Monthly Archives: May 2012

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…corcovado…

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A visit to Rio would not be complete without seeing a few
of the tourist spots.  Rio itself is a year’s viewing, but since
that’s more than I had, Alcir saw to it that I enjoyed that
Huge Guanabara Bay, 15 x 16 Miles, with scores of islands,
and the ferrys going to what they call Downtown Rio, and
what I called Mainland Rio…

Alcir had a theory that the Bay is a splash up from a giant
volcano… tossing up all those lumps that are so familiar
to us in pictures of Rio… a geological phenomenon that would
seem to be somewhat repeated on the NorCal Coast where I
used to live… although certainly not as massive or spectacular.

Corcovado is one of those hills behind and above Rio, and
back in 1931, they built the Concrete Christ, Cristo Redentor,
and at nearly 100 feet, the mass of it alone is rather awesome.
The day we visited it, his head was in the clouds.

Researching it, it sits on a base that adds 30 ft to the height,
but still it’s not as large as the Statue of Liberty, and dozens of
Jesuses and Buddhas and Quan Yins all over the world.
Still, in the presence of it, at the feet of it, and realizing the bulk
the mass, the scale…. quite wonderful.

A little side note:  it was recently voted to be one of the
New Seven Wonders of the World…

One of the other ‘Musts’ was Pao d’Azucar, what we call in the
States ‘Sugar Loaf’, and the whole experience of traveling on the
trams along steel cables, to the top of the largest of those Lumps
in the Bay… well that’s another day and another story.

 

 

by

…getting to know you…

One really amusing aspect of this visit with V was to
watch the two of them romp and kibbitz.
They were terribly in love with the reflection of each in
the other, and I was truly content to be amused by the show,
and to see this fierce warrior as a tender father was
a beautiful gift.

The photos I share here are but a fraction of the film I spent
on their interactions.  She was Made for the camera, and
if you add watching Lots of Novellas (soap operas) on TV,
Plus…if you’ve ever seen the Carnaval Queens of Rio, you
might consider the images that children there see every day.
Glamorous, gorgeous, and very comfortable in their bodies
…well, I guess you have the makings of a star….

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She and I spent the first couple days sharing and comparing
words.  I have pages in my journal of her numbers and letters,
and lots of things in Portuguese and English.

We had fun, and laughed some.  We would point to things, and
then we would teach eachother the language we each knew.
She spoke no English, which surprised me actually.  Alcir was
so conversant, but then again, the mother didn’t speak English.

While I was there, he would only speak English, as he was
excited to be practicing it again.
I knew some Portuguese, but couldn’t carry on conversations.
In particular we worked on pronunciation, for each language
has sounds that are not used in the other.
It was funny on both sides, and we laughed at eachother’s
attempts and tongue twisters.

It was lovely sitting out on the steps in the sunshine and breezes,
and making our little baby steps towards eachother.
She loved watching me paint with my watercolors, and
tried some herself.

But Alcir had his warnings for me….
“Watch out,” he shared.  “She’ll be nice at first…”

We took a little drive, after much coaxing by both of us girls,
up to Corcovado, the rolling mountain top where sits
the Concrete Christ, way above the downtown city of Rio.

The enormity just doesn’t get to you til you stand at the feet
of that amazing statue.
The day was overcast, and his head was in the clouds.

They were also in the midst of repairs, likely sort of like the
San Fran Bridge, where it just keeps going on in one manner
or another, constantly, and the drapery and fencing just
added to the surreal scene.

During this  visit with V, I came down with a terrible
fever, and although I was frightened, it turned out to be a
really bad bladder and kidney infection.

I remember his large warm hand on my forehead, checking
me often, as in dilerium, I was carried inside and tended to.
Chills came and went, deep shivering and heavy sweats,
and the comforting energy he gave me with his concern
stayed with me.
Beyond that, the only positive thing was the loss of five
pounds, which actually were helpful in adjusting to the
humid summer heat.

I think it was 9 or 10 days that she stayed, and during that time
there would be no intimacy between the two of us.
We had only had four days alone, our honeymoon time.

She began getting dramatic.  Very dramatic.
She would go visit Aunt Maria, eat sugary things, and
watch the Novellas.
Her father wouldn’t let her watch them here.
Then, when she would walk in and find us close together,
holding hands or cuddling, she would sigh loudly,
turn and stomp away.

One day the child Raged all day.
Every moment was consumed by her, nothing was enough.
Pai!  Pai!   Pai….!
Once she did her stomp away to Maria’s, and Alcir followed.
When he returned he was both angry and laughing.

“Oh Good Lord!” …he shook his head.
“She has thrown herself on the bed, and she is
pounding the mattress with her fists screaming…
…..WHY ..WHY … WHY….!”

journal continues… it’s Sunday

“She is doing a little better in general, doing her best to accept
something she can’t compete with…. or kill……….
….V goes home Tues or Wed. “

by

…the truth…

Sometimes I wonder what you out there think, about
what I’m doing here.  I mean, maybe some of you wonder
just What this Brasilian might think about all of this…

First of all, let me say that This is the Truth, the Whole
Truth, and pretty much Nothing But the Truth.
At least the Truth as I know it.

Then again, the producer Robert Evans said
something that is one of my very favorite quotes…

“Every Story has three sides…. My side, Your side,
and the Truth.  And no one is lying.
Memories shared serve each differently.”

And this is never more true than when it comes to love.

But that being said, there is another truth
I’d like to share…
He always wanted his story told.  He asked me often,
and there were even times when we began writing it.

He said maybe the title should be
‘The Man Who Wouldn’t Die’
The only difference is that this time, it’s My story.

A Little PS to the Man…. just in case You are out there
listening, if you see something that bothers you, that
you don’t like, or see that isn’t true…. Please tell me.

 

 

by

…the visit…

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I didn’t write much of anything while V was with us.
There was so much intensity, so much to take in and feel.

So much attention to pay, and things to learn.  This was the only
child he had really given himself to.  As is frequently the case with
men, when they are young they do not allow themselves to get as
involved in child rearing as they do when they have matured, and
I knew by the pictures in the drawer and on the wall that he had
indeed been very involved.  It was a beautiful thing to see.

When his girlfriend got pregnant, Alcir was very happy, and began
his quest for a healthy child, by enforcing rules upon her.
He told me that he made her eat her broosel sprouts, and
made her stop smoking and drinking.

From what I could glean, they had already split up and made up many
times, so I’m sure there was a lot of adjustment going on on both sides.

_____________

Journal, February 2005…

“He told me that when he introduced his woman to his grandmother,
later she told him..
“She loves you, yes, but she loves you because
of what your penis does.
Later on, when you turn to her she will not be there.”

This was the grandmother who was the only one really There for him,
and did her best to support him, while witnessing the abuse that
he suffered every day from the father and mother.

He says V’s mother hated him for taking care of her
during the pregnancy.

“I made her eat her vegetables, wouldn’t let her smoke.
Not for her, but for what she was building inside of her.
That was mine, and I wanted my daughter to be strong
and intelligent.
This was not Hers… it was Ours. ” ”
_______________

She gazed at the tiny snapshot of the boy.  Such innocence,
such beauty.  Perfect symmetry, those wrap around eyes,
a pure, sweet baby.
And here was that little boy’s picture, overlaid with one
of little V.

The photos of them, his face glowing with pride and
complete satisfaction… these pictures amazed me.
To see this man I knew as a fierce warrior, now a tender father
caring for his child was a beautiful side, and I was fascinated.
There were faces there I had never seen before.

It was at a tender age that he began to turn;  he was constantly
in trouble in school, couldn’t sit still or be quiet.
He was beaten, and punished on a daily basis, and emotionally
abused as well, frequently in public.
I know they did it out of ignorance and stupidity…
but…what a travesty.

ADHD or not, the sort of Hatred that was heaped on him, because
his mother never wanted a child in the first place, was
unforgivable in my mind.
They also may have been embarassed in front of family and friends,
by his inability to behave and fit in, and the trouble at school.

They knew nothing about ADHD brain chemistry in those days, and
well I know it, for my brother is close to his age, and is ADHD too.
And as well, and this is really strange, both he and my brother
were left handed, and both mothers made them go Right.
I thoroughly believe this made things even more difficult.

“All I wanted was kisses from the mother,” he said.
” Kisses and holdings….
But the same mouth that kissed, that same mouth punished me
with hatred, told me I was worthless.
I was hated by them because they said I was the most intelligent
in the family.  The Most Intelligent! and all she wanted was to turn
me into a faggot.  She could control me if I was a faggot.
She couldn’t control me as I was, and she hated me for that. ”

This small room which served as living room and bedroom contained
only things of and about Him.  The only one else present, in the form
of photos, was his daughter, who was now eight years.

The rest of his life was in a drawer, and I did look at the pictures
now and then, when he was gone…. of course I did.
But I could not find one picture of the mothers…. his Or V’s.
I wanted, nay, needed, to understand just what it was that
made up this man.

So it’s Birthday Day, a day of delight for him, we picked up V,                                                   and the three of us went out to a wonderful dinner….
a very fancy family restaurant, where the waiters bring out
huge slabs of beef, and slice it in front of you, as much as you want.
This was my gift to him… dinner and his new Raybans,
which he wore with pride.

When we came home, there was romping and play with the two
of them, and I happily sat back, doing my part by taking
scores of pics, and thoroughly enjoying the cloud of
wild abandon between them.

That night, we all slept together on the simple bed we’d made on
the floor, and I let her take possession of her father.

She lay in his arms, between the two of us, arms and legs wrapping
up any thought that another might join in.
Little puffs of soft, light green jealousy clouds floated up
now and then, and from both sides.

 

 

by

…greener grass…

 “A man chooses a great woman as part of a Spiritual journey
to bump up to a higher level.  A great woman is the inspiration.
If a man chooses a lesser woman for lower chakra reasons…
ie.. casual sex for example, he does not want to do the work
required to shift his consciousness into being a great man.
You can always see the character of the man by the woman
he chooses.  We live in a throw away society.  Most don’t want
to work hard to grow, when the grass is always greener…”
~ John Dean
by

…the hero…

Ayn Rand is not someone I was familiar with.
I had heard of her of course.  And I was aware that
her writing was important.
But I never read anything of hers.

“The Passion of Ayn Rand”, brilliantly played by Helen Mirren,
convinced me that I need to start reading, especially since
a core in her writings refers directly to the heroic character
that plays the lead in my book.

“Are you happy?” she asked in the film.
“You’re a heroic being.
It is the moral purpose of your life.
And the man must have the woman who reflects
his deepest vision of himself,
and in her surrender is his deepest happiness…”
“and the woman?” asked her friend.
“…the woman must worship the hero.”

I remember so many years ago, when I’d first known him…
I asked him that very question…
“What do you want?”
“To be happy.”
“What makes you happy?”
“I don’t know”…but still, his soul knew that was his purpose.
And I knew my purpose for him when, without a thought,
I asked   …”How’s your spiritual life?”

Love for me has always only felt right with surrender.
And the ultimate high is complete surrender.
How her words struck home.

“I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient,
consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.” said Carrie …

I was dealing with a genius with such high ideals, vast education,
and with the physical prowess and unique gifts to accomplish
whatever it was he came here for.  And he knew it.

He knew he had a bigger purpose, and deeply desired to fulfill it.
The feeling that I was there to be the One who really Saw him,
perhaps the first one… and that by my presence I might encourage
and affect the course of this truly heroic being …
Intoxicating.

A purpose beyond me, bigger than me.
Failure never entered my mind, really.
I knew it was bigger than the two.
It was something beyond, that had to be acted out,
in order for some larger picture to coalesce.

There was no doubt.  The compelling conviction lingered
much too long to be anything less than something beyond us.

I still don’t know what the effect or purpose was and is,
but I think for now it just can’t be known.
Something shifted, something altered.
But we are not perfect, and our actions were not always perfect…
or perhaps…
Perhaps they were, and it’s just that we can’t see it yet.

Some heroic dance being enacted, imparting a feeling of
eternity for both, a role being played out greater than either,
something beyond the day, the moment,
beyond the persons themselves.

This was and is the conviction of some sort of
ultimate truth between us.

My fulfillment was the part I was playing in bringing out and
seeing clearly his heroic dreams, his path of righteousness,
the pieces in him that were the truth,
the best elements of his very core.

Holding him to the course the true north, embodying that,
as in the Poem he sent to me; this challenged me to a new
height of My truth.

My search for something larger than myself was just that… holding
to that north that was his vision, what he’d been trained for, born for.

And I found two quotes from Ayn that speak to me…

“What is the nature of Love?
Love is a command to rise to one’s highest potential.
The best and noblest vision of ourselves.
Love is a reward.  The greatest we can earn.
Granted to us for the moral quality we have achieved in our lives. ”

“My philosophy in essence is the concept of man as a heroic being,
with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life,
with productive achievement as his noblest activity,
and reason as his only absolute.”

……….Ayn Rand

I’m still working on all of it.

 

 

by

…the daughter …

Thunder rolled over the favellas, and dogs went crazed.
The sky was a thick paste of grey, and the wind spoke of rain.

She sat on the steps of her boat, her island of sanity in a
world gone crazy.  This man was sane.  How rare…

Someone brave enough to continue that sanity through a lifetime,
no matter the outcome, no matter the cost.

She explored his face.  He’d blown half of it apart in a diving accident,
a pressurized problem upon resurfacing, some sort of explosion,
something about oxygen that I can’t recall now.
He’s said his left eye was hanging down, and when he closed
the right one, he could see his feet….

They put it back together, one of the best surgeons ever did the work,
and now only a scar across the left cheek, from above the bridge
of the nose to down below his cheekbone.  A miracle really.

She could see that the damage had extended into the jaw, for
the teeth were no longer perfectly symmetrical, yet still and all,
he was a handsome devil, with some of the edges rounded out.
The Perfect was gone forever, but enough was true North to believe.

This man, punching himself silly, and still he demands the Truth.

Before I’d come, he’d said his daughter V would be there the
28th Jan, and go home the 9th of Feb, the day before I arrived.
“Not for your birthday?” I’d asked.
“No,” he said, “I don’ wan’ to get her involved right now,” and that
“if someone ends up in my life, then she will…”

But he said he had never had her with another woman, that her
mother had been pretty loose about men, and he will not subject
her to that.
I did respect that, and admit I’d been wondering how all that
would work… whenever he mentioned the mother, great tension
built in the air, the tone of the voice changed, and unpleasant
adjectives  inserted themselves.

It was obvious there were many unresolved issues between them.
I remember thinking that part of him was still in love with this
likely beautiful blonde that he had been so crazy about, the one
who had given him a third chance at really being a father, present
and deeply involved this time……for surely it is true….
The opposite of love is not hate… it’s apathy.

So now, suddenly after only three days, he tells me he wants V
to come here for his birthday, and stay a few days.
His way of telling me, I guess, that what he feels is real.
I take this to be a good sign.

So we go to the house of her mother in Sao Paolo… a ride on a long
long bridge across the bay to Rio’s twin city, newer and more
commercial, and certainly not as picturesque.

Actually, when Piney had visited Brasil for some business there,
she stayed in Sao Paolo.
“Ha!”  he exclaimed. ” An’ she thinks she’s seen Brasil?
No, I don’ thin’ so!”  and his laughter exploded through the phone.
“Oh that’s funny.”

So the daughter hops into “Pai’s” car…. a little jeep like thing called
a Gervel, produced in Brasil by Volkswagon.
Cute, sporty, good mileage……top on, top off, quite fun really.

She eyes me suspiciously, while simultaneously smiling and enduring introductions.   Since I don’t actually speak Portuguese, they chatter
away, and I do my best to just take it all in.

She has his huge dark eyes, brown skin, long thick hair.   Her mother
is the blue eyed blonde, and I watch to see where she fits in the mix.

Very self possessed, confident, dramatic, expressive and smart.
And obviously in love with her Pai.
She has his wild, and something else…
Something seductive and coy,  with great feminine wiles.

Oh this is going to be interesting….

 

 

by

…a sweetness…

“These are the little things that make life so good.

The simple little things.

One must live life this way each day.

And then, when you die, everyone else is crying…but

you have a permanent grin on your face, forever. ”

 

 

…Alcir

by

…bobo de camarao…

 

Bobó de camarão, sometimes referred to as shrimp bobó
in English, is a Brasilian dish in a purée of manioc (a.k.a. casava)
meal, coconut milk, and other ingredients.

Shrimp bobó is nearly identical to the West African dish Ipetê,
and is one of the many iconic recipes from the Bahia region of Brazil,
which is known for its heavy Afro-Brazilian characteristics.
Bahia is a region on the Coast,  far North of Rio.

INGREDIENTS  in Alcir’s Bobo…

onions, garlic, tomatoes, coconut milk, sour cream,
cream cheese, olive oil, yuca root and prawns or shrimp.

***note: there are many kinds of yuca or yucca  (they call
it Yooka), and you just have to find what you can locally.
In Rio, we had a brown one with thin skins, which we peeled
before boiling.  When I made in the US, I could only find
darker ones with thicker skins, but after peeling, they
were pretty much the same.

**Peel Yuca, and Boil til soft… then mash up leaving chunks.
**Chop and cook tomatoes til very soft.
**Sauce… add coconut milk to tomatoes, plus sour cream,
cream cheese, and salt.
He also took all the shrimp heads, and cooked them for a long
time, then strained them and used this liquid in the sauce.
**Cut onions in circles, chop garlic, and saute in olive oil
til very soft.
**Clean Prawns, add to onions, and saute briefly.
**Add yuca to sauce, simmer and mix.
*Lastly, add prawns and onions, and season.

Serve over Rice of any kind.

As side dishes, he served his bobo with :
**French fried finely shredded batatas…..potatoes…

**Mashed batatas and cenoura…. boil potatoes and carrots in a
two to one ratio, mash leaving chunks, and season with butter,
salt and sour cream.

**Watercress Salad…. just wash and dry, then drizzle with olive oil.

A delicious and satisfying dinner, and a great treat for guests!