A wonderfully long, holiday weekend, and it's raining. The weather forcast is pretty much rain until next Thursday. That makes for a pretty wet field visit for the ladies from the office. Sorry, girls! I wanted to go to the beach with you too...
Where do I start with all the "acontecimentos" of the past week? I think I should wait until I've eaten. If the guys will get the grill going, we're going to have a nice little holiday barbeque. Except...they're putting up the charcoal grill in the back corridor of the house. Anyone else think this is a bad idea? I think the parents are going to disapprove!
I'm hungry...will write later.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Overheard
Primeiro:
Little girls in church:
Girl 1: "Where's your sister?"
Girl 2: "She's at HER dad's house."
Girl 1: "Liar! Her dad isn't out of prison yet! She's with her grandparents."
Girl 2: "Shut up or I'll beat you up! You're the liar..."
Segundo:
Flor is a 30ish widow who lives alone with her 9 year old son. She earns money by cleaning homes, ironing sheets and the like and lives in a mostly brick structure on the street built alongside the exposed water main. The other side of the water main has homes made out of cardboard and scrap metal. The "road" is mud with planks put over the really bad spots. They are within a stone's throw of the main drug square, where addicts crouch under makeshift lean-to's, hiding from the sun as they light their cigarettes and crack.
She came over to clean my house this week and we were chatting...
Flor: I want to start some kind of project for the kids here. There are so many young girls getting pregnant...the drugs...I want to do something for those less fortunate. I'm going to talk to some of my patrons and see if they won't donate to this cause. Do you think they'd come visit us here in the "comunidade?"
I love Flor. She's such a powerful, dreaming, unstoppable woman.
Little girls in church:
Girl 1: "Where's your sister?"
Girl 2: "She's at HER dad's house."
Girl 1: "Liar! Her dad isn't out of prison yet! She's with her grandparents."
Girl 2: "Shut up or I'll beat you up! You're the liar..."
Segundo:
Flor is a 30ish widow who lives alone with her 9 year old son. She earns money by cleaning homes, ironing sheets and the like and lives in a mostly brick structure on the street built alongside the exposed water main. The other side of the water main has homes made out of cardboard and scrap metal. The "road" is mud with planks put over the really bad spots. They are within a stone's throw of the main drug square, where addicts crouch under makeshift lean-to's, hiding from the sun as they light their cigarettes and crack.
She came over to clean my house this week and we were chatting...
Flor: I want to start some kind of project for the kids here. There are so many young girls getting pregnant...the drugs...I want to do something for those less fortunate. I'm going to talk to some of my patrons and see if they won't donate to this cause. Do you think they'd come visit us here in the "comunidade?"
I love Flor. She's such a powerful, dreaming, unstoppable woman.
Frustrated with myself
My password isn't working on the college website.
Actually, I have no idea what my password is. I typed in so many different permutations of my classic passwords last night that when one of them finally worked, I couldn't remember what pattern my fingers had typed. And it is now driving me crazy. How many different options can there be?
In other news:
I went out to the laundry sink this morning and something was glittering in the drain hole. Oh. A bullet. 45, I think, with some nice marks and a huge gouge out of the one side. Sheared off a good chunk of the bullet. Here's the thing. There are no holes in my outside walls, or the sink, and the tiles are not strong enough to withstand a bullet's force. There are no holes in any of my neighbors' walls either, and the laundry area is to the back of the house. So I'm pretty much surrounded by other houses. I spent a good part of the morning trying to figure out the physics of this phenomenon. I think that either I had a bullet eating rat in my sink last night, or, more probably, when shot, the bullet hit a post or other sturdy material which slowed it's trajectory and caused it to fall not just into my sink, but directly in the center, bulls' eyeing my drain.
I'm glad I wasn't doing laundry.
The other night, I saw tracer fire...four red dots in the sky followed by the rattattat of the automatic weapon...but it was high and seemed more celebratory than violent. Although there's been a lot of "pipoca" around here recently. One of our volunteers saw the military police's armed tank the other day. He says it looks like "the ice cream truck from Hell."
I wonder what kind of ice cream they'd serve.
Actually, I have no idea what my password is. I typed in so many different permutations of my classic passwords last night that when one of them finally worked, I couldn't remember what pattern my fingers had typed. And it is now driving me crazy. How many different options can there be?
In other news:
I went out to the laundry sink this morning and something was glittering in the drain hole. Oh. A bullet. 45, I think, with some nice marks and a huge gouge out of the one side. Sheared off a good chunk of the bullet. Here's the thing. There are no holes in my outside walls, or the sink, and the tiles are not strong enough to withstand a bullet's force. There are no holes in any of my neighbors' walls either, and the laundry area is to the back of the house. So I'm pretty much surrounded by other houses. I spent a good part of the morning trying to figure out the physics of this phenomenon. I think that either I had a bullet eating rat in my sink last night, or, more probably, when shot, the bullet hit a post or other sturdy material which slowed it's trajectory and caused it to fall not just into my sink, but directly in the center, bulls' eyeing my drain.
I'm glad I wasn't doing laundry.
The other night, I saw tracer fire...four red dots in the sky followed by the rattattat of the automatic weapon...but it was high and seemed more celebratory than violent. Although there's been a lot of "pipoca" around here recently. One of our volunteers saw the military police's armed tank the other day. He says it looks like "the ice cream truck from Hell."
I wonder what kind of ice cream they'd serve.
Friday, November 09, 2007
I need to create a new header...
Something happened to my blog set-up. I guess it was time anyhow...
I need to distract myself from the lice infestation, from my probable bronchitis-de-novo, from my frustration at not being able to see my Finances test results RIGHT NOW because my password doesn't work...
I complain a lot.
Here's me, off being creative without Photoshop. Let's see if I can come up with something interesting...
I need to distract myself from the lice infestation, from my probable bronchitis-de-novo, from my frustration at not being able to see my Finances test results RIGHT NOW because my password doesn't work...
I complain a lot.
Here's me, off being creative without Photoshop. Let's see if I can come up with something interesting...
Monday, November 05, 2007
Money. The rerun.
You would think these things would be simpler.
You would think.
And be wrong.
Citibank needs to get their collect phone system working. There's this curious thing about collect calls: someone has to actually ACCEPT them. But their collect phone number which is printed on the back of the debit card jumps directly to a recording that says:
You have reached Citibank's collect number. Please select from the following list of options...or hold for an operator.
Guess what? Gotta hold. Because the statement that it IS their number for collect calls is not the same thing as ACCEPTING said collect calls. Each and every ATT&T operator that I used today found the system ridiculous...and stayed on the phone with me through the interminable wait, mostly, I think, out of curiosity and a desire to speak sharply to the poor people on the other end. Who were confused as to why they were talking to another operator...
So once I got through on Monday's Try #1, I was speaking to a bumbling operator who finally hung up on me rather than try to resolve the problem of getting a new debit card sent out. This didn't make me happy.
Try # 2 the system itself hung up on us. The gracious operator redialed for me.
Try # 3 put me through to a polite gentleman whose name was garbled, whose assistance was poor, but who was genuinely trying to help. Or, at least after I stopped him mid-sentence with a trembling voice and said,
"I'm in a foreign country and I have no way to access my bank account...are you telling me that if my card had been stolen, there is no way that your company can send a new one? Because I highly doubt that...and if that's the case, I'm switching all my money (oohh, like that was a THREAT!) to Washington Mutual!"
You see, it was the same run around. Can't send a card to a P.O. box. Can't send to an address that's not the one on record. Can't make the address of record a P.O. box. Can send overseas if a bank branch will accept it; cannot verify or assist with getting a bank branch to do so. And on and on in circles...
But finally, he puts me on hold and says, wait...I'm going to transfer you to a supervisor who will ask you some more intimate questions that will verify your identity and then if that's okay, we can send to any address you want.
WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE????
I talk to Sue. She asks me some inane questions that are not nearly as intimate as they would have you believe and are, incidentally, not really that secure. One question asked: In which of these four cities (or none of the above) have you lived? One of my ex-haunts is listed. Which anyone reading my blog would be able to pick out of a list. The next question asks: The county of the city you lived in was: W X Y or Z? And of course, one of the counties that I lived in was listed, but not the county of the city from the previous question. So the operator and I have this discussion about whether it is referring to question A or just a place that I've lived in general...grrr. Machines garble everything. Thankfully, I got the question right. Passed the test. I am who I say I am, at least, what my credit report says I am.
On to finding the right address to send my new card to. They can't send express mail to a P.O. box and I need the card to arrive by the end of the week. So I call my co-worker on the cellphone, put the operator on hold (ahhhh, the revenge of international collect charges for the people who are complicating my life) and we puzzle out the street address for the WMF office. Success!!! Someone will be signing for my new debit card tomorrow, if all goes well...
But then again, this is my soap-opera life. Will it? Only time will tell...
You would think.
And be wrong.
Citibank needs to get their collect phone system working. There's this curious thing about collect calls: someone has to actually ACCEPT them. But their collect phone number which is printed on the back of the debit card jumps directly to a recording that says:
You have reached Citibank's collect number. Please select from the following list of options...or hold for an operator.
Guess what? Gotta hold. Because the statement that it IS their number for collect calls is not the same thing as ACCEPTING said collect calls. Each and every ATT&T operator that I used today found the system ridiculous...and stayed on the phone with me through the interminable wait, mostly, I think, out of curiosity and a desire to speak sharply to the poor people on the other end. Who were confused as to why they were talking to another operator...
So once I got through on Monday's Try #1, I was speaking to a bumbling operator who finally hung up on me rather than try to resolve the problem of getting a new debit card sent out. This didn't make me happy.
Try # 2 the system itself hung up on us. The gracious operator redialed for me.
Try # 3 put me through to a polite gentleman whose name was garbled, whose assistance was poor, but who was genuinely trying to help. Or, at least after I stopped him mid-sentence with a trembling voice and said,
"I'm in a foreign country and I have no way to access my bank account...are you telling me that if my card had been stolen, there is no way that your company can send a new one? Because I highly doubt that...and if that's the case, I'm switching all my money (oohh, like that was a THREAT!) to Washington Mutual!"
You see, it was the same run around. Can't send a card to a P.O. box. Can't send to an address that's not the one on record. Can't make the address of record a P.O. box. Can send overseas if a bank branch will accept it; cannot verify or assist with getting a bank branch to do so. And on and on in circles...
But finally, he puts me on hold and says, wait...I'm going to transfer you to a supervisor who will ask you some more intimate questions that will verify your identity and then if that's okay, we can send to any address you want.
WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE????
I talk to Sue. She asks me some inane questions that are not nearly as intimate as they would have you believe and are, incidentally, not really that secure. One question asked: In which of these four cities (or none of the above) have you lived? One of my ex-haunts is listed. Which anyone reading my blog would be able to pick out of a list. The next question asks: The county of the city you lived in was: W X Y or Z? And of course, one of the counties that I lived in was listed, but not the county of the city from the previous question. So the operator and I have this discussion about whether it is referring to question A or just a place that I've lived in general...grrr. Machines garble everything. Thankfully, I got the question right. Passed the test. I am who I say I am, at least, what my credit report says I am.
On to finding the right address to send my new card to. They can't send express mail to a P.O. box and I need the card to arrive by the end of the week. So I call my co-worker on the cellphone, put the operator on hold (ahhhh, the revenge of international collect charges for the people who are complicating my life) and we puzzle out the street address for the WMF office. Success!!! Someone will be signing for my new debit card tomorrow, if all goes well...
But then again, this is my soap-opera life. Will it? Only time will tell...
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Money
Today I had a money freakout.
Sometimes, God speaks to me in a teeny tiny voice that I ignore. Like on Wednesday, when I didn't want to go to the bank because:
1. It was hot.
2. The air-conditioned metro stop was right around the corner.
3. I didn't want to be hauling around thousands of reis. I needed to get out the child sponsorship money because the beginning of the month was coming up, and we always try to give them the money ASAP because most Brazilian bills are due right around the 7th or so. But because I'm a little afraid of getting robbed, being white and obviously not Brazilian, I don't like to carry around loads of cash.
So I ignored the little voice and didn't go.
Today, I tried to access my internet banking. And it wouldn't let me. And then the site went off air. When I called international collect to see what was wrong, the man on the other end of the line got very confused. He didn't seem to understand English very well and became flustered when the operator asked him if he'd accept a collect call from a client in Brazil.
"Brazil? She needs to call our number in Brazil...I do not know this...I will have to ask a manager...
Even the operator was getting a little irritated with him. Maybe it was his first day and no one had told him that when customers overseas call their banks collect, there's usually a really good reason and they shouldn't fumble around for six minutes trying to decide if it's okay to accept the call.
So then he tells me that my card expired. Oops. And that I can't access my internet banking anymore until my new card is activated. And how to get a new card? Oh, they can mail me one here. But I need to go to a Citibank branch in Rio and ask them if they will accept the card for me. And if I get the name and address and all direitinho, THEN and only THEN will they send me a new card.
(I can only imagine what would happen if my card had been stolen. Getting through to the Citibank system was a miracle in and of itself...)
So, doubtful but tired of this dude, I head off to Tijuca, where there is a Citibank branch and also the only ATM in the city that has a good track record of working with my other debit card. ATM not working. Great. I have exactly enough money lying around in cash to pay my rent and buy bus passes for maybe, maybe the next week. But the phone, the light, the food bills? Not so much. Don't even get me started on the sponsorship funds, or after-school classes we're sponsoring...arrrrghhh!
At the Citibank branch, the young man with a retainer smiles at me and I use my best Portuguese to explain the situation. He heads off to speak with a manager and I enjoy the respite from the miserable summer heat. Suited retainer boy returns with a glass of water and a slightly remorseful "No, we can't actually do that. Maybe they do that in your country, but here...we just can't be responsible...Where are you from? Your Portuguese is very good. Do you live here? Where do you live? Oh, that's near me...you should really stop by here again."
Sweet. You can't help me, I am cashless in a foreign country, but you still offer a gentle cantada. If I could live off of compliments and flirting, perhaps I'd take you up on the offer. But I don't plan on making social visits to Citibank offices. Thanks, though!
So, having wasted R$3.50 on bus fares and sat on a miserable plastic seat in a cramped combi to save fifty whole centavos on the way there, I was ready to go home. Where I immediately called my bank some fifteen times until I was able to speak to a real person, whose name was that of a major makeup and beauty brand. We'll call her Maybelline, for fun.
Maybelline was wonderful. She got my internet banking working again, promised to send another debit card to my home address where it will be brought down to Brazil in the competent hands of some traveling friends here in a few weeks. So I managed to transfer funds and if God plays with the circuits in some ATMs down here, with luck I'll be able to withdraw money on Monday. If not, I'll be eating rice and canned corn and onions for a few days...
Most things aren't, but every now and again, things become more complicated when living in a foreign country. It's bad enough that the exchange rate has fallen from 2.18 to 1.76 in a matter of months. I never was good with numbers, and now I'm having to reconstruct budgets with falling exchange rates and calculate 2008 projections...
Managing money is not one of my giftings. As evidenced by the fact that simple things like expiration dates escape my notice. Hm. Live and learn, huh?
Sometimes, God speaks to me in a teeny tiny voice that I ignore. Like on Wednesday, when I didn't want to go to the bank because:
1. It was hot.
2. The air-conditioned metro stop was right around the corner.
3. I didn't want to be hauling around thousands of reis. I needed to get out the child sponsorship money because the beginning of the month was coming up, and we always try to give them the money ASAP because most Brazilian bills are due right around the 7th or so. But because I'm a little afraid of getting robbed, being white and obviously not Brazilian, I don't like to carry around loads of cash.
So I ignored the little voice and didn't go.
Today, I tried to access my internet banking. And it wouldn't let me. And then the site went off air. When I called international collect to see what was wrong, the man on the other end of the line got very confused. He didn't seem to understand English very well and became flustered when the operator asked him if he'd accept a collect call from a client in Brazil.
"Brazil? She needs to call our number in Brazil...I do not know this...I will have to ask a manager...
Even the operator was getting a little irritated with him. Maybe it was his first day and no one had told him that when customers overseas call their banks collect, there's usually a really good reason and they shouldn't fumble around for six minutes trying to decide if it's okay to accept the call.
So then he tells me that my card expired. Oops. And that I can't access my internet banking anymore until my new card is activated. And how to get a new card? Oh, they can mail me one here. But I need to go to a Citibank branch in Rio and ask them if they will accept the card for me. And if I get the name and address and all direitinho, THEN and only THEN will they send me a new card.
(I can only imagine what would happen if my card had been stolen. Getting through to the Citibank system was a miracle in and of itself...)
So, doubtful but tired of this dude, I head off to Tijuca, where there is a Citibank branch and also the only ATM in the city that has a good track record of working with my other debit card. ATM not working. Great. I have exactly enough money lying around in cash to pay my rent and buy bus passes for maybe, maybe the next week. But the phone, the light, the food bills? Not so much. Don't even get me started on the sponsorship funds, or after-school classes we're sponsoring...arrrrghhh!
At the Citibank branch, the young man with a retainer smiles at me and I use my best Portuguese to explain the situation. He heads off to speak with a manager and I enjoy the respite from the miserable summer heat. Suited retainer boy returns with a glass of water and a slightly remorseful "No, we can't actually do that. Maybe they do that in your country, but here...we just can't be responsible...Where are you from? Your Portuguese is very good. Do you live here? Where do you live? Oh, that's near me...you should really stop by here again."
Sweet. You can't help me, I am cashless in a foreign country, but you still offer a gentle cantada. If I could live off of compliments and flirting, perhaps I'd take you up on the offer. But I don't plan on making social visits to Citibank offices. Thanks, though!
So, having wasted R$3.50 on bus fares and sat on a miserable plastic seat in a cramped combi to save fifty whole centavos on the way there, I was ready to go home. Where I immediately called my bank some fifteen times until I was able to speak to a real person, whose name was that of a major makeup and beauty brand. We'll call her Maybelline, for fun.
Maybelline was wonderful. She got my internet banking working again, promised to send another debit card to my home address where it will be brought down to Brazil in the competent hands of some traveling friends here in a few weeks. So I managed to transfer funds and if God plays with the circuits in some ATMs down here, with luck I'll be able to withdraw money on Monday. If not, I'll be eating rice and canned corn and onions for a few days...
Most things aren't, but every now and again, things become more complicated when living in a foreign country. It's bad enough that the exchange rate has fallen from 2.18 to 1.76 in a matter of months. I never was good with numbers, and now I'm having to reconstruct budgets with falling exchange rates and calculate 2008 projections...
Managing money is not one of my giftings. As evidenced by the fact that simple things like expiration dates escape my notice. Hm. Live and learn, huh?
Chocolate Update
The chocolate sorbet?
To die for.
My recipe isn't really very exact. Something like:
1 cup cocoa powder
2 1/2 cups water
3/4 cups sugar
Boil those ingredients, or at least until the sugar dissolves. Then add some vanilla, about a teaspoon. Cool mixture and pour into ice cream maker or shallow pan to freeze. I added amarula liquor (which added dairy) but also gave a fun extra fruity flavor (and hopefully hid the extra protein flavor, if there was any). I bet instant coffee or fruit would also be yummy.
It tastes like creamy super dark chocolate, only melty and cold. Next time, I'm going to try it with a chocolate bar, because the powder leaves a little something to be desired and a slight chalky aftertaste. But even so, it's wonderful!
To die for.
My recipe isn't really very exact. Something like:
1 cup cocoa powder
2 1/2 cups water
3/4 cups sugar
Boil those ingredients, or at least until the sugar dissolves. Then add some vanilla, about a teaspoon. Cool mixture and pour into ice cream maker or shallow pan to freeze. I added amarula liquor (which added dairy) but also gave a fun extra fruity flavor (and hopefully hid the extra protein flavor, if there was any). I bet instant coffee or fruit would also be yummy.
It tastes like creamy super dark chocolate, only melty and cold. Next time, I'm going to try it with a chocolate bar, because the powder leaves a little something to be desired and a slight chalky aftertaste. But even so, it's wonderful!
This week has been slow; Friday is All Souls' Day and a national holiday. So of course, very little has gone on the whole week. It's kind of nice to have a couple of lazy days to look forward to. Perhaps I'll actually use this time to get away and write...or find a cozy tree in a park somewhere and hide from the sun.
Yesterday was glorious. I woke at seven with gnarled hands and no desire to go anywhere but I still made myself get up and have a bowl of cereal. Trix, if I remember correctly. Reminds me of my childhood. But after eating breakfast, I still didn't want to go to the gym, and I kind of had the day off from work. It still being reasonably cool outside, I crawled back in bed. And slept. And slept. And woke up at 11 am. Ahhhhhhhh...
In spite of the late start, it was a great day. Or perhaps, because of the late start. I went to the gym like a good girl and then came home for a cold shower (which is the closest thing to air conditioning in my house!). My friend was going to pick me up around 3:00 to go shopping, and in the meantime, I managed to write some letters and do some office work and felt productive. It's my day off, but I still can't relax. Go figure. Our shopping trip was a lot of fun; we snuck in to the "clients only" sale down in Barra. My friend, who we'll call Lu, a straight-haired, straight-talking petite firecracker, explained the sale in terms that I could only vaguely wrap my mind around. Maybe it's like the day after Thanksgiving? There are lines to get in the stores, and people just grab everything that looks interesting and start trying it on in the middle of the store...
We, however, being in-the-know, did not have to confront crowds of people for our finds. I am a big fan of buying things cheaply: today, I hesitated in buying toilet paper because there was a brand that was 20 centavos cheaper. So when I find shirts that normally run R$ 75 to R $150 for a mere R$ 20, you can be sure I want to be in on the action! Spending the evening with Lu was also great. She's slightly older than I am, and that in itself is refreshing. Most of my friends are younger, and while that's fine, I do sometimes feel like the old one of the bunch. There are some things that we just can't comisserate on, and with Lu, I can.
***
There was a woman in the street today, either severely endemoniada or severely drunk, or both. She went staggering into the middle of the street, dancing funk and then directing traffic, waiting at the red light with the cars, then rushing off with her arms waving like she was an Olympic sprinter. I watched her until my bus carried me away, and I wanted to cry. Monday we ran into another woman who exhibited that same disconnect with reality. She was extremely thin, with a crooked smile that looped around a nearly-horizontal front tooth. I'd guess she was about 29 or 30, though she had that aged look that comes with hard living. She had difficulty realizing that we could talk to her, and even as we would carry on conversations around her in Portuguese, she would interrupt with hand signs and broken Portuguese, as if we were incapable of understanding her. Her son was a wisp of a six-year old, if that's what he really was, with his hair neatly buzzed off and bleached blond. He was wearing underwear two sizes too big and nothing else and kept running away to grab a fishing line that was tied to a rusty post and verify that his fish was still there. One of the fishermen who frequent the area must have given him a present.
My conversations with the woman went something like this:
Her: Me have six children. He age six. Go school. Buy backpack for go school. Give money.
Me: Oh, that's nice that he goes to school. We can't give you any money, but if you'd like, I can look and see if we have a backpack in our supplies at home.
Her: Me have children. He son. School. Backpack. Give money.
Me: No, we can't.
Her: huffing away...returning two minutes later to have THE SAME CONVERSATION.
It was as if she had no short term memory. I'm guessing a lot of drug use, which is why we don't give money. The saddest part was right at the end, when one of our Servant Team members was picking the boy up and tossing him into the air. His eyes glittered with delight and his smile nearly set the place on fire.
"Mom, mom, MOM! Look! Look!" He was so expectant, so insistent.
But she kept ignoring him, intent on getting money. And after the fourth or fifth plea, when she finally threw a casual glance his way, I saw the faintest hint of a real smile on her face. But it faded as quickly as it came and she dragged her son away, as if to say, "You can't have fun with them unless they give me money."
I wonder how long that child's innocence will last.
***
I've been kind of bad about posting about work on here recently. I'll try to remedy that. I guess part of the slacking stems from a desire not to revisit some of my memories. It's easy to get burnt out doing this work, and I think I was unconsciously avoiding processing because I didn't want to get any closer to the pain than I already was. Now that I'm conscious of that fact, I can't really hide anymore. But be patient with me please, because I'm still trying to find a balance. These last few months have been tough for me regarding work on the streets and at the children's home, and it's only been in the last two weeks or so that I've begun to start dealing with my feelings and my frustrations and learn how to set new, more appropriate boundaries. This blog has been a good place for me to process in the past. If I can just get over my irrational desire to please everyone with my writing, I think it can continue to be good for me. And hopefully, for my readers as well.
Yesterday was glorious. I woke at seven with gnarled hands and no desire to go anywhere but I still made myself get up and have a bowl of cereal. Trix, if I remember correctly. Reminds me of my childhood. But after eating breakfast, I still didn't want to go to the gym, and I kind of had the day off from work. It still being reasonably cool outside, I crawled back in bed. And slept. And slept. And woke up at 11 am. Ahhhhhhhh...
In spite of the late start, it was a great day. Or perhaps, because of the late start. I went to the gym like a good girl and then came home for a cold shower (which is the closest thing to air conditioning in my house!). My friend was going to pick me up around 3:00 to go shopping, and in the meantime, I managed to write some letters and do some office work and felt productive. It's my day off, but I still can't relax. Go figure. Our shopping trip was a lot of fun; we snuck in to the "clients only" sale down in Barra. My friend, who we'll call Lu, a straight-haired, straight-talking petite firecracker, explained the sale in terms that I could only vaguely wrap my mind around. Maybe it's like the day after Thanksgiving? There are lines to get in the stores, and people just grab everything that looks interesting and start trying it on in the middle of the store...
We, however, being in-the-know, did not have to confront crowds of people for our finds. I am a big fan of buying things cheaply: today, I hesitated in buying toilet paper because there was a brand that was 20 centavos cheaper. So when I find shirts that normally run R$ 75 to R $150 for a mere R$ 20, you can be sure I want to be in on the action! Spending the evening with Lu was also great. She's slightly older than I am, and that in itself is refreshing. Most of my friends are younger, and while that's fine, I do sometimes feel like the old one of the bunch. There are some things that we just can't comisserate on, and with Lu, I can.
***
There was a woman in the street today, either severely endemoniada or severely drunk, or both. She went staggering into the middle of the street, dancing funk and then directing traffic, waiting at the red light with the cars, then rushing off with her arms waving like she was an Olympic sprinter. I watched her until my bus carried me away, and I wanted to cry. Monday we ran into another woman who exhibited that same disconnect with reality. She was extremely thin, with a crooked smile that looped around a nearly-horizontal front tooth. I'd guess she was about 29 or 30, though she had that aged look that comes with hard living. She had difficulty realizing that we could talk to her, and even as we would carry on conversations around her in Portuguese, she would interrupt with hand signs and broken Portuguese, as if we were incapable of understanding her. Her son was a wisp of a six-year old, if that's what he really was, with his hair neatly buzzed off and bleached blond. He was wearing underwear two sizes too big and nothing else and kept running away to grab a fishing line that was tied to a rusty post and verify that his fish was still there. One of the fishermen who frequent the area must have given him a present.
My conversations with the woman went something like this:
Her: Me have six children. He age six. Go school. Buy backpack for go school. Give money.
Me: Oh, that's nice that he goes to school. We can't give you any money, but if you'd like, I can look and see if we have a backpack in our supplies at home.
Her: Me have children. He son. School. Backpack. Give money.
Me: No, we can't.
Her: huffing away...returning two minutes later to have THE SAME CONVERSATION.
It was as if she had no short term memory. I'm guessing a lot of drug use, which is why we don't give money. The saddest part was right at the end, when one of our Servant Team members was picking the boy up and tossing him into the air. His eyes glittered with delight and his smile nearly set the place on fire.
"Mom, mom, MOM! Look! Look!" He was so expectant, so insistent.
But she kept ignoring him, intent on getting money. And after the fourth or fifth plea, when she finally threw a casual glance his way, I saw the faintest hint of a real smile on her face. But it faded as quickly as it came and she dragged her son away, as if to say, "You can't have fun with them unless they give me money."
I wonder how long that child's innocence will last.
***
I've been kind of bad about posting about work on here recently. I'll try to remedy that. I guess part of the slacking stems from a desire not to revisit some of my memories. It's easy to get burnt out doing this work, and I think I was unconsciously avoiding processing because I didn't want to get any closer to the pain than I already was. Now that I'm conscious of that fact, I can't really hide anymore. But be patient with me please, because I'm still trying to find a balance. These last few months have been tough for me regarding work on the streets and at the children's home, and it's only been in the last two weeks or so that I've begun to start dealing with my feelings and my frustrations and learn how to set new, more appropriate boundaries. This blog has been a good place for me to process in the past. If I can just get over my irrational desire to please everyone with my writing, I think it can continue to be good for me. And hopefully, for my readers as well.
Stickygross
The online newspaper says the day's high was about 36 degrees C. I beg to differ. I am baking in my apartment that faces the sun. The fans just blow the sticky heat around a little and do nothing to assist with the liters of water that are escaping from my body.
A big problem for me in this heat? I lose ALL my appetite. Yesterday, I pretty much just had cereal, chocolate milk, and mashed pumpkin. And 4-cheese pizza, except it was only 3-cheese and being cheap, we managed to talk the guy into giving us a discount due to their lack of catupiry. With the dollar as low as it is, I'm watching just about every penny!
I can't eat much, but what I want to eat is ice cream. Ice. Frozen berries. ANYTHING COLD. So today I've been experimenting with sorbets in an attempt to keep from having to throw out fruit and things that were getting old.
WARNING. SOME GROSS DESCRIPTIONS TO FOLLOW.
My first try was a coconut-lime sorbet. The recipe called for things I didn't have, so I improvised, throwing toasted coconut into the boiling water and sugar liquid and then adding my super-acidic juice. It's coming along nicely. The coconut gets extra chewy as it freezes and adds a fun dimension to the sorbet, though I think it needs more juice and a little less sugar. Next time...
While looking up recipes for the lime sorbet, I saw one for a chocolate sorbet, dairy-free. And that intrigued me, because I find it hard to believe that chocolate, sugar, and water can become something as "deliciously creamy" as these tasters were claiming. So I scrounged around for my little box of baking cocoa and threw the first scoop in. Then, as that wasn't working so well, I pulled the bag out of the box and noticed it was perforated with tiny holes. Hum. Tiny holes are probably not part of the packaging design for cocoa powder. These would indicate the presence of bugs in the chocolate. This leaves me with three options:
1. Throw it out.
2. Sift it.
3. Use it and worry about the bugs later.
I decide without much thought to just toss it all in. It's been in the refrigerator; surely it's too cold to support life there? And they'll all die in the boiling liquid if there's any left...
So without the slightest quease, I knowingly toss buggy cocoa into my sugar syrup. And I'm stirring and testing and stirring and testing and...what's that on my spoon? A small, chocolate coated white WORM????
Bugs I was prepared for. Somehow, worms are infinitely more disgusting.
There is a pause. There is desire for chocolate sorbet. A decision is made.
I have a tiny mesh strainer. So the chocolate mixture gets strained into the freezing pot...and oh, what A LOT OF DISGUSTING WORMS ARE IN THE BOTTOM!!! But none in my ice cream!
It's freezing now. And would you believe, this isn't affecting my desire to eat it one bit???
A big problem for me in this heat? I lose ALL my appetite. Yesterday, I pretty much just had cereal, chocolate milk, and mashed pumpkin. And 4-cheese pizza, except it was only 3-cheese and being cheap, we managed to talk the guy into giving us a discount due to their lack of catupiry. With the dollar as low as it is, I'm watching just about every penny!
I can't eat much, but what I want to eat is ice cream. Ice. Frozen berries. ANYTHING COLD. So today I've been experimenting with sorbets in an attempt to keep from having to throw out fruit and things that were getting old.
WARNING. SOME GROSS DESCRIPTIONS TO FOLLOW.
My first try was a coconut-lime sorbet. The recipe called for things I didn't have, so I improvised, throwing toasted coconut into the boiling water and sugar liquid and then adding my super-acidic juice. It's coming along nicely. The coconut gets extra chewy as it freezes and adds a fun dimension to the sorbet, though I think it needs more juice and a little less sugar. Next time...
While looking up recipes for the lime sorbet, I saw one for a chocolate sorbet, dairy-free. And that intrigued me, because I find it hard to believe that chocolate, sugar, and water can become something as "deliciously creamy" as these tasters were claiming. So I scrounged around for my little box of baking cocoa and threw the first scoop in. Then, as that wasn't working so well, I pulled the bag out of the box and noticed it was perforated with tiny holes. Hum. Tiny holes are probably not part of the packaging design for cocoa powder. These would indicate the presence of bugs in the chocolate. This leaves me with three options:
1. Throw it out.
2. Sift it.
3. Use it and worry about the bugs later.
I decide without much thought to just toss it all in. It's been in the refrigerator; surely it's too cold to support life there? And they'll all die in the boiling liquid if there's any left...
So without the slightest quease, I knowingly toss buggy cocoa into my sugar syrup. And I'm stirring and testing and stirring and testing and...what's that on my spoon? A small, chocolate coated white WORM????
Bugs I was prepared for. Somehow, worms are infinitely more disgusting.
There is a pause. There is desire for chocolate sorbet. A decision is made.
I have a tiny mesh strainer. So the chocolate mixture gets strained into the freezing pot...and oh, what A LOT OF DISGUSTING WORMS ARE IN THE BOTTOM!!! But none in my ice cream!
It's freezing now. And would you believe, this isn't affecting my desire to eat it one bit???
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