Tag Archives: brazil

a love story

by

…the waiting begins…

After we hung up the phone, I lay in trance momentarily, to come back into my body once more, left for what seemed like an eternity.  Where I had been had no relation to where my corporeal self floated, and there were other people out there in my living room.  Gather it together…..

My good friend D was looking super casual and uninterested… His suit of armor, worn habitually and defensively.  He and I had a long history which included much intimacy, yet he was one of those terrified of real intimacy, real love, and so a show of emotion was forbidden.  Even curiosity meant he might care, and that was one thing he didn’t want to do or show.  That was saved for the few he couldn’t reel in.

The classic Fear of Intimacy embodiment, and I must say I Wondered, as in Being in Wonder, at the Universe and Her sense of timing and humor, for D seldom came out and stayed with me, lovers or not, and to have Alcir call from Brasil on this day was pure and Brilliant Orchestration.

I re-entered my world, and shared a few of the best parts…. The Legion, of course…. And I remember his reaction at the poetry of his words:

“I Love You….and I always Deeed…. And I would not wan’ you to think something different.”  I said it with my best Brasilian accent.  When I got to:

“I’ve never forgotten….. It is not often that a man can find Peace…”,  D feigned falling backwards, stabbing himself in the heart. He absolutely Got it, and it was a most satisfying moment.   To make even more of this magical thing was something I could never have imagined, or even ask for.
D was such an enigma in my life, and for more years than I could have figured, and this was the whipped cream with a cherry on top, of an already overwhelmingly intoxicating dessert.

Many years passed, many phases gone through, so much belief  in that first year, that he would return to me.  I visualized being down at the wharf in a crowd…. smokey scene at the bar, some country western song playing, me behind my second pint, when there… across the room… that face… the voice… eyes locking on mine….

Or how ‘bout walking down Main Street midday, and suddenly from my right, a whistle…. Glance across the street… pause in mid glance… No…. Yes…. What?…. Blurrr……You get the idea.  It was always a movie with him, and by now I’m sure you understand why the movie romance fantasies lingered.  The magic in the timings, the comings and goings of him, of us.         It was an encounter unlike any other… Iconic characters in a dance through time.

To this day, I know we will be together again, although I have let go of even the possibility of continuation in this life.  It will be another, and perhaps then we will have our timing just a little more on spot.  But the magnetic pull lingers, like the taste of bitter coffee, the cream coating tongue for the creamy softening, and to hold it there just a while longer.

By the time he had left the first time, the time when he sat in his truck and we stared so long… by that time I was catching every nuance in music I heard, learning about the role Brasil had played in World Beat and Jazz… falling in love with Djavan, Luis Bonfa, Nascimento, and of course Jobim.

Antonio Carlos Jobim, the untouchable, the delight of Brasil.  They named their International Airport for him.  The author of so many classics that have been heard for more than half a century… ones you would recognize after one phrase,  after three notes, ones heard in elevators, and frequently  background music even now, when the movie gets romantic and sexy.

He, Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto INVENTED the Bossa Nova back in the fifties.

So I was on a mission.  Grok Brasil.  Because I had never met a Brasilian before, and it wasn’t just about Him…. There was a wild and fierce spirit there that I knew I had to understand, because Brasil was something quite different from the world I’d known.  I added the fantasy of someday visiting Brasil, and being shown it by Him.
When we had said Goodbye on that telephone line, our Last words were:
“Maybe I’ll see you in Rio…my Crazy Brasilian!”……… and he answered:
“Maybe I’ll see you in the States, my Looney American!”

There were moments where I felt I was Getting It.  The Music of course was a big one.  When I was in the Brasilian Music Trance, I was touching him, feeling his core self.  My kids got so, whenever Brasilian music came on, they called it “Mom Music”.

But then things would happen…. Like when I was waitressing at a local place, where the Gualala River meets the Sea, with a wonderful view and interesting people.
I met people visiting the famous NorCal Coast, and the notorious Hwy 1, from all over the world.

And the staff always sent me out to deal with the tables full of ‘foreigners’.

I seemed to understand them more easily, as accents didn’t throw me, and sometimes I’d play with them, shooting the accents back.  It was fun, and part of the theater of waiting tables.

I went out to a table of three, up and out of the way in the back, two men and a woman, and quickly realized I was waiting on Brasilians  !!!  oh I was so excited!

The sound of that accent sent me into apoplectic bliss…  They were fun, playful, hilarious, and taught me how to order Beer in Brasil.

Later I realized they had the Carioca dialect…. That’s the name they call Brasilians from Rio …. Cariocas.  And so, there I was, practicing                              “Dois Mais Cervezas, por favor” with my new friends…
“…for when you visit Rio”… they told me.
Turns out, this is a Basic Survival Skill…. Brasil drinks more beer than Any Other Country…!  Ha!

An important part of Rio Portuguese, Carioca, is that you put sssshhhhh sounds in everywhere you can…. Doish maish cerveshas, pooor favooor …. Such a sensual and sexy language, that goes with the people… but in Rio they dial it up just a bit more, your tongue almost Tasting the sounds.

When they were leaving, they threw me a compliment that stayed with me always….

“We’ve beeen eeen the US… (they never say America…as Alcir said, We’re America too..)  “We’ve been in the US for seven months, and you’re the First person we’ve met who is Like a Brasilian!”

Couldn’t get any better than that….
I must be making progress in my quest…

 

 

by

…until next time…

I remember the last time I’d seen him.   I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, when suddenly the phone rang..
“Hello…?”

“Halllooo…. so…. I’m on my way….”
“What?……  where Are you?”
“I’m in Marysville…….  I coould have gonn to Reno, but I’m cooming to see you…”
“Where’s Marysville?”
“About 200 miles away….”
“…so….so you’re saying you’ll be Here in four hours?”
“Yes……… So eeef you haf a Boyeefren, you bedder tell him to Leeeeef..”.
His voice got a little deeper when he said that…

“No…. no boyfriend… ok….. so…. guess I’ll see ya..”
“Yes…. bye….”

When he arrived, I remember little, except that the wait was endless, sitting in the upstairs window, leaning in with every car sound, until at last he was pulling in, his new silver truck announcing arrivals.

I recall his perusing my albums, and chuckling…. “Awful lot of Donovan albums here…” smug lips…

“Ya…. oh shut up!’…. laughter.   There was always laughter with him.

I remember how exhausted he was, as he lay in my arms after love.  Once more I felt like Isis, and my warrior had returned, albeit briefly and for unknown time and reasons, and he quickly slept, although restlessly.
That was unusual for him.  Strange as it may seem, this man was the most peaceful bed companion.

Our lovemaking was briefer than usual, he doing his best to stay with me, and I remember his comment…”I won’t be happy til you orgasm…” and I truthfully said that I didn’t care.  Just to have him there was all the orgasm my heart could take.

“I know I’m not heeere much, but I wan’ you to know…. You get the Best… eeets true…. you always get the Best.”

Next morning after coffee and breakfast, we drove around, and up Fish Rock he spotted a large boat, down a little road below.  He stopped and ran over to get a closer look.

“Oh that’s a gooood one…. I wonder eeef eeet’s for sale…. I wan’ my boat.  Do your vooodooo, I wan’ a meeelion doolarrs”, and I told him of the visualizations I had been doing for him.  Visions of him on his beautiful sail boat, big grin, heading towards a magical island, money pouring down all over him from the sky, and him…. laughing his big glorious laugh…
“Oh, tha’s beautifulll” he smiled.

Soon he spoke of leaving and things calling to him.  His plans were up in the air, once again nebulous, changing in unexpected ways, he was agitated, and when I got just a little upset, he looked at me sternly, and for a long time.

It was like at that moment, he just shut down, made his decision, and took me home.
“I thought you said you could stay another night…”
“No…. I haf to go… ”  he trailed off.
Quickly he was loading the truck, as I sat on the steps watching.  My sadness was overwhelming, and left me unable to talk about anything meaningful.  He was already gone to me.

His truck started up, and we eyelocked.  Endless time swirls passed between us, as we both just sat there, staring, taking in eachother for perhaps the last time.

At last he turned off the truck, got out, walked over, and as I sat immobilized, he planted a long long hard pressing kiss that made my face surrender backwards in a swoon, and lasted forever.  A desperate goodbye through lip talk that stayed with me, full of sadness and resolve.

As the truck pulled away and grew smaller, finally vanishing out the driveway, I sat stunned, really groking the last 24 hours, and knowing that he had slipped through my fingers, perhaps forever, and yet he would never leave my soul.

So now, once again and years later, I held him for a timeless moment; his voice was distant, yet his presence strong, and I sensed a softening, an effect that had washed over him in the brief, intense two years that had transpired.  I couldn’t even imagine what he’d gone through, and it was only many years later in Brasil that he began to share with me some of the things that had transpired.

So there I am, lying on the pantry floor, cold I couldn’t feel, pasta I couldn’t see, every nerve straining to absorb every molecule of him that slipped through the wires.

“So….” he began again… “I wan’ to coomm back to the states, when they let me leeeff..”

“When will that be?”,  my heart racing at the mere thought of the possibility of the maybe someday…

“Oh, in a year or so, things might be better…”

I breathed deeply, taking it all in.  There was no time for reflection now; all focus was intensely on the Now, and later I would replay the conversation as best I could.  I felt myself straining to reach him, glean any morsel that was gleanable at this foggy distance.

“I’ve never forgotten”, he repeated once again.
and then he said something that went through me like a blade of fire, branding my solar plexis, the recording in my head playing over and over again, as I saved it for posterity.

“I’ve never forgotten….”   … there was a long pregnant pause here……
“…..It is not often that a man can find Peace…………”

by

…awakening…

The phone rang.  Busy making dinner, Lily answered for me, while I obliviously continued my quest for dinner.

“Mom!  some lady’s on the phone, and she says she has a Collect Call from Brasil…”…she shrugged…

Oh great, I thought.  Some friend of mine is messing with me… they’re so sick of hearing about Mr Brasil, and now they’re giving me grief….

“Here hon, give it to me…”  (damn…)… “Hello?….”

“Halllooo?  Yez, iee haf a collect call from Alcir…  yooo doo not know sumone named Alcir?” came the dusky,  accent laden voice.

“Uh………yeeessss….. I slowly pulled from my mouth, while brain went into permafreeze…. silent moments passed…..

“Hallloooo?  Eeeeez Theeees Reeely Yooo?”  came that old familiar dark deep voice, that voice that seemed to go right to my nether regions…

I took a deep breath, and in my confusion, suddenly everything stopped.  I had a house guest… one of my absolute favorite friends, playmates, collaborator,  D I shall call him, and he and his buddy were up from the Bay Area to find large driftwood for his new store in the city… and dinner, D, Lily, time…. all became temporarily irrelevant.

“Yessss..???” which ended in a question, because there was no where else for me to go with this.  I hadn’t seen or heard from him in Two years, and frankly, knowing him as I did, I found myself at times wondering if he was even alive.

Oddly enough, I had just gotten a Card back, return to sender, no such animal, that I had sent to Tahoe weeks ago, in desperation.  My mind had been plagued with terrible wondering, I couldn’t stop thinking of him, and I had written something simple, direct inside:
“Come Back….. At Least let me know you are Alive”… It had a tender print of Isis holding a wounded Osiris on the front.  I still have it.
Weeks had passed, and then there it was in the mail…  oh no… I may never know…
That was but Days ago… and Now…?  how can this be??  I excused myself to the pantry.  I needed isolation, focus, clarity, a brain please.   Shake brain like Snow Globe…. let dust settle….

“Where Are you?” I semi stammered.

“In Brasil… tonight there hass been many celebrations, with many friends and family from long ago …I Had to come back.  Eeeets my contree…” he trailed off.

Long ago, he had left Brasil, run actually, from an inevitable jail sentence, perhaps death… and his Grandfather had given him money… he’d bought a 30 foot boat, and sailed away, alone, around the Horn all by himself… he was maybe 20…
“I was a Revolutionary.  I robbed banks to finance the Revolution.  An’ then a coople of peeeple got Keeeeled, an I had to leeeef.”
That was over ten years ago, ten years he’d spent in Norway, Hawaii, and finally,  and mostly, the West Coast.  He’d acclimated quickly, Loved it.

“What … where ..have …you been?…”…( so he just Got there? tonite?)…

“I waz een the French Foreign Legion” he told me.   OK… another brain freeze.

“What??? what was it like?”

“Hell…  Eeeet waz Hell. But I got out, an came back.  ”

“What …. like what do you mean?”

“oh…. like walking for twenty miles with a hundred pounds on yer back, an eeef you fall down, they Keeeek you…”

“How did you get out?” I asked, for I’d seen enough about the Legion to know that once you join, you give up all rights, all contracts, all everything, for Seven Years.  How could this man…?”

“Oh… they deedn’t know whaat too doo weeth me for a while… All three of them had mee in a rooom for a few hours…”  He referred to his double citizenship… Brasil, US (he’d been born in Honolulu while his parents were traveling) and I guess France and the Legion.   I fantasized him escaping, running through the jungle, dodging bullets… big grin on his face…

“I Love You” he breathed softly…

“What..?” I squeeked, breath gone.  He’d never said that, ever.
Once I had said that to him, in the midst of love, and he busted out
“Nooooo, don’ sayee thaaat.   Why, because we have good orgasms?  Nooo…don’ saayee thaat.”  It was like an allergic reaction…

“Could you say that again please…Words, I want to hear words…” I coughed.

“I Love You…. an I Alwaays Deeeed, an I woould not wan you to theeeenk somtheeen deeferent.”

Breathe, Carol, breathe.

“I’ve never forgotten”

“..and I’ve never forgotten…”…

We stood there… half a world apart… and it was alive, still alive.  I didn’t care how much it was costing, how long, nothing…

“I’m sorry for calling collect,” he said…”I’ll make it up to you when I see you.”
My knees went weak.  By now I was lying on the bare floor of that narrow pantry, staring up unseeing, at shelves of canned beans and pasta.

 

 

by

…the cove….

When I think about the Glam House, I remember Good Times.  It was on the Ridge, part of what was called ‘The Banana Belt’ around that NorCal area.  Micro climates were common, and that area had better weather, warmer temps, happier gardens, and in general also had higher prices.  I felt privileged to live there, and so deeply wished I was in the position to buy.         But that was not to be the case.

I asked both my Brasilian, who had property in Tahoe, and also another long term friend, sometime lover, and business partner, and frankly if either had agreed to come up with the down…$50 thou… they could have turned it in five years and we all would have made a bundle…. Five years later it sold for a half Mill…. and later the whole banana.

The asking price at the time I lived there was under 200, more like180, but they needed a big down.  Just like my Point Arena ‘boat house’ creation.  Desperate times, for some reason.  Those who hung in there made a bundle later.
Those who used to sell cosmic crystals, then started studying Massage,
and then moved on to Real Estate…

So meanwhile, I just Loved the place to death.  And that Brasilian, although I must admit I didn’t see much of him, when I did, it was always The Best, and sort of like a movie…How much was Him….How much was Me?  and does it really even matter?

One day he was in town, and drove up in a new car.  He loved this new car, as it was a classic Big Fat Thunderbird…. What we referred to in the islands as a Huna Car… short for Kahuna…. Those powerful shaman of Polynesian persuasion.  Big and Cool and fun.

He drove it up on the lawn, got out the hose, and proceeded to give it a bath, as I watched from upstairs, and put on Sade….

When I went to the Faire on the weekends, he came and watched my house. It was fun knowing he’d been there looking around and touching things, thinking of me.

One afternoon, Lil …then about 9….and I went down to the cove, about the time the divers came in… and believe me, there were women who showed up every afternoon just for that event.  I remember my son hearing about that, and about one particular one who came regularly, and he wondered if it was me, his mom, who was one of those women he’d heard about who waited to greet the divers, because they, indeed, were a special breed of man.…  But no, it wasn’t me, although it turned out to be someone rather close to the family…

Remember the reality show… ‘The Most Dangerous Catch”…?    Well, Alcir had done a couple seasons up there in the frozen seas….  Working the King Crab Boats.  He loved it, craved the excitement and the danger.

So one afternoon, Lil and I went down to the cove to have some fish and chips.  Now the cove was an experience in itself, and let me briefly describe the scene.  This place had been there forever, down a winding road leading to the cove, which is one of the oldest coves on the northern California coast… one of the few safe harbors for hundreds, maybe more, years… lots of history, lots of ghosts.

When friends came to visit, one place to take them was there, for that was the true old point arena.  It was a ramshackled place, run by an older Greek woman, with the numbers on her arm.  Sophie was tough, and could run out the biggest and the drunkest, all Four Foot Ten of her.  Late at night, if she was in the mood, and you were lucky, she’d put on a Greek tune on the box, get out her hanky, and do the dance with one of the locals.  What a show.

The regulars, unwashed and already into their cups, sliding off their barstools, the fishermen, telling tales, and into their cups, and the locals, who consisted of old hippies, descendants of old families, and spawn of combinations of all.  Always different, always the same…

So we are there ordering the fish and chips, which actually were quite good, and quite fresh… and along comes Mr Brasil… he’s all up from being out on his favorite location, and enduring adventures, and he briefly sits down, and does the jolly talkative nervous chatter.  I was feeling quite calm, quite yummy actually, and just did a lot of smiling.  He left rather quickly, and I felt sorta sad, realizing that he was nervous.                                     He didn’t quite know where he fit yet…

Then a while later, as we went out to view the view… so sweet, gotta tell ya…. Of the old pier and the rocks, the surf rolling softly along the shore… and there was big Alcir.

“So… would you like me to find you some deeener?”

How cute is that?  My warrior going out to catch our dinner….

So he did just that.  He sat me up on the hood of his big Huna Car, stereo pumping rock’n’roll thru the hood and into my netherplaces, whilst he put on his fins and mask, wet suit and knife, and proceeded to walk out into that frigid water and down into the deep.

The Primal Feels were enormous. He had a sort of floating basket, and I saw him come up, and go down…. Come up and go down.  It didn’t take him long to get his limit…

Soon he was done, and the warrior in his suit of armor marched up to show me his winnings.  Four Abalones and a couple Perch… which he called “Porch”….

“So”, he began…”I could come over later, and show you how we cook these theeeengs een my coentry”

“Oh, OK… great”  I answered, giving my best blase.

Another time, the divers had been out en mass, and there he was, displaying his wares, out in the parking lot, with the rest of the fellows…

I still felt shy, like some little Japanese girl with a fan or something, eyes downcast, smiling to myself, feeling that I’d gotten my own good catch…

And as he turned over the Abs and other fare, he began peeling off his wetsuit…. A sexual dance unto itself….and talking about his day.    I couldn’t help but be caught up in the display of not yet dead creatures.  I had never seen an abalone still alive, although I’d eaten my share.

As I stroked their smooth and undulating Snaily selves, still alive and glistening with colors and slime, I was feeling their sad surrender to their fate.           They were quite beautiful, and I said so…

“Oh, they’re so beautiful…” and tears almost welled up…

“What are you doing?  Hypnotizing them, before I Keeeel them?”  the word Keeel was emphasized with teeth and nuance.

“Yes, sort of…” I said, and he smiled his best Pirate grin.

It was odd.  I loved his Pirate, and he loved my Hippie.

 

 

by

…for laura….a morpho butterfly tray…

So Here is a lovely example of the Morpho Butterfly Tray that I have not only referred to, but gone to great extremes to collect and delight in…

Those  of you who care, you will be happy to know that….

I HAVE ENTERED THE KING TUT’S TOMB OF MY PAST TODAY…..  and have located some delicate delectibles of my past Journals… as well as Photographs and Memoirs….  oh my!  I shall deliver ….and soon…!

Meanwhile…..This type of tray was produced in Brasil in the twenties, thirties and forties.  In the fifities and sixties, they continued, but by the late sixties, the Morpho Butterfly was protected, and no longer were these gorgeous but doubtfully moral objects.

by

…now and then….

I admit it.  I am putting off going into my storage, my deep dark pile of the past, and retrieving those journals that strip me bare, and tell me word for word just what transpired, long time past.

Yes, I wrote them for myself.  Yes, I am curious.  Yes, I wonder how my memories stack up against what I wrote in the moment.  I also want really badly to put aside such deep and emotional touchings right now.  Why… ?  because I have armored myself against the hurt.  Yes, Me…. The one always ready for feeling… I have just reached some sort of limit in my life, and have finally become protective of Myself.

And this is not a bad thing.  No, indeed.  I have just now learned the lesson that I might have well learned long time past, when I was young and full of so much…

So do not despair, those of you who await the next chapter, the next word, the next Phase… they will come…..but…. frankly, it’s All a phase, Dear Reader…. and it will come, but….

Just accept the fact….  It’s All a phase, every single day, every single chapter, every single decade………it will pass, and something new and unknown will come along, something you never even dreamed of, and it will overtake your being, your heart, your spirit, and you will say in retrospect…. Damn!  That was the Best!

 

 

by

…a few weeks of bliss…

Over the next few weeks, he would call every two or three days.  I liked that.  He wasn’t oppressive and demanding, nor was he showing insecurities, which I hate…. he left me space.  And he didn’t leave me hanging during these times… it was rather a perfect start.

And I might add, he never failed to deliver in that interpersonal realm, definitely making up a thousand times for that first funny “bad impression of Brasilians” … I had thought he was a bit boyish, and he was in ways… but believe me when I say he was one of the most wonderful and most Present lovers I’ve ever experienced.   And his skin was electric…  He told me that divers are the cleanest, because of all the salt water, and how many times they rinse off each day.  But it was more than that.  The energy coming off of him in those times was in big wide swaths, like he was on fire from the very center of his soul.

The phone rang.

“Hello..?”

“Heellooo…”  deep voice… I know that voice…….“So…… how Are you?”

“Oh… the wind is making me Restless and Bored …”

“Reeelly?  Can I come over an take advantage of that?”

(soft snickers on both ends…)

“oh I suppose…”

“gooooood.  I’ll be there…”

…..and he’d hop on his bicycle and peddle the short half mile along the ridge road to my house.   He was camping at a friend’s house just up the road.

How cute, I thought.  This manly man, this worldly cultured man, hoping on a bicycle to come visit me.  He was quite winsome.

Once I looked out to see him surfing the top of his buddy’s white van as it drove in.  Surfing it all along the bumpy and unkempt little road from the street to my front door, past the little pond, past the cabin where my son lived, and up the drive to be delivered at my door…. Like fresh milk, or the daily news or the most delicious meal, cooked to perfection and just for me.

Our times alone were pure magic.  Years later, he would tell me he was mesmerized.  Great word, mesmerized.  It comes from a magician, or hypnotist or something,  named Mesmer, I’m pretty sure….

And I… I was swept away.  He pleased my eye so, this artist was enchanted by beauty, intrigued by his wit, and searching for the truth of just who this being could be.

He loved Opus and Bill the Cat.  He said he was voting for Opus for President.  He would sit reading the paper, and mumble to himself about the news from home.

“Stupid fucking Brasilians” he would curse.  “ they deserve everything they get”.   He was furious, the way they dealt with the rainforest, the Indigenous tribes, the natural resources of that most gorgeous country.

He loved “Monthy Pyton”, and I would laugh and gently correct him.  He always had a hard time with that difference, the T and the Th.  But it was endearing, and sometimes I’d tease him, calling out “Lucy….. I’m Home!….”.

Then came a time where I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, which was unusual.  I had his number in Tahoe, and one night with great trepidation, I dialed the number.

A woman answered … the one he called “the woman who lives in my house”…

“Is Alcir there?”

She called him to the phone.

“Oh, you’ve made a woman here very unhappy” he scolded.

“Oh I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have called.”

“No no, it’s alright.  I’m just going to be here for a while…”

Short and sweet, uncomfortable and strange… I hung up.

I had known he had someone in Tahoe.  Not much else.  I justified everything by the notion that he couldn’t be That happy there, if what was going on here was going on…

I remember the second or third time we were together, when we came back down to earth, and he sat up abruptly, and said “Oh noooo, I cannt Dooo theeees.  I leeeve weeth someone. “

“I know”,  I replied.  “Are you in love with her?”

“I don know….…I don know” he trailed off.

“Well, you’re here now” and I shrugged.  He looked long and hard at me.

And then he dressed and left to dive.

And right around that same time, early on, and I’m not counting that first time when he snuck into my bed like the bandido he was, …. As was our way, we went into another reality, our world where there was no time, no ground, no division between us.  It was truly mystical… and then he sat up quickly.

“Oh Nooo”….. he shook his head, his hands like they were holding it on.

“I deeed not know eet would bee like theees…” his voice soft and a bit lost, his head slowly moving from side to side.

“I did” I replied. “that’s why I kept you away for that week”

“Reeeely?”

“Yes….”    For from the first, I knew that once I stepped off that cliff, it would never be the same for me.

When he came to retrieve his things once more, and it was funny, for he always seemed to leave something to come back for….I walked into my studio and as I began to ascend the ladder, I asked how he was doing…

“Oh much better now” he grinned, looking up, and as I glanced back, I understood the wicked pleasure in his smile.

Once when we were making love, and he was above me, staring into my eyes as he so often did, his body stroking mine in every way possible, words came from his lips in a soft dark voice…

“Oh, yooo’re a Gooooood Wooooman………. What am I going to doooo weeth you?”

”You’ll think of something…” I whispered.

I loved my house.  It was my hippie haven, with little rooms here and there, places to sit outside, decks and landings.  Handmade, pieced together, I didn’t care.  I truly loved it.  It was a sculpture that took form over many years with many owners, and it resonnated with my lifestyle.  There came a time, as often did in my renter’s life, that the owner wanted, needed to sell.   It had been on the market for many months, but nothing had really taken shape.  Now the owner took charge, and as it turned out, took charge of my Life.  There was one time that I Really hated my status as a single self employed mother, and wished there was a Man behind me when I spoke with the owner man guy.

His situation was desperate I guess, and so much so that he and his family came out from Colorado and asked me to leave while they Lived there (yes!…can you believe it?) and proceeded to sell it themselves.  It was Terrible.

My girls and my animals and I all had to camp around during that week, I couldn’t get any work done in my studio, and I was Sure he wouldn’t sell it…….. but he did.  It was devastating.  He and his family really never acknowledged what they put me through, and after that, I had a month to move out.

Rentals were hard to find, especially for a single woman with children and animals, and self employed to top it off.  I was part timing at St Orres, a glamorous inn and restaurant on a hill of Hwy 1.  with panoramic ocean views and the best food… but still, I lived precariously.

To add even more stress, it was Renaissance Faire time, and right now I have no idea how I managed to accomplish it all.  The Faire means Three Months of weekends, building a booth, studying Renaissance lingo and costumes…they kept changing the rules every year…. and Making Stuff to Sell.  It tires me just remembering …  but somehow I found a Wonderful, but very different house, and the owner was a woman…. a single woman!  Yeah!… and she decided she’d let me rent it.  I remember arriving at my faire booth and calling out to my faire partner….”I got it!  I got my house!”  and we did a happy dance.

And What a house.  I called it my Glam House.  Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be there a long time, but I decided I would enjoy it while I could.

Get this:  Five Levels.  Two master bedrooms with bath.  Three smaller bedrooms… and they left me a Huge couch that wrapped around one corner of the level with windows and a big screen TV… big for then anyway.  The entire house was wall to wall carpets… Shelves for books, window views, Two Acres which had a lot of woods, and even a large …no Super large aluminum shed/workshop thing that could have eventually been rented out to someone as well.  The kitchen was super, and the lower deck… there were several… had a hot tub that could easily handle a party of twelve.   Oh yes, and an attached single car garage to use as a studio.  All for $600 a month… unbelievable, No?  …..this was 1986.

I was sad to leave my little boat house, that had cradled and nourished and protected me for three years, and the last day crept quickly near.  Then it was the last night.  I recall a thought blurting out from my brain, erupting without hindrance… oh if only I had someone here to share my last night with.  If only He was here.  But it seemed too much to ask.

He’d been gone for several weeks, and I can’t remember if it was because of the urchin season… they had breaks that they had to abide by… or his business in Tahoe, which I never really understood… something about a snow cleaning business….but anyway, he was gone.

My girls and I were in the far end, the bedroom with bath that had been my oldest daughters room, before she left for college.  We were watching TV, I was on the floor enveloped in a bean bag chair, the same sucking me in to the netherlands of the floor, sinking me down, cradling me in soft surrender….and very mellow from eats and wine…

A knock came…

Piney went to the door, and then rushed back to me.

“Mom! Mom!! Oh my god mom…. You’ll never guess who’s here!  Get up, Get up!”  and I remember groaning and slowly rolling off that beanbag world, wishing I could just stay there forever, I was so tired.

I literally crawled to the doorway, with a clear view to the entry way.  And who stood there, hands on hips, in his bright green BARBADOS SWIM TEAM sweatshirt, Varnet sunglasses and a big fat grin…

I swear, I was awake and up and over to him, and I began punching his  shoulder, yelling…

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you”, …..and then falling into his arms.

It was always like that.  The joy always overcame the frustrating and unpredictable side of him that drove me mad.

He walked to the open door, hung off the railing and called to his diving buddy in the van….

“See?  She’s happy to see me!  Jest looook at dat smile…” and drew me close.  We were both grinning from ear to ear…

The next day, knowing I was moving, he left to dive, and said he’d be back to help.  And he was.  Along with several friends with trucks and hands, we managed to cart out almost everything of mine, and drop it into the next house.

When he saw the new house, he took a deep breath.

“You do VooDoo?  How deeed you fine this house?   You dooo voodoo for meee…. I wan a meeelion doelars… eeets worth ten pearcent, an a month in Montecarlo”

“OK…!  I can do some visualizations…”

“It’s a good thing you showed up when you did…. you wouldn’t have known where I was!” I chided…

“Naaaaa…. I’d have found you” he scoffed, and it pleased me to no end, the way his confidence created confidence.

Long time later, when I reminded him of his offer, he laughed out loud and told me…

“Ha! Ten Pearcent?  No way!!  I might as well just maaaarry you…”

The next couple days, I settled in, and he came over to help get that hot tub started.  Oh, he couldn’t wait.  He walked out onto the deck, which had to be 5 feet off the ground, took hold of top of the over 3 feet tall railing, and in one perfect movement, went over it, landing on the ground below… like a cat.  He looked up briefly, just to make sure I had been watching, then proceeded to check everything, reset the motor, and get it going.

And oh my, did we enjoy that hot tub.  It was simply amazing, under the stars, slow swims across, melting together in the middle of nothing but us, nothing but our breath, our bodies…..and our hearts.

 

 

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…the night …

I remember that night, the one I’ve promised to tell you about, like the movie that it was.  How many times I replayed it, I cannot tell, but it was truly one worth re-viewing.

So, you remember it was the Fourth of July, 1985.  We had briefly seen eachother along the parade route, Main Street Point Arena.  He had given me the Latin Stare across the small town road, and I’d invited him with the gesture of a lighter needed.   Later, up at Bower Park, I was singing with a Blues Band, along with Gary Bloom and Barry Bastian (then known as Abdul), and John Scott on base.  I was good that day, and felt in my element, very hot, and really enjoying the crowd of my beloved locals who always looked forward to the yearly happening.
Interestingly enough to me later… I did a solo of a Sade tune….
“Smooth Operator”…… and sometimes it felt pretty right on, Mr Souza.

I always worked the Oyster Bar with John Scott, my long time buddy, and had been given the title of Oyster Brother, one not easily won for a girl, amongst the boys… I dined on oysters, drank micro brew beers, and felt so at home with my neighbors.  Absolutely delightful and blissed out.

I remember seeing him once or twice, amongst the crowd that meandered around the woods and open lands of the park, and even once when I was dancing.  He was always in the background, fleetingly, and  always watching.

That evening, I took my two girls Piney and Lily, then 13 and 9, down to Schooner Gulch, and as we sat on that big log watching the smoke and sparks rise into the sky and blend with the stars…. and as the fireworks shot out over the ocean, blending with the sparks and the stars…..you might remember that that voice came over my left shoulder, that fellow from Brasil joined us on the log, and he revealed the sadness that would capture my imagination, and later my heart.

What is it about the sad hero, the gladiator who realizes he’s not quite received as the hero he thought he’d be as a boy?  This man had grown up reading all the classics, and his heart was one who knew he could send himself forward, sword in hand, capture the maiden, tame the beast, and arrive safely at a home where rewards and repast reassured him that he, indeed, had done the right thing, followed the path that he alone was meant to walk, and in the end it would lead to Everafter.   He was Built for it, blessed with the talents and physical blessings that would enable him to fulfill his Destiny.

Ah… but not so for every hero, or even for a few, not so for every brave gladiator.  Not so for the brave and beautiful, for LIFE has a way of stepping in and letting us know that it is not Simple but Complex…. it is not Foretold, but proceeds on its own path, and none can predict the outcome of the life we lead.

So…. on to what you are all waiting for, I’m sure.  The WHAT ?… after I suggested that he come over… after I put the girls to sleep…. oh you wonder, do you?   Hmmmm?….. And so did I….

I only remember the thrill, the terror, the excitement.  I put the girls down, probably changed into something yummy, although now I do not remember just what.  And I waited…. but not for long.

And then he was there, at the door.  What can I say about his energy…?  He was like no one I’ve ever met, before or since.  His energy field was large, full of sound and furry, and definitely signifying stuff that I’d never known, but wanted to know, to understand.  I didn’t know how much of the longing I felt was because he was from another world… Brasil… and how much was because the life he’d lead was so completely different from the one I’d chosen, and it was very much Opposites Attracting from both sides…. and yet, we truly met on so many levels of understanding and taste.

I know we were both high from chemistry, from drink, and from the greenery we shared.  We never got to the upstairs loft of my bed, at least not for the first meeting.  I only remember the complete and utter surrender I felt, and the swept away feeling that overcame all fear, all doubt, and time itself.  Yes, time became meaningless, and the Fourth of July was omnipresent inside and out.   Skyrockets is putting it mildly.   I remember laughing as we tumbled off the couch onto the rug….

Somehow we woke up in the loft, he leaving at dawn to go dive for urchins.   He sat up quickly, as that was the way he awoke in those days.  Startled awake, no pause for the re-entry, ready for the challenges of the day.   I have no recollection of what was said, I only know that my mind was completely burned, swirling, confused and delighted, all at the same time.  He left, and I was glad, for there was no way we could look directly at what had just occurred.  He was off to conquer the sea and plunder its treasures.

Later that day, in the early afternoon, he appeared at my door to retrieve his wallet.   Aaaaahh! The moment was brief and charged with sparks across the ethers.   He said he’d call me….   and of course I had gone through his wallet, you silly.  Wouldn’t you?   Alcir bla bla bla de Souza.  born February 14th, Rio de Janeiro.  (oh great… Valentine’s Day….) …several cards from those he’d met.  Not much of anything else, not much money.  But nice wallet.    It was funny, because the first time he’d left his beloved divers’ watch, and now his wallet….

“When you leave things, it just means you want to come back”,  I told him later…..

It was the next day that he called and he returned, and from then on  he called pretty much every other day.  We seldom talked about US.   We were each equally swept away, and for those times, there was nothing to say about the experience that this clash of souls had created.

It quickly became the center of my universe…..

 

 

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…his old jacket…

One afternoon, he decided to pull out the old Legionnaires’ uniform, and here he is looking pleased with himself… after 18 years, he can still Almost button it closed… double click to enlarge the brat.   This was 2006 in Rio.

I’m anticipating going through my storage soon, finding my old journals, and beginning to review the days when I was seeing Alcir.  It’s not all pleasure, be assured, for I will likely never see him again, and in some ways that chapter of my life is closed forever.  Stirring the memories is stirring the emotions, and they run deep and technicolor vivid.

As a being, he is etched upon my brain pans, like one of those movies you see over and over through the years, always creating the sensory overload, the tastes and smells, the cocktail chemistry, the brain bath rushing over skin, through veins, visions of sugar plum fantasies with someone who came so close to being a perfect match, yet membraned apart just enough to never quite get there.  There were moments, flashes of paradise…

Heart breakingly almost, tantalizingly dancing just out of reach, touching in and running away.  Begging for help, longing for true love, believing in conjoined souls, and terrified of love, that was he.