccer player.He spoke like so many other people of his age and condition, a broken language with a lot of slang and half bad words that he tried to avoid. She did her best to make him feel at ease – she talked about herself and he seemed to enjoy listening.

“You say you have an apartment here in Copacabana? How come you bought it? You´re no more than a chick! Hey, what …” He laughed with his eyes.
“My dad gave it to me.
“Oh, you have a dad!”
She learned after that that he didn´t have a family or a home. Not even a job – he earned his living looking after cars in a parking lot or doing some other things according to the opportunities. She looked at him and saw the angel face with the blue sky behind it – the white sand and the sea completed the scenery, making the picture unforgettable.

They met several times on the beach before she took him to her apartment, one day. He was good company, in every moment of the day. He helped in the kitchen doing the dishes or even making sandwiches; he knew what to do when something was out of order and, most of all, he cheered her up when she was lazy, not willing to go out . He had energy for both of them, waking up at the right time not to miss the best spot on the beach, or having sex at the moments she thought she was dead tired to do it. Every weekend in Rio was tiring and relaxing, making her ready for the university routine in Sao Paulo. A few times they changed schedules – he came to Sao Paulo by bus and spent the weekend going to the movies and watching TV with her, but she could feel him growing a bit restless.

Her father met him once when he came to see her about something. “What do you think?’ she asked. “Well, if you like him, there isn´t much I can say. Just try to know him well, as not to be disappointed later.” She already did it, most of the time. She looked at her angel with his curly blonde hair and thought of how hard his life must have been so far. She tried to imagine him, as a child, living in the slum, not having a mother or a father to take care of him. Not having decent food to eat, either. Later, living on the streets, all by himself, asking for money or doing God knows what to be able to buy food and find shelter to sleep the nights.The beach, however, was the perfect frame for his figure now – he was happy, he looked happy, so tanned and beautiful, so quick with his legs running after the ball, his smile always ready for a joke.

Sometimes he stayed in her apartment for a few days, after she had left for S. Paulo. And one day he said he wanted to live there, to stay there everyday while she was out. Why not? The apartment would be vacant and he didn´t have a place, she knew that. Yes, she knew that, and she felt uncomfortable when she had to say yes. Something was beginning to deteriorate in their relationship, and she couldn´t understand. They went to the beach everyday on their weekends, they laughed and had sex, but somehow things were different. He was comfortable, too comfortable and bossy, he sounded like a different person, not like the one she had met. She then spent the whole week at the university thinking of the last events. She had been happy for seven months, she liked him in spite of his poverty, (she had to pay for everything) she knew he was a nice person, but she was not happy anymore. She would have to change a few things; maybe she should have her privacy back – she decided to talk to him, he would understand and it would be better for both of them. They could be together most of the time, but not all the time, and she could have her Copacabana apartment for herself, being able to take other girl friends or something like that.

They were in the small kitchen of the Copacabana apartment when she explained to him what she wanted. She said she loved him, she didn´t want to part from him, they could have a future together if they preserved what they already had. She said she felt sorry for being so much used to living alone, but she loved him . She saw his angel face coming closer to her and she tried to read his eyes but she couldn´t … She felt a bit dizzy, the angel was now standing before her and she was so small, she could only see his legs. She tried to hold his leg but her arms wouldn´t obey her. She felt her head on the floor and the last thing she could see was the blooded knife in his hand …

OH, CAMILLA!

2005-04-12T11:40:00.000-07:00

Oh, Camilla!

It was not for the everlasting love that you can proudly expose for everybody to see.
It was not for being loved by a prince.
It was not, either, for having rivaled such charming a princess.
It was not, I must add, for becoming the king´s wife in the future.

It was for Cornwall.
That was the most precious gift you could have been given. That someone could have been given. Sorry to say that the news about the title was a shock to me. I always thought of Cornwall as something magic, a place where my soul could meet other souls and make it a private rendez-vous for dreamers. A place where I could still talk to Daphne (we´re close friends) and hear her stories. A scenery to enchant my eyes and take my mind to distant plagues.

I hope you deserve the title. And if you ever go there, and, being there, you take a long walk in the morning, try to find the castle of my dreams: it may be old by now, a bit decayed but still standing. Still there. Please don´t touch it. Leave as it is. You see, my dreams are sensitive …

It was for Cornwall that I envied you so much.

THE GIRL WHO WAS GOING AWAY

2005-04-10T17:44:00.000-07:00

THE GIRL WHO WAS GOING AWAY

He didnt´mean to overhear the conversation. The girl had arrived some time before and was talking to his daughter , both of them sitting on the sofa in the living room. He didn´t know who she was and he wouldn´t have even paid attention if it weren´t for the melancoly, yet detailed tone in which she spoke. There are times when your interest is aroused without a clear recognition of why - it may have been the tone of her voice or else the facts she exposed.

The girl was saying that she was leaving Brazil, that she was going to New York, where a friend was going to help her in her first days. Because she was not qualified to get a job in Brazil she decided that her only way out was the airport. She had managed to get the money from her brother, the only person who was interested in the adventure. " What about the documents, the passport?", his daughter asked. " There´s a man who takes care of everything, for five hundred dollars - work papers in Brazil, salary receipts, an address of a hotel in the United States, some tips on how to fill out the form, everything. He says it´s safe, I have to try."

The girl was goodlooking. The man´s daughter seemed worried. " But, don´t you think it´s dangerous to travel with false documents? What if you happen to spend all the money your brother gave you ...?" The girl answered all the questions very calmly; she was tragically calm like someone who has nothing else to consider. "The man is trustworthy, he has done it for many people. All you got to do is to have the five hundred dollars. If you don´t have the five hundred there´s no deal, he won´t do it for less. My brother bought me the ticket and also gave me the five hundred because he knows he can get rid of me for good. All I need now is to have some money to spend in the first days, before beginning to work there."

" Do you think you can find work right away?" " I think so. You know what my friend told me? She said that since she´s been there she´s never failed to have money for her expenses. She says it can be very cold, you have to walk a long way to save, but it´s worth it. It will be like that for me, too. I can´t stay here the way I´m living. I can´t afford to pay for a place to live. I live at the moment in a lady´s house who lets me stay there for free, but I can´t have a bed of my own. Very often I spend the night sitting on a chair, waiting for someone to get up so I can rest in an empty bed."

The other girl was sympathetic. " What if you don´t adapt, what if it doesn´t work out?" The girl went on : "It will work out. My friend said I can even find a husband. She did. She got married there, can you believe it?"

That´s when he heard his daughter buy a leather top for ten dollars. There was little to sell : just a few leather tops and golden sandals, but, according to the girl, it would probably be enough for her first few sandwiches. The man felt restless and uncomfortable continuing the work he was doing even after the girl said goodbye and left. Her words remained there in the living room, repeating themselves like a sad song. He turned on the TV and fetched a book; he always did that when he turned the TV on.

Many times he asked about the girl. Each time he feared he would be told that she had come back, that she had failed. After some months he confirmed, with great relief, that she hadn´t been heard of anymore. It was very likely that she had managed to stay there, just like she wished. That was good., very good. Maybe she could really be happy there. Maybe she could even find a husband. And maybe, one day, he would finally rid her words from the living room ...

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ONE OF THOSE DAYS

2005-04-03T19:19:00.000-07:00

One of those days

No, don´t make me laugh, I´m not speaking about menstruation, I´m just trying to say that I feel awful. Nanny left home in the morning with my son and my daughter-in-law; they went to a friend´s house and she was bitten by their son-of-a-bitch-of-a-dog for the second time! The first time happened when Nanny was five months old – she was sitting in her carriage when the door of the apartment opened and, without so much, she was attacked. Today, nine months later, the dog´s owner decided to let him walk in the living room and say hello to the guests. He only took a few seconds to reach Nanny´s legs.

The lady who owns the dog says: “Oh, he´s just kidding! He likes children so much!” Yes, I told my son, that is true. He likes children as I like chicken or Italian food… At this moment I hate her. My son said that Nanny cried so much and was very frightened. She loves dogs and she treats them so well … She doesn´t know that dogs are like people – some of them are bad guys and act like bandidos.

The owners are the ones who should think about it. They should be able to face the truth about their pets. Dogs, I must repeat, are like humans – they have different characters, different attitudes and most of the times, a background to influence them.The lady in question is the one to be blamed, I think. Even her mother has a broken finger caused by the dog she thinks is the sweetest little thing on earth. Will she ever understand that her pet is not welcome at all?

As to Nanny, she will never go back there, and I´m eager to say that aloud, for many people to hear. Oh, I´m sorry. I´m mad at that woman. And today is Sunday …

2005-03-25T08:14:00.000-08:00

The building is still there, but I´m sure nobody would take the trouble to stop and take a look at it. It´s old, so old-fashioned, even ridiculous after it has been painted green and granted a title. “Blue Sea Hotel”, that´s what it says. It looks like a beggar whose clothes are too colorful and inadequate. We moved into its third floor when I was five or six years old – at the time it was a charming beige building and we were very excited about living there.

I remember my mother giving orders, boxes being opened and all the noise of heavy packages taking their places. For us, the children, everything was fun, a lot of fun. Old toys emerging from boxes, schedules being broken, and more than anything else, improvisation. Why do we always try to make our lives so permanently organized , when improvised meals taste so good?

We lived there for 13 years. Rio de Janeiro was a different city at the time, full of immigrants. Different languages were spoken in the houses of the girls I used to make friends with. And, there was a war going on. We were very far from it, but it was in the movies, in the newspapers, on the radio, in people´s conversation and in the heart of the families. Young men were being drafted and sent to distant places where they should perform actions they were certainly not prepared to perform. I saw them going and coming, I heard their fears and their jokes, I had my share of everything that happened , as if it were part of my education.

I was twelve years old when the end of the war was announced. I will never forget that moment, people looking at each other to believe it was true. And I will never forget, either, how long it took to erase the stains of the war. Maybe I can say that I grew up in the backstage of a war …

BLUE SUNDAYS

2005-03-20T12:32:00.000-08:00

I´ve felt like this for a long, long time. I don´t mean I don´t like Sundays, they´re the days I can do a little of everything, which is very important for me. I can rest, I can work on some new (or not) handicraft, I can talk on the telephone, I can even go out to eat something different … But Sundays make me down. Sundays smell like my mother´s cooking, the white linen tablecloth on the living room table, guests for lunch and finally, at the end of the evening, my father coming home from his fishing trip.

Chris Christopherson says:
“There is something on a Sunday that makes everybody feel alone.”

That´s exactly how I feel. Alone. Nanny is screaming outside, my son is laughing, there´s a couple watching TV and talking to my daughter-in-law,the dogs are barking now and then, but I feel as if I were standing in a square, people passing carrying their umbrellas, rushing to get somewhere because it´s drizzling in the late afternoon and I, standing there, nowhere to go and nothing waiting for me. Of course it´s not reality, ´cause I´ve always had somewhere to go (!?), but that´s how I feel.

Why is it so? Because I miss my childhood? It would be hard to understand, because my childhood was far from being pleasant and easy. I´ve already given some thought to finding some work to do on Sundays, like baby-sitting in hotels or reading to old people. Thank god none of them became real, for I guess I would have felt worse. I´d probably have missed my melancholy moments , my invisible reality. Sundays may be our invisible reality, the one we try to disrupt all week long. The day we have left for the truth.

Anyway, as you must have guessed, today is Sunday. Another blue Sunday. Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow is Monday!!!

Still on the subject

2005-03-13T12:03:00.000-08:00

STILL ON THE SUBJECT

What´s happening to women? Are they just taking revenge against men´s behavior or are they adapting to a new order that is frightening but is, in fact, a glimpse of the future we dare not look into yet?
The fact is that more and more women are doing sex for money. Some do it because the´re very poor, (a minority in the interior), some because they live in big cities and they feel the need of climbing in their projects – a woman has to reach the prototype to succeed and to be asked out : she´ll need big silicone breasts, sensual lips, abundant hair, a perfect figure and probably a tan all over the body. All that, my darlings, costs an arm and a leg, and without it, according to the media, you can´t be happy.
I should have said that I didn´t intend to generalize, that they´re not the majority of our population, but, honestly, I can´t be sure. That´s all I can see when I look around. University girls making money to travel, older women having all kinds (all kinds!) of plastic surgeries to look good, everybody rushing towards beauty and seduction. They want to be happy. They want it now, they won´t consider waiting until they can afford to do things. Women need a top model figure to be asked out by a well-off man. Pleasure is nowadays the look of envy of friends when you have a “big shot” date. Pleasure is the touch of silk or leather in your skin. Pleasure is the amount of your bank account. I wonder if they care about an orgasm …
Men are simply taking advantage of what is being offered to them. If they ´re allowed some luxuries, I mean, if they can pay for that, they act like consumers, browsing here and there, enjoying the quality of new products.
In small towns you hear about many girls who left for Spain to make money as prostitutes. Their families are proud of them, these girls have sent them money to build houses and have a better life.
It´s a trend, my friends, what is happening is something important because it has to do with the world´s new order. “Money makes the world go round”, we all know, but maybe we have here something that will change relationships and behavior forever. Don´t be so naïve as to think that this is happening in Brazil, that maybe that´s because we´re half Indians or uneducated. Don´t. Brazilians are very intelligent and sensitive, and being sensitive makes them capable of seeing things that other people can´t see Remember the story of “The king´s new clothes”? Something like that, maybe.
I don´t know what´s happening in the other countries, but I know about mine, because, among other things, I live.

A LITTLE OF BRAZIL

2005-03-07T02:06:00.000-08:00

A LITTLE OF BRAZIL

"- Yes, I have two, a boy and a girl. The boy lives with my sister in Maricá. It doesn´t make any difference to my sister, for she has two children - if she has to look after two, why not three...?" She pulls her long hair backwards. Her hair is almost red, gleamy and abundant, preserved from the sun and the sea water - she never goes to the beach. "The girl lives with me. I pay a woman to take care of her while I go out. I got to work ..."

"The boy is big now, he doesn´t give my sister too much trouble, he can take care of himself. Look, that guy is staring at me. I´m going to smile at him; men always prefer women who smile. He´s not bad at all, he must be German or something like that. Maybe he´ll start by paying our check."

"Me? I live near here, on Barata Ribeiro, but I´m not staying there too long. Oh, no, not me - I want to have my own place, my dear. I can´t stand living with other people : at the beginning it´s ok, everything is fine, but after some time ..."

"My little girl is just like her father, who happens to be a big ugly German. But he´s nice. He´s crazy about her, believe me, I never saw anything like that. Look, this is a letter he sent me. He didn´t write it himself, cause he doesn´t know a word in Portuguese. He asks somebody else to write for him."

"Do you know Katia? A tall, blonde girl ...I can´t understand why, she always gets more money from the guys. Remember Jim? Of course you remember Jim, everybody was after him last summer. Well, he gave her one thousand reais! The most I got from him one day was three hundred, and that was because he was drunk, my dear, because when he´s sober it´s just a hundred note and no more. And I still have to wait until 10 o´clock in the morning when he wakes up ..."'

"The guy smiled at me now! I think I´m going to invite him for a drink. With elegance, of course. I´m usually very lucky with Germans. My girl´s father is coming to Rio next month. He´s crazy about the girl. I think it´s because she looks like him - the same big round face with those big blue eyes ... The only problem is he´s going to stay a whole month and I can´t work during this time. Of course he doesn´t know I still work the night."

"A hundred per week, that´s how much I have to pay the woman who looks after the girl. It´s not so easy. My money simply has to provide for everything. I have to make money. Last week I was down, with no money at all, the woman was complaining because I had no money for her ... She just can´t understand that you can´t be lucky all the time, and then you have to wait ... you know what happened? I met an old client who gave me five hundred, just like that, as a Christmas gift. God, I paid the damn woman and then I could finally breathe ... Yeah, you better believe it."

This week looks like it´s going to be cool. Summer is here, Christmas is over ...I would like to get a haircut. No, I´m not going to have it cut short - on the contrary, just to change it a little bit. My daughter has funny hair, so strange, but I think that in time it will get better. Many people ask me if her father is a foreigner. Yeah, I tell them, her dad is German ..."

I had the hell of a time when I was pregnant, but I didn´t stay at home all the time. I used to go to the disco with the other girls, just to see people and listen to the music. How could I stay at home thinking about problems? You can always get lucky and find someone who´ll buy you dinner or something like that. There was an American, one day, who spent a long time caressing my belly, and do you know how much he gave me? Three hundred dollars!"

"I think I´m going to have something to eat; I can´t go on just drinking beer. What am I going to eat? Look, the son of a bitch of a German is asking for the check. There are three others just arriving. The heavy one looks friendlier ..."

"Do you know a good fortune teller? One who works with cards or something? I´ve been thinking of taking a good look into my future. I used to know a wonderful one, but I think she died - well, she was a very old woman, the poor thing! Her time came. I believe that everybody has their own time ..."

"I´m not going to eat here. I think this place is not "the" place today. Say, wouldn´t you like to go somewhere else? Then we can share a pizza ... Last week I met a guy, you won´t believe me, I didn´t think much of him in the beginning, he being a Brazilian, but it was very nice ...When you gotta get lucky it just happens ..."

"Are you going to stay? Well, it´s up to you. I´m going for a walk. We gotta keep moving ..."

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Two Ladies

2005-02-28T14:17:00.000-08:00

TWO LADIES

They used to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at two o´clock, and theirs was the quiet and delighting hour they spent together in the large parlor of the apartment on Atlantica avenue. The teacher was never late, so righteous and kind, bringing with her smiles and phrases from everyday life.

They spoke in English, since that´s what they were there for - the student wanted to practice the language. Soon into the beginning of each class a silent maid brought them coffee in small cups without interrupting the flow of conversation of precious stories. Their talks were pleasant, that was clear, phrases bringing up accounts, comments reinforcing memories that the short time did its best to cover ...

The teacher looked around her and rejoiced with the magnificent view of the sea offered by the large windows. Everything was ample, free to the looking, personal and beautiful. The grand piano held a dignified place in the room, imposing its importance to whomever saw it there. The teacher couldn´t help but imagine the music taking over the big parlor and then escaping through the open window, towards the sea.

The student watched the teacher, thinking of a distant time in the past when she used to work and follow schedules. She was not really young, the teacher, but she was certainly a woman of her time, as if she were part of a catalog of the year´s young ladies. She was always in fashion, clothes and hairdo, she had up-to-date words on her lips and seemed to live intensively the time of her life. The student was a bit frightened at the start when she confirmed the contrasts with herself, but soon she realized the convenience of such differences.

The student was a lonely woman, very rich, at peace, with solidly defined targets. She had a husband and two sons but never had anyone around, like it had been before. Her life was now isolated, serene, with no ups nor downs. No turbulences, she said of her life. She had even given up traveling. " I have traveled a lot," she told the teacher. Music was now her only companion in the big apartment.

The teacher of English was her most sincere link with the world. It was from her that she heard selected news, comments ever so spiced with updated remarks and all those stories about new events, parties and deliciously unimportant things. That´s what she liked the most. Nothing could be more interesting than the account of the little things that happened to a person who still had the need to face the world.

They used to read, too. Both of them were fond of literature and so they shared their favorite texts, discovering interesting passages and also finding out about themselves in the contexts.The teacher enjoyed listening to her student, her story, her marriage, the way she started her adult life. The time they had was not long but the two women, both so sensitive and intelligent, made it a valuable piece of time.

They seemed to study each other all the time. They reflected on their differences without the weight of envy or despise : a quiet contemplation was the tone of their atmosphere. Their main concern was the study of existence itself, and its universal characteristics. They respected each other in their different routes, one being rich and secluded and the other being in need of material (and emotional) stability.

The student still remembers the time lost in the past, the hours of so much chit-chat and so many stories. The teacher, in turn, keeps listening to the music filling the big parlor of the Atlantica avenue ...Could they have remained friends forever, or is it that life is like a patchwork quilt?...

...................................................................................................

Things I love

2005-02-23T17:19:00.000-08:00

Smell of coffee coming up the stairs from the kitchen, at seven in the morning. The idea of a breakfast table with bread, butter and jam , my cup and some cookies waiting for me …

Nanny smiling, looking up, trying to understand the beauty of the clouds …

My fifty-year-old son laughing so loud that I can hardly hear what the movie actors are saying …

A song that I used to know so well, that I liked so much, and now, what a surprise, they´re playing it on the radio …

A student who e-mailed to say that she would like to finish reading a book we had started discussing in class. She also says that she misses our chit-chats …

My younger son surprising me with his knowledge of philosophy …

Birds beginning to sing very early in the morning …

Dark clouds with a silver lining …

Chocolate icecream …

A friend who called just because he missed me…

Flowers in my garden …

BORN-AGAIN

2005-02-16T10:04:00.000-08:00

SHE WAS A BORN-AGAIN WOMAN

She was sensual indeed.A tall woman with a lovely face, the smile of a child, and, to make things contradictory, a big and well-shaped ass that made men turn their heads. Brazilians are always attentive to asses, as if they had a vital importance in their sexual performance, or maybe as if they could tell a woman by her ass. Well, she looked like she was born for pleasure and lust, unable to hide the enormous thighs that showed from under her clothes.

She smoked and drank a lot, and she used to go to cafes every day to be able to see people and talk to someone. Yes, she lived alone. She used to go to the beach in the morning, she used to ride her bycicle every day, but it was only at the cafes that she could talk and listen to people. I remember having heard her say that she sometimes spent two or three days having nobody to talk to. All right, you may say. She´s better off being pretty and desired, and what´s wrong with going to cafes to drink beer in Copacabana?

What was wrong, my friend, is that she was a born-again woman, loyal to extremes to the principles of her church. She drank a lot and smoked, too, but she was a devout Christian. She followed the commandments of her church with fervor and she kept up a strong belief in her faith. Drinking and smoking were her only sins. THE ONLY ONES. Simple? No. I´ll try to show how complicated it was.

Sitting at a table in a cafe, a glass of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she was the perfect magnet for a man who always showed up quickly, eager to start something he thought would end up having a happy ending. Her smile left him at ease, relaxed and inspired. The first phrases came spontaneously and easily as the smiles and the movement of the glasses. They both spoke continuously, a lively and intelligent conversation. Then, suddenly :
"-Do you believe in God?"
The question itself didn´t sound strange. It was a challenging matter and it might be the start for some interesting account, no more. No, it wasn´t.

The man answered as quickly as possible, trying not to go deep into the subject, but it always came back like a boomerang. There were new questions and confrontations to challenge his belief. He wondered if she was trying to test his intelligence, something like measuring his capability to express his thoughts and his knowledge. Why not? He tried for some time to respond to so many philosophical enquiries.

Suddenly, a bit tired for the effort made, he looked around him and noticed with surprise that nobody else shared the discussion. He could only see smiles and funny words in other people´s lips, and he questioned himself : "Wasn´t that what he was there for?" He looked at the woman in front of him and then at the others, in search of an explanation. He had to do something. He had lost himself in the heat of the conversation, but, of course, what he really wanted was to be with a beautiful woman and have a good time.

He tried to change the subject, but it was of no use. To his surprise she made it a question of honor to continue the discussion. He then imposed his right to give up the subject and talk about other things. That was certainly the moment when the situation turned serious. The man, whoever it was, never accepted the fact as it proved to be. There he was, at two or three in the morning, after many glasses of beer, facing a woman that he now did not recognize as the one he had seen smiling at the cafe. He thought it must have been his own fault; something was wrong, but he couldn´t reason - he was tired.

He then gave up the intelligent talk. He thought to himself that she was a hot woman and "the night was young". She had gotten up twice to go to the restroom and he had checked her beautiful ass and her magnificent thighs. Why, he had been involved in a silly discussion that would take him nowhere.It was time to take control of the situation, to make things become more pleasant ...
"-Let´s go somewhere else. This cafe is closing." The answer came quickly: "-Yes, let´s drink at the kiosk at the beach."

In the open air, looking at the starry sky and feeling the breeze from the sea, now a perfect atmosphere for quiet and romance, the man felt he now had command of the situation. "Time flies when you have good company ...It´s five o´clock now! Let´s get going. I live near here and I wouldn´t like to leave you. Let´s go to my apartment ...
"I wouldn´t go to bed with a man who was not my husband, linked to me by wedlock. If you´re thinking about sex, I would like to inform you that the angels don´t sing to the ears of those who make love without the Lord´s blessings ..."

He thought the sun was rising too fast. He was so tired, but he felt he could walk or maybe even bathe in the sea - he felt mentally tired, unable to understand things, unable to reason. The woman was in no hurry. She seemed renewed by the breaking of the day and ordered a new can of beer from the sleepy kiosk attendant.At the same time she tried to re-start the conversation. They were alone there, the first people beginning their early morning walk and a new day imposing its routine. Nobody ever saw the moment when the man finally left, whether depressed or not, revolted or not. And neither did anybody see her face, coming back home at 8 o´clock in the morning, ready for a good day´s sleep. She was a sensual, tall woman with the smile of a child and a magnificent ass ...

I´m back home!

2005-02-14T06:48:00.000-08:00

I´M BACK HOME!

I lived in Rio for ages, since I was five years old until recently, but I sometimes feel the need to fill my eyes with its immense beauty. That´s what Rio is – beautiful, very beautiful, so beautiful that it doesn´t demand too much from you : you just have to look at what nature granted the “cariocas” and feel the pleasant sensation of being there. If you ever go to Rio, don´t fuss too much here and there, trying to do many things . Just sit at a café on the boardwalk (there are many cafés) and stay there for hours , sensing the breese, the smell from the sea and the rhythm of people passing by … Forget what life is like, and try to learn new things from the new faces you can see near you.
I always talked about different subjects with my two sons, and, this time in Rio, being in Copacabana as usual, I remembered what one of them said one day. We were talking about a woman (a famous actress in Brasil) who had been his date the night before. When his brother asked him how she had performed sexually, he said that her beauty was good enough for him. That beauty can be so striking and satisfying that it becomes the pleasure in itself. Maybe I can compare Copacabana to a beautiful woman – there isn´t much to do other than going to the beach but you can be very happy, just being there.
I missed my blogger friends and my computer.(God, how can anybody live without writing?) and, most of all, I missed Mariana, the one I call Nanny, my one-year-old granddaughter. I was afraid she might have forgotten about me, but no, when she saw me she came to my arms at once and spent the whole day trying to make up for the lost time. Life is going on as usual, my son overworking, my grandson is going back to school … My dear Saturnyne, remember that we talked about him? He´s much better now, making plans and all. My mother used to say that time is the best medicine.
I´ll be busy now trying to sell my book, which is about Copacabana. I intend to publish here some of the stories, for you to have an idea and, at the same time, make your comments. A famous pop singer said that “a dream that you dream by yourself is only a dream that you dream by yourself, but a dream that you dream together with other people is reality.”

Life is long

2005-01-21T06:06:00.000-08:00

LIFE IS LONG

Who said life was short? I´m sure many people have already said so. Please don´t believe it, because it´s not true. My life is long and sometimes it seems to be endless, as if death would never come to put an end to it. Do we really die? I can´t be sure, after all I have lived. I don´t mind dying, but I thought I could trust the different stages of life, like you´re a child once, then you´re young and one day you´re an old person. I thought I could see myself living these stages in a distinct way, something like an actor who changes into different characters, but it´s definitely not like that.

I was born in a very small country town and my family moved to a big city when I was five years old. I still remember having to leave behind my belongings – some old toys and little things that I liked so much.

I went to school and found out about competition and individual differences. I didn´t think it was a good thing to be a child, and I didn´t like school. Rio de Janeiro was a city full of immigrants and therefore many different languages, with the second world war as a setback. Very interesting.

The war was over, I became a teenager and found out that life could be exciting if you listen to music and dance. I fell for some interesting young guys that I met at school and I hated strangers who stared at me on the street.

I met the one who was going to be my husband and he decided we should marry. He was attractive and so was the idea of having a house of my own – after some indecision I got married.

Lots of quarrels and shortage of money made our life difficult, but we had our two babies all the same. Doing the housework and taking care of them were things that I will never forget.

Having my two boys growing up was a lifetime in itself. I took them to school and I saw them discover everything, from music to geography or politics. I felt like renewing myself, looking through their eyes.

I always tried to work out, to do something for my living, as I didn´t trust the man who was my husband. I knew that one day I would be alone and happier. He sensed my desire to be free and did his best to stop me.

Then came the seventies, the pill, the need for sexual liberation, and I couldn´t stand it anymore. We all wanted freedom to build our new personalities. The world had changed a lot, we had changed too, a new context was necessary.

Beginning the eighties I didn´t know if I was young or old; some people told me I was old, but deep inside I refused to believe. I loved dancing, flirting, having sex and working too. Wasn´t that strange, being old when you look good and enjoy having fun?

My older son got married and I experienced the great joy of having grandchildren. They were the cutest things on earth, I loved them and I didn´t have to keep awake at nights or feed them.

I tried to live in a new city after my parents died, going to where my son lived. It was a good experience, you learn new things, of course, but after six years I decided that only Rio was home for me.

I found a steady job and worked hard. Making ends meet was not an easy task, but life was good. I used to work hard and still go out to dance and meet new people, I mean, men. I also got used to doing handicraft in my free hours, which became an important hobby for me.

I must mention that through all my life I went to the beach in Copacabana. It was more than just a habit, it was something that influenced my mood and my way of living. At least for one hour I sat in the sun and bathed in the sea. Copacabana happens to be an urban beach, so you can go there before work, after work if you prefer, or even in between.

A new century came, and there I was. Doing the same things, enjoying the same music and the same drinks. Am I not supposed to be old, now that I´m nearly seventy?

A funny thing happens nowadays. I feel much more capable, much more efficient than I was before. I can do my work more easily and help people when I talk to them. I never felt so much liked as I feel now.

A four-year-old grandson of mine died and the trauma made me lose sleep and suffer. I started feeling lonely and having nightmares. My work was still a consolation, but the other things were not the same. I started writing about Copacabana.

I decided to move to Brasilia, where I am now. My 18-year-old grandson needed me and I needed them. I have a quiet life in a beautiful house, surrounded by fruit trees and birds. I have more time to write, also.

Life in Brasilia is quite different for me. I intend to start to do some work, but I stay home most of the time, doing handicraft, writing, cooking and helping take care of my baby granddaughter. I like gardening, too, so I keep busy all the time. Is this being old? I don´t know for sure, but I´m certain that´s what people expect to see.

Yesterday an e-mail came to me that made me burst out laughing. The guy´s name was not known to me, so I read to check who it was. He said he had met me in Copacabana two years ago, we had had good moments together and he wanted to see me again! He also mentioned that I was a beautiful woman …

A last comment: How come? I´m seventy-two! This guy I´m talking about is 25 at the most. Will that be a new version of “Harold and Maude”? Is getting old complicated for everybody ? I was a quiet teenager, with no questions, but I don´t think I´ll be a quiet old woman with no problems. Domenico Mazzi, the Italian sociologist, says that you only get old two years before dying. How will I be able to know? Help me,if you can!

BEFORE HITTING THE ROAD

2004-12-26T13:43:00.000-08:00

BEFORE HITTING THE ROAD

If you´ve ever been to Búzios, all i have to say is that I´m going to spend two weeks there – that will be enough for you to understand that for some time I´ll be in paradise. If you haven´t, an explanation is required. Many years ago Buzios was a fishing village, a place that God made so beautiful that other people decided to take hold of it; it´s now a resort for people on holidays, but it´s still fantastic.

More than that, I´m going to spend some days in Rio de Janeiro before getting to Buzios and participate in the great New Years´s Eve celebration which is one of the most crowded in the world. I must say I don´t like crowds, but we have a new person in the family who hasn´t seen it yet. It´s so great an event that we´re eager to take her to see it personally.

Well, what I mean by announcing my trip is that I´ll probably write about it soon, unless nothing interesting comes up. You bet I will.

2004-12-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

I may be writing about Christmas because today is the day I settled to decorate the house with all the ornaments we already had and the ones we bought recently, planning to make the atmosphere a bit more vivid than the last years. It´s funny how your mood has a definite influence in your decoration for Christmas - Christmases I´ve had with no trees at all, some with many lights and colors and others with just a little golden angel on the door to greet neighbors who might take our moody disposition as an offense.

Christmas in Brazil happens to be in the Summer, when the temperature is high and everybody has already got a tan. What is worse, it´s the very beginning of Summer, which makes you feel like you´re getting ready for something, for a time of change. We go shopping wearing colorful clothes, most people showing off sensual bodies and a healthy attitude. Sex is in the air, I must say, wherever you go. More people go to cafés after work, to talk about how busy they are with their Christmas shopping. They pretend to exchange opinions and tips on where to buy things, they boast of where they´re going to travel right after Christmas, and, they also make new acquaintances more easily and more quickly. In fact, they allow themselves to be bolder and unprejudiced. This is Summer. Christmas just happens to be in the middle of it, restraining many people from doing what they feel like doing driven by the effects of the sun and the lively atmosphere. It´s a break in our attitudes, making us think about family, friends and morals. For about two weeks we live this dramatic contrast, and then, after New Year`s Eve, the quiet is over. The storm comes back with vacations, generally, or a continuation of Summer itself, with all its sensual factors. A sense of freedom usually prevails above other feelings in the month of January, as a strong determination to be happy, even if you just have a short time to do that.
A funny thing is the decoration itself, so influenced by the movies and magazines, and so on. We put up pine trees that emerge from snow (!) and we have our men dressed as Santas who can´t help but perspiring and longing for the moment they´ll be wearing their bermudas again ... Many people have, at least, changed their Christmas menu, but many others still buy those dry fruits which are so expensive and inadequate to our climate. It´s Christmas. It´s Brazil.

.

WHY?

2004-11-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

WHY?

The hot sun enhanced the shining golden bodies, the sea water was like a balsam that softened the heat stored in the skin and the sky, ah, the sky was so blue that it kept your eyes spellbound and made the beach a moment of collective joy. Dona Selma didn´t have to look around to see the scenery and the people. She just thought to herself how the beach had become a noisy, hectic place, a meeting point for talkative and, most of the time, drunken friends. Looking at the sea in front of her and, towards the horizon, the greatness of the sky and the mountains that outlined the bay with their sense of eternity, she considered the apparent inadequacy. So what? This is Copacabana, she thought, and this is the moment we´re living in now...

Most of the noise comes from the vendors, she thought. Iced tea, soft drinks, sandwiches, everything was being sold with bluster and repetition, as if people would not notice them. The yelling and the continuous walking of the vendors is part of the daily seaside routine. They sell everything : pizza, icecream, grilled cheese and clothes - there´s a kind of local fashion that you can only find on the beach. Only there can you find those fluttering articles of exotic colors that arouse your senses, not to mention the jewelry, delicate works of art displayed on the hands of beautiful girls. Dona Selma sometimes allowed herself to say that there were more salespeople than buyers.

Looking to her left in search of a girl who sold "pasteis", (dona Selma loves to eat the ones they sell on the beach) she saw something that was not at all ordinary - a woman who sold (believe it or not!) "parakeets". No, they were not real ones, nobody would want to imagine the cruelty of subjecting such delicate little birds to the horror of the hot January sun. They were little things made God knows how, of various colors and in great number. The woman used the frame of an umbrella as a carrier – with the cover taken off, her own head popped up among the colorful parakeets. It was not so near, but a cardboard sign could be read that said : 1 real.

Dona Selma couldn´t help thinking about the 1 real parakeets. Only a domestic production line could explain the low price. She imagined the humble house, away from the urban center and the whole family engaged in the manufacture of the parakeets. They had a base of very thin wire which was probably the task of a grandfather, for whom that was certainly easy to do. The body of the little bird was made of styrofoam, she guessed, and would have been made with the skills of a dressmaker, used to cutting and moulding so many other things. The painting required delicate , gifted hands – every family has a young girl with a taste for arts. The children would be in charge of taking away the waste generated by the speedy production.

Why did they think of selling the parakeets on the beach? Dona Selma decided the enterprise was absurd and fruitless. People buy icecream, sandwiches,suntan oil or similar things; they can buy handbags or clothes, but they don´t buy parakeets, not even for1 real. She imagined, realistically, the poor woman going back home with all those little birds. Just then she saw the creature detatch one of them from the others and hand it to a woman. Why, didn´t she manage to sell one? Why did that person make such a bizarre acquisition? She then followed the steps of the parakeet saleswoman, moving to a spot closer by and she verified, rather stunned, that the saleswoman was very busy selling parakeets to several other women buyers who, in most cases, even came back for more than one. This was too much. Dona Selma got up from her comfortable chair and went closer to have a good look at the little birds. They were simple, yes, but beautiful all the same, so light and colorful. She noticed their tiny eyes, so small that she couldn´t imagine who in the family would have been able to stick them on with such delicacy. The woman sold them with authority. “- Take the yellow one,” she said. “It´s the most attractive color.” Dona Selma reacted :”- By no means. Blue is my favorite color,” and went for the 1 real coin.

She went back home holding the parakeet, uneasily, for she couldn´t place it in her bag. It would probably be crumpled amongst the other things and might lose its little eye. Getting home, dona Selma looked round several times before she found a place for the parakeet. The simple truth was that there was nowhere to hang it properly – the blue parakeet just joined some other objects that she simply didn´t have any space or purpose for.

Dona Selma, poor thing, often finds herself thinking of why somebody buys a plastic parakeet when she doesn´t even have room for it. She had already read about the power of advertising, about the choice of brands, and the fact that we always select what is in our conscious mind. She didn´t understand it. No, she didn´t regret it – she could identify with the blue parakeet, so inadequate and lacking a place to be put. It was now part of her scenery. But what about all those women who bought yellow, green, blue and red parakeets, where are they putting their parakeets now? And why?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Being a writer

2004-11-17T02:07:00.000-08:00

BEING A WRITER

I still remember a famous journalist we had once here, in Brazil. She had a column in a newspaper where she wrote very good articles and she often made her articles the answers to readers who addressed to her in search of advice. One of these was an answer to a person who asked her about his or her possibilities as to being a writer. The article was called "The Message" and I cut it out and kept it for so many years that the paper became yellow. Of course it had been written for me, too. I used to read it every time I needed encouragement, every time I found that the time would never come when I would be able to write something good. ( By the way, what is good?)

She said that everybody has a message to deliver. Some people do it through their work, like painters and singers. Even people who are not artists, like waiters, doctors, nurses and so many others are in fact delivering a message. What makes a person a writer is the fact that he (or she) is not satisfied with what he (or she) does. It´s simply not enough.Writers are people who may have a happy family, a pleasant work to do, a successful career to pursue, but still need to write. She said that if everything is all right, if all the others are sleeping quietly and you just "have to" sit at your computer and write, then you´re a writer.

She ended her article saying that it was important to develop the tool writers use, which is the knowledge of the language. And practicing. And living.

THE WALL

2004-11-10T14:57:00.000-08:00

THE WALL

There are many things I haven´t done. Many things that I haven´t seen yet, or will never see. You can´t have it all, that´s what I say , trying to convince myself that I´m not worse than other people just because it seems to me that everything happens so quickly nowadays. There have been so many movies, important ones, that I missed to see. There are places, obviously famous, that I haven´t visited. There is so much music, good one, that I haven´t had the chance to listen, and so many people whom I would like to have met …

No, I don´t intend to catch up with all these things. Or some of them. You do with your time what you think you should do, and that´s it. Maybe I´ve spent most of my time doing nothing, which is supposed to be healthily creative. A bit too late for judging or regreting. So what´s all this fuss about? I´ll tell you.

It happened last Sunday, when my grandson insisted for the third time that I should see a video. I finally said OK, I´ll watch some of it, because I don´t have time to see it all.(Why? I don´t know the answer) I sat on the couch and started watching “The wall” (Pink Floyd). Well, I couldn´t get up from my seat until the end. It was one of the most beautiful and yet sad things I´ve ever seen. The fact that the movie is so updated, so true, so “here and now” struck me like nothing else had done before. I then thought of talking about it. If you have seen it, see it again – you probably need it, you can´t forget about it. If, by any chance, you haven´t had the opportunity, please do. Make it happen. See it now, or maybe tomorrow – don´t miss it.

IT´S RAINING AGAIN

2004-10-27T03:47:00.000-07:00

IT´S RAINING AGAIN

After a draught that made our throats hurt and our eyes long for something wet, something less bright than those clear sunny days, the rains have come. The grass is proudly green, so green that you think it has been painted by some crazy entity during our sleep. The fruit trees show off their great number of leaves and blossons; the fruits already in course have gained weight and shape, like women who became pregnant. The birds seem to be very busy, flying here and there, changing their places and types of food. Nature is vigorous, renewed and stronger than before.

What about me? What do I need to feel renewed and stronger? And what is it that makes me feel so small and unimportant? I should be happy and gay, now that I don´t have to complain of the desertlike atmosphere. I should be starting projects, having new ideas, filling my days with optimistic thoughts, but I´m not. I try to look inside me, and all I can see is a melancholic scenery of nothingness. I feel like … waiting. Wait for what? I don´t know, I just know that I have to wait. I think it´s raining inside of me, too; that´s why I have to wait . Wait for the rain to wash down the false hopes, the exaggerated optimism caused by the brightness of the clear days with beautiful sunrises … Then I´ll probably be ready for real life.

Who´s going to do it?

2004-10-14T19:47:00.000-07:00

Who´s going to do it?

Reading Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, was a good surprise for me. First of all, the name sounded like the monster´s name, not the cientist, I mean, I thought Frankenstein was the monster. And then the fact that the monster was at first a creature in search of love who became a monster because everybody rejected his ugly appearance. All this was new to me. I had seen the monster so many times in movies, killing and frightening people, that I could never conceive his painful existence.

Mary Shelley herself is a strong character, being the wife of a famous writer who became eternal, after all, for being her husband. She must have been special, sensitive and clever. The book made me think of many things, like inadequacy, prejudice, loneliness, but it led me to some odd reflections on Mary Shelley´s intentions. Strange or absurd as it may seem, I think that she didn´t tell the true story of doctor Frankenstein, or maybe she did, in a symbolic way. She described sensations and feelings that were the most important things in the story and disguised the situations that wouldn´t count. I dare say that she did it on purpose, leaving the true story for some to understand, not for all. Or maybe she couldn´t even do it, at that time.

Frankenstein was gay, he was in love with his school friend, (remember that the guy´s father didn´t allow him to go to college with Frankenstein when he left home?), he never really cared about Elizabeth because he didn´t love her , and, in my opinion, the monster was a symbol of his struggle against the current prejudice of his time. If you take a good look at the story you can see that everything fits.

I think the story could be re-written, just as an exercise, just to honor Mary Shelley´s memory and importance and to demonstrate that we got the message. Who´s going to do it? Who´s going to hang the bell …?

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

2004-09-30T19:14:00.000-07:00

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

That´s how old he is. Tall, slim, not different from the others on what concerns to appearance. He doesn´t talk much - in fact, he doesn´t talk. He just does what he seems to think is extremely necessary. He embraces me when we meet, kisses me very lightly but slowly, as to reinforce what he´s doing. He always answers my questions with a smile to follow his voice, maybe worried about his own speech.

He lives alone with his own family. He never does what the others are doing or intend to do; it´s no use to invite him for this or for that - he´ll always say no. He watches movies that he doesn´t seem to enjoy and he reads books that most people wouldn´t feel like reading - philosophy, religion, yoga ... He also draws pictures of strange characters, prophets maybe of a different world. When he writes, he writes stories of worlds that end and a God who comes to start something new. He listens to music, too. Sometimes he plays the guitar, although with less frequency than he used to. And he prays many times a day, unaware of where he is or what people may think.

The fact that he´s not going to school doesn´t worry me. I know he´ll have plenty of time to study and, besides, I don´t think much of schools.But my heart sinks when I think of his own history - playing with his toys, apart from what happened in his house, his father coming home drunk and aggressive, his sister and mother so afraid, when he was a kid. At that time he didn´t seem to be affected by the problems - he just played with his toys.

Now , everybody does what they´re supposed to do - they go to school, they date, they make friends, etc and he ... he plays with his toys, I think. Maybe I shouldn´t be talking about this, it´s nobody´business, but I can´t help it. I can´t keep it all for myself, it´s just too heavy and too sad. Especially when he happens to say what he said yesterday: -"Grandma, won´t you come over one of these days and tell us some of your stories?"

THE SWEET AND THE SOUR

2004-09-20T14:35:00.001-07:00

THE SWEET AND THE SOUR

When Bryan said to David - "I know the sour, which allows me to appreciate the sweet", he was trying to show him a contrast in their lives. Remember the movie? Vanilla Sky, of course. I like the script of this movie so much that sometimes I keep thinking of those statements, like this sweet and sour thing, for example.

Everybody knows there´s a great distance between the sweet ------------------- and the sour. But, how far is it? What about the variations? Very sweet, sweet, less sweet ----- a bit sour, sour, too sour. No, I´m not kidding. The sensations we experience are like that, somehow, with a wide range to cover. Besides, who can measure them?

Something very important too is how we feel them. An icecream could be the sweet when I was six. A dance that my father didn´t allow me to go could be the sour when I was 15. Later the sweet became more scarce, not because I was too demanding, but because people didn´t want to be happy. The sour then showed more often, most people trying to make it frequent in my routine.

I never gave up the sweet, and, believe me, I know the sour. If you enjoy living you can always find the sweet in many things. What about you? What is the sweet for you and what is the sour?

YOU TALK TOO MUCH

2004-09-17T13:19:00.000-07:00

YOU TALK TOO MUCH

Does anybody have a friend who talks too much? I believe we all do, at least one, but if you don´t have any you probably have no idea of how uncomfortable it is to relate to them. They´re the kind of people you never call on the phone - if you must talk to them, you simply delay your call, you never do it, because just answering their calls is already the greatest punishment you can bear.

A friend of mine is exactly the kind I´m talking about. When I answer the phone and I hear her voice asking me how I am, I feel like I took the wrong rocket to a faraway planet where I won´t have a ghost of a chance to be back before Christmas. After she asks me how I am, which I can answer in a few words,nothing else will I be able to say, except for some ohs, and ahs, and maybe hum-hum. And she talks about people I never saw or have any desire to see; she puts me uptodate with her family problems, all of them, it seems to me, and she also , out of politeness, favors me with some comments about my own family.

I do try to hang up, I know there´s always something we can do, something we can say, but ... who can say it? It usually takes me one hour to be able to say -"Sorry, I can´t talk at the moment." Different thoughts and feelings occur to me during these agonies. Sometimes I pity her - a person nobody wants to talk to; it must be terrible. Sometimes I hate her for being so harmful. Yes, harmful. And I also think of the people who "have" to talk with her - her son, her sisters and nieces ... I don´t know. Maybe they don´t. Maybe they have found a way to get rid of her.

IT´S SPRING!

2004-09-13T09:32:00.000-07:00

IT´S SPRING!
Brazil is a tropical country; I´m not sure you know what it means. Well, it means that it´s NEVER too cold or uncomfortable to go out. Every child is taught about the four seasons, but they are so similar (the seasons) that you can hardly tell one from the others. Summer is usually TOO hot and Winter is never really cold. Spring is a good time for planting - I know that because I have a garden, but people who live in apartments don´t take notice of being Spring or not. As to FALL, I never recognized it in my country.
But then you may say: -"Oh, New York is also very hot in the Summer, and the same thing happens in many towns in Italy. It´s hot in Summer, you can´t help it, so what? What makes your country different and so "tropical"?
I know it´s not polite to answer a question with another question, but let me ask you one thing: -How long does Summer last in your country? I don´t know exactly, especially because I don´t know where you are, but in Brazil it lasts much more ... It can be very hot here for six months in succession, and then change for a little less hot during about three or four months. When is it a little cold? A few days. And when is it very cold? Never. This is possibly a good definition for a tropical country.
It´s hot now. We´re having beautiful weather and we´re wearing shorts and colorful clothes. We drink iced beer and talk at the cafés. It´s Spring!

INDEPENDENCE DAY

2004-09-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

INDEPENDENCE DAY
Yes, it´s Independence Day here in my country. It´s a beautiful day, the sky is so blue, the sun is hot, you are not going to work (it´s a holiday, of course), so you invite friends to join you for lunch and drinks around the pool.Watching the morning news on TV makes you sad and revolted. So many children dying in Russia just because some people can be so cruel and stupid. It makes you think that we´re living World War 3, which is worse than the previous ones, because innocent people are killed. Instead of trained soldiers, they aim at children and working people.I feel like crying, but I have to cook lunch. Soon my folks will be here and I´ll probably get better keeping busy in the kitchen. My son suggested some pasta with spinach cream - it´s a good idea. Then I look at the sky that is painfully blue ... Oh, my God, why? I know I´ll be better in a moment. But the moment is not now. I need to cry ...

THE RIGHT GUY

2004-08-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

THE RIGHT GUY

I will never forget the day I met him. I was sitting at a café in Copacabana, having beer and trying to have some fun. It was one of those summer evenings when you just "have" to go out, otherwise you feel like you´re not living. My friends were laughing at something when I noticed the three men.

Two of them were staring at me, smiling as if they had found what they had been looking for. Five minutes later the waiter brought me a message, something silly saying they wanted to talk to me. I hated it from the very beginning. Why me? Why not one of the other girls at my table? I knew the answer, and it made me sick. They were probably a bit heavier than the stereotype they always pursued. I had the measures, the right outfit, I was the prototype.

Why do people need to act so obvious? Why don´t they allow themselves the right to discover, the capacity of inventing, of being different, maybe? My girl friends were, by the way, very interesting people, the kind of people who have something to say.

Later on I had to go to the restroom, and one of them grabbed me by the arm when I passed. They introduced themselves and, trying to be nice, invited me to a disco that was the hit of the moment.I just watched, recalling my previous thoughts. Only then I noticed that one of them was not trying to be persuasive, was not insisting, was just waiting, as if he himself was sorry for what was happening. He seemed, in fact, to be eager to re-take some conversation they might have been having before I passed them. He was different. He was not interested in a girl for her right measures. Suddenly, I heard myself saying: -“Yes, I´ll go if Daniel goes.” Daniel was his name.

The disco was crowded, the music playing loud as usual, too much smoke in the air and many people dancing. We sat at a small table, Daniel and I, had our drinks, smoked, danced and kissed. I must confess I was eager to find out some more about him.

I remember one moment when he said: -“I can´t see you. “ Of course he couldn´t see me very well. In the darkness of the disco one couldn´t tell the color of your eyes or the shape of your lips. A bit intoxicated by the drinks, the cigarettes and the heavy atmosphere, we then left for my apartment. We had moments of warm sex and little talk. We were both too tired.

In the morning, near the window of my small apartment, he took my arm and said again : -“I can´t see you.” I couldn´t understand, but he explained: -“I´m blind.”

.....................................................................................................

woman in the well

2004-08-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

Mariana is still sick. Is the world moving? I thought everything had stopped. I don´t know very well what´s going on outside, but I know that here in Brasilia it´s very hot and too dry. It´s so dry that sometimes you feel like drinking buckets of water. You can´t, so just have a glass of it.
Why is so complicated to cure a baby that is sick? The days are beautiful now, but they are too bright and too blue. You simply don´t know what to do with them. What do we do with blue skies and too much luminosity?
No, I had no drinks, except water. By the way, where is tomorrow? I need it.ref="http://yesmydear.blogspot.com/">woman in the well

Too busy

2004-08-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

I ´ve been too busy the last few days; I couldn´t write a word or even think about it. And when I finished what I had to do, Mariana surprised me with a very high fever.
It´s something hard to understand that such a delicate and lovely new person of only seven months of age can have high fever ,,, And feel so badly, so out of this world.
She´s sleeping now, resting, and I hope the fever has ceased for good. She can´t speak yet, but I try to guess every signal from her. I´m going to have some rest, too. Hush ...

Things I miss

2004-08-07T14:43:00.000-07:00

THINGS I MISS

Today I found myself thinking of the things I miss , things that I can´t have now, simple things that I used to have in Rio. Yes, Rio de Janeiro, the city where I lived most of my life.
First of all, the smell from the sea, together with the breese that seemed part of it.
Then the iced beer that rolled down my throat like a balsam.
The beat of "pandeiros" and little drums played by popular musicians.
The young people who passed, making you think that the whole world is young and beautiful. And happy.
The old people who walk along the beach, tanned and vigorous, showing their sense of opportunity.
The calls from friends, always asking - "What the hell are you doing at home on a Friday night?"

All right, I won´t cry.

MAKING THINGS HAPPEN

2004-08-01T15:27:00.000-07:00

MAKING THINGS HAPPEN

A good friend of mine has just e-mailed to tell that she´s going to leave the country to do a yatch-master course and start a new kind of life, taking boats to places and, most of all, earning her living in an adventurous way.
I feel happy for her. Why do so many people live a lifetime doing the same old thing, even if they don´t like it, just because they think they can´t change it? That´s something I´ll never understand.
Living is a miracle in itself. It´s something so great and so intense that we cannot imprison within our fears. It´s too beautiful a planet we live on. Why not enjoy it? Why not discover our own potential in sharing with the rest of the world? Let´s all sail, if not in a boat, but in our thoughts, in our words, in our attitude ...
Goodbye, Katie. Be happy. The world will never be too big for you, because your soul can reach the stars.

DRIVING AGAIN

2004-07-23T09:21:00.001-07:00

          DRIVING AGAIN

     Once I thought I would never drive a car again. I had gone back to Rio, where I didn´t really need a car, with so many buses and so much danger when you´re driving. Fourteen years later, fourteen years older too, here I am, coming back to Brasilia, a city where everybody needs a car.
      At first I was insecure about my driving skills. What happens when you´re over sixty and you haven´t been using those skills for 14 years? “I have to renew my driving license”, I claimed, trying to gain time. I needed to take a breath before facing the traffic and the new roads. To tell you the truth, I only had time for a short breath – renewing the license was a quick action and then there I was behind the wheel, having my granddaughter in the back seat. Just the thought of my precious passenger made me tense and a bit afraid. It was too much of a responsibility for an unexperienced elderly driver.
      Then, just like magic, it happened. After a short prayer I found myself driving the car, using my hands and feet as if they were the ones who knew how to do it. It was a strange experience. I didn´t have to think. My hands and feet did the job, and my eyes helped them, watching attentively, of course.
      I expect to drive better and better – “practice makes perfect”, but for now, I feel I was able to overcome a challenge . Very good for a grandmother.

Twelve years ago

2004-07-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

TWELVE YEARS AGO

Yes, it was twelve years ago, when I visited Rio and decided to call Noemia. Rio de Janeiro is a wonderful city – you go to the beach in the morning and feel like doing things for the rest of the day. The hot sun and the sea water influence your spirits in a way that you just keep moving, eager to enjoy whatever possible.
“- Noemia, my dear, how are things?”
“- Not very well. You see, I lost my job, I`m not a qualified professional, as you know, so it´s not easy for me to find a new one. But it´s wonderful to hear from you! Are you in Rio?”
“-Yes, I just came for a few days.
“-Really? What have you been doing?”
“- I´ve been going to the beach , to restaurants ...
“-We should meet for a drink, maybe a nice place to dance. I know one which is fabulous ...

We did. The place was nice, the music was superb. The middle-aged gentleman at a table next to us invited me to dance and in a few seconds was telling me about his recent misfortune: his wife had died and left him alone after a twenty-four-year old marriage. I saw my beer getting warm at the table and gained courage to interrupt him.(I´m not usually a bad listener, but I hate warm beer) Then he invited Noemia for a dance. For a long time they danced and talked, I mean, he talked. I could guess Noemia learned everything about him during their walk on the dance floor. Back at the table, they continued their acquaintance sipping their drinks and dancing a bit more, my friend listening quietly as if she were the older person. I could never understand how Noemia could be so patient and quiet, never in a hurry to live and let live.When we said goodbye I took a taxi to my hotel and saw the gentleman was giving Noemia a ride.

The next day we talked:
“-Did he take you home?”
“-Well, no, he took me to his home.”
“-Oh, so now you´re back to your apartment.”
“-Just to pick my things. He invited me for the weekend; he´s a nice person, and what am I going to do here, just thinking about the bills I have to pay?”

After my trip, back in Brasilia, engaging into my work routine, I heard from her.
“-I had to tell you the news.”
“- You got a job!”
“-No. Walter and I are living together. He´s such a nice person, he said I don´t have to worry about money anymore. He even paid my debts!”
“-That sounds really good.”

A few days ago, twelve years later, Noemia called.
“-It´s been a long time, Noemia! How are things?”
“-Well, Walter died. He was a good man, he helped me in everything. I miss him.”
“-Yes, but now you must face things and think of your future ...”
“-That´s the problem. Walter left me some money, he even tried to teach me how to use it, but I spent everything gambling at the Bingo casino. I guess I felt lonely and sad after his death, that´s why. He would die again if he knew what I did with the money he left me.
“-I feel sorry about it, but now, Noemia, it´s no use to cry over it ...
“- It´s easier said than done, my dear.”
“-Look, I´m going to Rio this weekend. We can meet and maybe, who knows, I can help you to think it over.
“- That´s very good. You just can´t imagine how happy I am to know that you´ll be here in a few days. We can go out together, listen to some good music.I know a fabulous place where we can go to have a drink and dance ...

.
..............................................................................................................................................

IMPOSSIBLE LOVE

2004-07-14T16:52:00.000-07:00

IMPOSSIBLE LOVE

The last night will fall upon us,

And we´ll be just shadows, nothing more ...

I´ll find you among the others

And you´ll see me in the dark.

We´ll embrace tenderly for long,

And no words will be said in the end.

Silently our love will rest

Because we´ll be just shadows, nothing more ...

STILL ABOUT GETTING OLD

2004-07-13T05:58:00.000-07:00

You know you´re getting old when ...

Men are not insisting to buy you a drink.

Your son calls everyday and asks: "You sure you´re well?"

An old friend asks: "Do you still work?"

Your hairdresser doesn´t ask about your affairs.

The saleswoman recommends larger dresses.

Etc etc etc etc etc

Being young, being old

2004-07-09T03:29:00.000-07:00

this morning I was taking a look at my clothes hanging in the closet when the question suddenly came up as a complaint: "Why do we have to behave old if we don´t feel old? Why do we have to be "conservative" in appearance, as if trying to hide our imperfection? why do we have to be so different?"

The greatest difference between being young and being old is not what you do, but what people do to you. In this particular case society demands too much from us, especially if we´re healthy and willing to live. I´m sure there are millions of people who would like to act young, wearing the same clothes, going to the same places, listening to the same music, having the same drinks, making the same mistakes ...

Things change, all right. They do. New trends appear in the market, with new material, different fabric; unthinkable ideas are put into action to make people live better and happier; concepts once thought eternal fall down like sand castels ... But not for us. Oh, ok, some of them can be shared by young and old. Some. About 80% of them cannot. Other people would say we´re "ridiculous" or "inadequate". Old people must look virtuous full time. And wise, too. And, most of all, very reserved.