Here and Now

Beetle Raccoon

2017-07-09T08:09:00.002-07:00

Dreamed a beetle raccoon (I know they don't exist, but in my dream they did. His back shell was like those beautiful green colored beetles but his body was a raccoon.) stole my iPad. I had gotten the iPad to take a picture of him because even in the dream I thought he was unique but the memory was full and while I tried to erase some photos, he took it and started walking away. I ran after him; however, I lost him in the busy city. I began asking people if they had seen a beetle raccoon with an iPad in his hands. To my surprise the people were not fazed by the mention of a beetle raccoon. That's dreams for you. I guess people who live in big cities have seen it all. Did not find the beetle raccoon nor did I find my iPad. Darn raccoon. Tense dream.

Owl

2017-04-13T07:42:00.000-07:00

On my way to the market,
I met an owl.
She asked me who I was,
But I really couldn't say.

New Shoes

2016-05-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

I got new shoes. I like them so much I don't want to wear them in the street so they won't get dirty. That might destroy the sole purpose of buying new shoes.

Amigo

2015-07-16T18:44:00.001-07:00

Hoje encontrei com meu amigo imaginário. Estava irreconhecível, quase que passei direto de tão diferente que estava. Não estávamos na rua. Ia da cozinha para o quarto, imagina o susto! De perto percebi que estava acabado. So tive certeza que era ele porque me chamou pelo apelido que só nos sabíamos. Não vou contar pra vocês qual era. Ele ficaria chateado.
Acho que andou bebendo, senti um leve bafo. Veio pedir dinheiro. Me deu uma pena. Peguei varias notas do jogo de Monopoly das crianças. Ele pareceu bem satisfeito, disse que ia usar para pagar umas dividas mas acho que já estava fazendo o calculo de quantas garrafas de 51 podia conseguir.
Disse para ele que precisava ir. Minha mãe aguardava no quarto o copo d'água que havia pedido. Ele prometeu me pagar assim que pudesse e perguntou se eu ainda jogava bola no campinho. Era onde ele mais gostava de me acompanhar. Apertou minha mão e sumiu para de trás do armário.

Anda Aranha

2015-07-16T17:11:00.002-07:00

Há uma semana uma aranha mora no meu banheiro. Não a eliminei porque acho que pode ter sido ela que sumiu com um mosquito que me picou enquanto tirava um cochilo tarde dessas. Fiquei sem coragem de simplesmente esmaga-la depois de ter sido tão prestativa.
Desde de ontem de noite ela está toda encolhidinha numa bolinha. Achei que tinha passado dessa pra melhor porque depois de soprar pra ver se ela mexia, nada.
Sai de casa de manhã e quando voltei lá estava ela na mesma posição. Pensei: se foi coitada. Mas, depois de algumas horas usando o iPad na sala, volto para o banheiro e descubro que seu pequenino corpo desapareceu!
Ou ela é uma safada e está rindo de mim agora, ou alguém ocultou o corpo.
Pior que estou sozinha e tá dando um medinho.
Acho que vou usar o banheiro da área.

2015-06-05T04:10:00.003-07:00

Every day when I wake up I play a game called: What-do-I-feel-hurt-first. Today my knees won. My legs came in second place. I'm glad my head lost its first position. It was getting kinda stuck up.

2014-12-14T07:58:00.001-08:00

Estou feliz por viver. (quero deixar bem claro que essa felicidade não tem nada haver com o fato de meu marido ter viajado com as crianças e eu ter o computador, a televisão, o banheiro e o quarto só pra mim.) :)

Dance and Draw

2014-06-17T08:06:00.001-07:00

I did an activity with my Top Kids group that worked out really well. They were learning the names of family members. I wrote the name of a family member on sheets of paper: mom, dad, brother, sister, grandma and grandpa and stuck them up around the class. Then, I put music on and they had to dance till I stopped the music. When the music stopped they had to run to one of the sheets and draw whatever was written on it. Each time the music stopped, they had to run to a different word to draw. They had fun and I left they papers up to remind them of the words whenever necessary.
I did the same activity using everyday habits like take a shower and eat. It really helps them remember the vocabulary and enjoy themselves at the same time.

Kids and God

2014-05-02T06:35:00.001-07:00

Once when my son was around 2, he asked me to go to the bathroom with him. We were both in the living room watching TV. I reminded him that he already knew how to go to the bathroom by himself and he could go alone. The lights in the hall were off and I noticed he was somewhat scared. I told him there was nothing to be afraid of and told him to go.
As he was walking down the hall to the bathroom, I decided to reasure him and called out that God would be there in the bathroom with him. Not the best idea. He came running back crying in a panic and I had to calm him down by telling him okay, okay He's not in the bathroom. No one is in the bathroom, don't worry.

Who are we?

2014-02-02T15:36:00.001-08:00

I have to ask my students to introduce themselves. Say who they are. Then, I stopped and thought: Who am I? How would I introduce myself? Really, who am I? It's what we, humans, do. Try to discover who we are. We find it much easy to describe who other people are but find it much harder to do the same thing about ourselves. So, who am I?
A mother? Ok, a mother but that can't be all. Although to society that may be a lot. It doesn't define me beyond the fact that I have children. A teacher? Ok, a teacher but although our profession is one of the main things that define us, it's not who I am inside. It's more how other people see me. Being a teacher is what I do during the day and probably bore non-teacher people talking about all the time.
So, if asked to say who I am, I might say I am a woman who has kids, and teaches or at tries to teach others to speak a language and by doing this I guess I show part of who I am. I am someone who immensely enjoys getting to know people and listening to their stories, and also being able to share parts of my own.
I am a dreamer. The type who dreams stories by day and hopes to write them one day. A brain filled with bits of everyday tales that make me smile, cry, think and want to wake up in the morning.
I am an observer of life. That's who I am. That's who I like to be.

A PESSOA DO CACHORRO 3 MINUTOS

2013-03-24T06:01:00.001-07:00

Back at 50 (pun intended)

2012-12-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

Well, I've decided I've been away long enough. I had to come back and write something new, now that I've turned 50. Everything that I bragged about never having in my 40s caught up with me now that I've completed half a century. (Wow, that sounds old! I keep remimding myself it really isn't if compared to how old the earth is. Does help a little.) I have acquired, not intentionally, a major backache which prolongs itself all the way down my right arm. I have to admit it started because of my poor posture and maybe somewhat because of the long into the wee hours of the night on the computer. I ignored the signs my body was frantically trying to send me and convinced myself if my teen boys could sit vulture-like at the computer killing dragons for hours with no major injuries, then, so could I. Not that I was killing dragons or anything exciting like that, just mostly writing, preparing classes and laughing at some silly memes every facebooker (Is that what they're called?) insists on posting, meself included.
After, 5 agonizing days of moving around like some crooked assistant to a mad scientist, my cleaning lady finally convinced me I should go to the hospital to get some shots for the pain. Since the pain killers I was taking were doing basically nothing to lessen the pain, I obediently followed her experienced advice. After, waiting patiently, in increasing pain for a very long hour, made even longer by the fact that I had to keep nodding as I feigned to listen to an elderly woman in front of me who decided she had to share her ailments with me, I was finally called to talk to the doctor. I have to admit I've become just a tad prejudice when I come face to face with a few professionals under their 30s who want to give me advice as if they've been around longer than I have. (I believe that's one of the "now I'm 50" things.) I hurriedly told him my sad story while at the same time reminding myself: he's the doctor who studied many long years to do this and he knows how to end your misery, and when at the end was given the option of taking medicine at home or being given something strong for the pain then and there, I guess you can figure out what I chose.
I was directed to a room where a nurse 15 minutes later apperaed with my drugs, I have never been so pleased to see a nurse with a needle in my life. I was to be given 3 shots, one right on my arm where the pain was tying my muscles in knots and laughing, (by now I was sure I could hear laughung coming from inside me somewhere), and 2 other shots on each of my butt cheeks. The kind woman asked me where I usually had my shots on my rear. Usually? What kind of person usually has shots there? I told her I had no idea since the last time I was given any kind of shot in that area I was probably 3. She chose a spot I suppose she found reasonable and in seconds I was painless, at least in the areas mentioned at the beginning of my post because now both my butt cheeks were burning. I tried to imagine something cool to diminish the new pain by imagining this was the same kind of burn people felt when they got tatoos. Not that that specific region would be my chosen tatoo placement.
Smiling, the doctor told me I should wait awhile to see how I would react to the shots. I could have told him right then I was not reacting well, at least my hind wasn't. But I wanted to leave, so I lay waiting to see what the rest of my body had to say. The laughing had stopped. But after no longer being able to lie on my behind I asked to go home, I still had to go to work. The nurse asked me who was taking me. I told her I was driving myself home. She then remembered to inform me the drugs I was given would make me sleepy and that I shouldn't be driving. I was already feeling slightly light headed but informed her I lived 3 blocks away and believed I could make it safely there without falling fast asleep over the wheel.
To make a very long story short, I was very nice to my students that day but do not really remember what I taught them, everything was kind of blurry. But, I made it home alive and woke up the next day with the same backache as I had prior to the shots plus a mild case of pain in the ass ( I can now clearly understand why they call annoying people that) accompanied by the worst nausea I have ever and by ever I really mean EVER felt in my very short 50 years. But that's a whole new story and one I, at the moment, choose to forget.
50 has arrived with a blast and so far not the party fun kind.

there are those days...

2012-06-17T20:14:00.001-07:00

2012-05-27T18:22:00.001-07:00

O Susto

Não tive a menor intenção de lhe causar mal. Não imaginava que aquilo pudesse acontecer. Eu, que nem tinha coragem de pisar numa barata sem fechar os olhos e tapar o ouvido, não pretendia assustar tanto a pobre criatura. Pelo menos não ao ponto de matá-la. Essa parte foi totalmente sem querer. O susto, aceito, foi intencional, mas como poderia saber que ela sofria do coração? Eu nem tinha gritado tão alto assim. Com certeza seu coração já devia está pedindo arrego. Morrer de susto era só força de expressão, não era para acontecer literalmente. E no mais, eu sei que não tinha gritado tão alto porque não queria acordar o bebê. Ele continuava a dormir no carrinho, ainda bem, não tinha nem pulado quando eu dei o berro. Pra você ver que o grito não tinha sido dos maiores. Respirei fundo. Tinha que me controlar.

Deixe eu me explicar, contar desde o início. Eu havia saído de casa naquela manhã como faço todos os dias, às sete horas, para passear com o bebê. Meu primeiro filho. O primeiro de sete. E sete era o meu número da sorte. Havia nascido no dia sete do sete. Tinha namorado sete anos antes de casar. Casei em 77 aos 27 anos...

Bem, mas isso não vem ao assunto em questão, era só para vocês perceberem que era um dia como outro qualquer e que eu sou uma pessoa normal como outra qualquer.

Brasília não é exatamente um lugar onde se encontra muitas pessoas pela rua para conversar, especialmente àquela hora da manhã. Então, sempre que encontrava alguém, gostava de parar para bater um papo. Meu marido trabalhava o dia todo e a faxineira, quando aparecia, entrava muda e saía calada. Um verdadeiro tédio...

Minhas únicas opções eram ter longos monólogos com o bebê, que sempre me olhava como se não estivesse entendendo. Então, como sempre achava que tinha que explicar melhor, não saíamos do mesmo assunto. A outra opção era simplesmente procurar alguém na rua para não enlouquecer.

Bem, era um dia como outro qualquer. A única diferença era que naquela manhã em especial, decidira que ia fazer algo diferente. Na noite anterior, enquanto colocava o neném para dormir, tinha visto parte de um programa. Nunca conseguia ver nada por inteiro. Para mim, sete minutos de qualquer coisa já bastava.

Bem, o programa dizia que tínhamos de experimentar fazer algo diferente todos os dias para aproveitarmos melhor a vida. Achei uma ótima idéia. Então decidi que, no dia seguinte – o sétimo dia do mês – seria o dia ideal para se começar qualquer coisa e faria algo que nunca fizera antes.

Talvez não tivesse escolhido a melhor coisa para fazer. Bem, com certeza escolhi a pessoa errada. Era para ser só uma brincadeira, uma pegadinha, dessas que a gente vê na televisão. Deixe-me explicar melhor. É que desde pequena eu tinha vontade de dar um susto em um desconhecido na rua. Sabe desses sustos que a pessoa vem por trás e dá um grito e o outro se treme todo de pavor. Depois, é para os dois se olharem e caírem na gargalhada e começarem a conversar, podendo até se tornarem amigos.

Foi o que eu fiz. Só que eu não havia percebido que ela era tão velhinha. Hoje em dia a gente olha as pessoas por trás e acha que tem no máximo uns trinta anos. Depois quando vai olhar a cara, percebe que já passou dos setenta.

Como ia saber? Era culpa dessas modas que todas as mulheres, não importando a idade, usam. Pelas costas não tem como saber a idade de uma pessoa. Às vezes, nem mesmo pela frente. Com tanta plástica diferente que existe por aí. Tem que olhar bem de perto, observar a pele do pescoço.

Se bem que o fato dela estar usando uma bengala deveria ter me alertado. Mas eu não tinha parado para pensar. Tinha ficado tão contente em encontrar outra pessoa acordada e caminhando àquela hora e com a possibilidade de poder começar logo cedo a colocar meu plano em ação que não tinha dado tempo de parar para pensar nas consequências.

Fui devagarzinho por trás dela e assim que dei o berro ela foi se desmilinguindo e caiu no chão. Os olhos abertos. Bem, melhor dizendo, esbugalhados de susto. E eu fiquei ali paralisada por um minuto, também tinha levado um susto. Aquilo não era exatamente o resultado que eu esperava.

Então, abaixei para tocar seu pescoço como já havia visto inúmeras vezes em filmes. Mas nada pulsava e seus olhos me fitavam acusadoramente. Olhos azuis, que lindos! Desculpa, disse baixinho. Levantei rapidamente e olhei em volta, não havia nenhum outro ser vivo por perto. Alguém deu uma gargalhada! Pulei e olhei ao meu redor só para descobrir que tinha sido eu mesma. Tapei a boca com força. Precisava sair logo dali. Olhei para o carrinho. O neném dormia feito anjinho.

Peguei o carrinho e sai apressadamente. Sentia que olhos me seguiam enquanto me afastava. Que bobeira, só tinha eu aqui!? Coitada, pensei, era sua hora. Não foi minha culpa com certeza. Suspirei aliviada. Olhei para o relógio. Eram sete e treze. Acho que a velhinha tinha morrido às sete e sete. Que sorte, hein?

Acelerei o passo, pois precisava passar no mercado para comprar feijão para o almoço.

summer

2012-05-05T11:53:00.001-07:00

summer by elide-pinheiro-goncalves featuring cotton blouses

Night

2012-05-01T17:26:00.001-07:00

Night by elide-pinheiro-goncalves featuring prada handbags

Pink and Black

2012-04-22T18:45:00.001-07:00

Pink and Black by elide-pinheiro-goncalves featuring Wallis bracelets

Q-Tips

2012-01-31T18:08:00.000-08:00

I went to a party once, a dinner really, at a club. This was a dinner for adults, no kids. In the ladies' bathroom, someone, I believe following the party planner's orders, had placed things women might need. There were among other things pads, dental floss and...Q-Tips. Now, I ask you, why would someone at a dinner party go to the bathroom and decide to clean their ears?

"Excuse me I have to go to the ladies' room."
"I'll go with you I have to go to the bathroom, too."
"I don't really have to go, I'm going to clean my ears. There's too much wax in them. I can't hear properly."
"?"

Who at what point came up with the idea that Q-Tips would be a necessary item for this occasion? And who was this strange person with? Because someone had to have agreed with him to be able to convince others to buy the product.
Unfortunately, none of them were used. Yes, before leaving the party, I just had to go and check if any of the boxes had been opened. They were not.
They were probably put away for future dinner parties.

Stephen Fry on Language - clap clap clap to him

2012-01-31T15:58:00.000-08:00

2012-01-07T06:14:00.000-08:00

I'm reading Dorothy Parker. She's fascinating. I love to imagine her writing those stories in that period. She was, like most great writers, ahead of her time. The stories are mostly funny with a dark side to them, just like her, I suppose. I'm reading her "Portable" book which I bought at Livraria Cultura in São Paulo, my favorite place to be. If the world were taken over by zombies, this is the place I would like to be locked up in. Besides all the books, there's food and a bathroom, too. It's also a place that's fairly easy to lock up. I have really thought this over. Well, here's a little poem which I believe sums up what Dottie (we have became quite close so I guess I can call her that) was like:
Observation

If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again.
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much;
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I don't give a damn.

2011-12-17T09:17:00.000-08:00

Meus filhos participaram de uma peça de teatro: Dona Baratinha. Foi na Lona Cultural Gilberto Gil de Realengo. Um espaço da Prefeitura do Rio de Janeiro aparentemente bem aproveitado e bem cuidado pelos funcionários do local. Tem atividades diversas - de yoga à dança de salão - alguns de graça e outros por um preço bem camarada. A Zona Oeste do Rio precisa de mais lugares assim.

Nada contra as pipas, mas as crianças precisam ter mais atividades dispóniveis para ocuparem suas vidas. Gostei muito do lugar e das pessoas que ali trabalham ou se divertem com os diferentes cursos. Que venhem mais investimentos para essa área tão grande do Rio e tão pouco explorada.

The Girls

2011-10-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

Twinkie and Taffy were twins. Hence, the name TWINkie, get it, hahahahaha. Their parents' laughing was sort of creepy. That's how they always first introduced her, their first born. Taffy, followed right after, named after what her mother craved for, and ate feverishly during the girls' 7 month pregnancy. The girls were 13 but the smell of taffy still lingered in their house. We were neighbors so I knew.
I'd watch the girls pass by our kitchen window every morning as my mom always in her you're-going-to-be-late frenzy finished packing my lunch. Twinkie in the lead and Taffy following close behind. Both wearing the same clothes but in different colors and carrying their identical pink school bags. Ever so often my mom would catch a glimpse of them marching briskly along the sidewalk and mutter, those girls are so nice. To which I said nothing, since I took it she was implying, I wasn't.
And I had to admit that's what the girls were: nice. And that was about it: nice. Very dull in my opinion, but, apparently, dull and boring are very popular among adults. The girls were never late for school, never got into fights or trouble of any kind WHATSOEVER, at school or any other place for that matter. They sat in the front row in our class and always remembered to raise their hands to speak and could always smile when they got their tests back. Their sun-streaked blond hair was always brushed and tied back in perfect neat pony tails with colorful glittery rubberbands which matched their oufit.
Because they were nice, there was nothing we, meaning my friends and I, could ever say about them. The worst we could do was sort of spit out the sentence: Those girls are so nice. With cat spitting-like emphasis on the nice.
In my mind, nobody could be that nice. Especially in twos. There had to be something amiss somewhere. They must be mean, or bad or, at least, do something un-nice sometimes. I never verbalized these thoughts for there were times I thought my dislike of their niceness was just plain envy. Probably was, for what normal human being does not envy perfect. But the idea of catching them somehow doing something, ANYTHING, which wasn't nice began to take up most of my thoughts. And because I was 13 and lived in a very small town, my thoughts didn't vary much from boys, chocolate and riding my bike.
One day, after school, I got my dad's binoculars out from his treasured I-was-once-a-boy-scout drawer and kneeled in front of my bedroom window which looked over the girls' backyard. After months of rolling the thought of nobody can be that perfect in my mind, I decided it was time to prove my theory.

(to be continued)

Pink Hippos

2011-08-27T08:21:00.000-07:00

I was so pleased with myself that I started to skip. Started, and then, stopped immediately. My thighs hurt. So, did my calves. My belly felt achy too. Okay, I'll admit it: my whole body hurt but I was still the happiest person on the sidewalk. I skipped some more, however, only in my head this time; it was less painful this way. I had had my first ballet class the day before. Classical ballet. It may not mean much to you, but at 43, a classical ballet class is no little feat. It was like a 20 year old's Mt. Everest. The fact that I was a tad overweight and the oldest in class, besides the teacher, did not take away my determination to do the whole class. And I did. The whole one hour thing. Hence, the pain I was feeling right now. But I hadn't felt this satisfied in a while. I smiled as I wobbled through the crowd on my way to work.

I had started ballet for three reasons. First, I needed the work out. Second, my doctor had suggested some kind of therapy. And last, could there be cuter clothes? How else could I dress up in baby pink from head to toe and not have to explain myself? And you know what I found out the best part of the whole thing was? Telling other people. The look on their faces: priceless. I had to bite my cheeks not to burst out laughing as people tried to continue the conversation naturally, without mentioning anything about the fact that I had taken up an activity you would normally see 7 year olds doing.

It was like the big white elephant in the room everybody knew was there but nobody wanted to mention. (And by elephant, I mean the metaphor and not me in my ballet class; pink Disney Fantasia hippo maybe, but definitely not elephant) Alright, I heard you snigger. Yes, you, standing behind the lady reading this. Another grin from you and I'll whack you so hard on the side of the head your ear wax will fly out the other side. Yeah, that's right just walk away. Man, he certainly ruined the mood. I sighed and entered the elevator. Classical music playing. I smiled again.

Well, as I was saying, besides the work out, I need the therapy too. I've been a little tense lately. Might have something to do with menopause and all that shit. One minute your skipping the next you want to strangle someone. But things are better since yesterday. Finally, I reached my floor. I straightened my shoulders and as gracefully as one could in my present state made it to my desk. Am quite sure everyone noticed how gracefully I walked. After all, graceful, is what we, ballerinas are.

Glogster

2011-07-31T12:00:00.001-07:00

2011-07-17T19:42:00.000-07:00

What If...