Stream of Consciousness Sunday

The Rules as told by Fadra: This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

I've decided to finally join in on Fadra's stream of consciousness Sunday. A 5 minute open writing exercise similar to verbal vomiting but only in writing form.

I remember doing this is my creative writing class in high school. I would spend half my time doodling.

And here I am again. My youngest calling my name over and over again just to come look at his finger. That's my life, a serious of distractions that are too interesting to pass up. Of course I want to look at his finger. Goodness knows it's only an excuse to call my attention but who cares.

And I sit at this computer blabbing away while surrounded by far too much to do. An exciting/disastrous ladies night on Friday put me out on Saturday. The kiddos fever on the same day gave me the perfect excuse for dumping my responsibilities and just laying around with him.

This weekend has been just that, a realization of the imporantance of being there for one another. Talking to friends, giving attention to family, and seeing where each other are at.

We can get so caught up in our own lives that we don't even see what's happening to the people around us. We have no clue that there's something behind someone's smile.

But it all turns out ok, one way or another. For now, I'm going to try to clean up our daily messes that have accumulated over the past couple of days. That and get together my friend's clothes as ladies night turned into a fashion show. Let the world's strength be with me as I return everything. She has far more style than I do and I would so love all this stuff just to disappear into my closet! 

It Was My Dream Home

This was the home of my dreams in Rio de Janeiro.  Just look at her shining in all her glory.

But we didn't meet that way. No no, I'm not one to fall for something so shiny.  When I first saw her, she had been abandoned for a while. Grey and moldy. My diamond in the rough.   

Imagine my surprise when I passed her a few years back and saw she was getting some work done.  I never judge a lady who gets things lifted up and put back in their place, but it broke my heart a little. I knew she now had someone and would never be mine.

You see, there are many abandoned homes in Rio de Janeiro. A lot of them are too expensive for the owners to fix up, have back taxes, or have relatives fighting over the rights of them in court. Regardless, the poor homes suffer as they are left to rot in their own stink.  

I saw the house above my first visit to Rio in 2003.  I fell instantly in love. As with all my romances, I immediately started forming ridiculous fantasies about the lives we'd have together.  

I saw Mr. Rant and I somehow making a crap load of money and buying that house out from under whatever drama it was drowning in. We would hire an amazing architect who would bring our baby back to her prime. Obviously we would do a lot of the work with skilled workers to help with the hardcore stuff. Hell, we would have the time and money.   

We would bring Villa Sylvia back to life and then fill her with even more.  Our world would be grand with our numerous children running around filling the spacious rooms and tiny yard with laughter.  

Ah well, unfounded fantasies normally leave us disappointed anyway.  But this time that is not entirely true. 

After a tad bit of researching, aka 10 minutes on google, I was able to find out who fixed up this little lady.  Apparently someone does own it and they busted their ass trying make things right. Since the building was originally built in 1913, it is considered a type of historical landmark. The owner had to jump through quite a few hoops and maybe even over a barrel to get this home fixed up.

Everything had to be as close to the original as possible, including saving whatever building material salvageable.  They looked into old, old, crazy old Rio de Janeiro water records and stuff!  No new tiles here. Just shiny up the good stuff from a classic age. 

And while there will be other houses and fantasies, this one will always have a special place in my heart. You see, it was my first fantasy about living with Mr. Rant in Rio de Janeiro.  Every time I walk past that place I remember the white California girl who wandered around lost in the streets, the language, and the culture.  

It seems that while the building developed, so did I.  

For more on this story, check out: Oglobo  Fyi, this site is in Portuguese. 

The Heart of the Rio de Janeiro Sambodromo

I've done Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro many times.  The street parties, drinking before noon, and pressed up against other sweaty bodies. All you would expect in a Catholic country.

But this was my first year at the Sambodromo. My first year seeing the big parade put on by the samba schools. And I know what you are all waiting for. You are expecting my impressions to be full of the champagne and chic food in the camarote (box).

That isn't what stuck at all.  You arrive to a place that is a container of energy. Thank goodness it's open air or I think any commoner, such as myself, would implode upon entry.  People are there to cheer, see, and enjoy.

The epitome of it all was one woman. She was in the seats below our box.  Of course, you could not tell where this woman was actually supposed to sit because she did not sit at all. She was samba-ing up and down the entire area. Not only that, she was entering into the other little seating area and encouraging everyone else to dance.  And they did, down to the security personnel.

Excuse the blur as I was trying to catch the ever moving woman in white

She was not a traditional perky-tooshed samba dancer, nor was she some exotic picture of a Brazilian woman that we see overseas. She was a real Brazilian woman, with a real Brazilian ass, shaking it up and down wherever it would take her.

I loved her! For me, she was the heart of what this entire holiday is about. It is a countrywide celebration in a way that only Brazilians can do it.  And in the face of the fires 3 of the schools experienced, the heart of Carnaval was really shown.

Yes, they put on a good show down here. The women are beautiful, the music intoxicating, and the colors seizure inducing.  Then you look deeper.

This is the heart of Brazil. Not Carnaval, but the joy. Brazilians can take a lot of what life throws at them and turn it into a barbecue, street party, and world-renowned parade.

They will smile, shake their ass, and drink a beer.  Who's life isn't hard sometimes? Why not enjoy the things you can. Carnaval is just putting that frame of mind under a microscope for the entire world to see.

And that energy carried me through a night of samba dancing in a boot. Of course, the champagne did help. 

Metric system and Paris: That's just wise

I was reading a fellow blogger's post about what they would tell their 16 yr old self. Forgive me, but I forget who it was. If you know tell me so I can shout out.

Anyway, I can't just talk to my 16 year old because the rebellion started much sooner in my case.  While I don't believe in regret, I do believe that hindsight is 20/20 so here we go.

I'd first go talk to little Miss 3rd grader Rachel.  She refused to memorize the metric system.  I asked my teacher: "Why do I have to learn about meters if I use feet and inches?"  My teacher responded "In case you live somewhere else."  I replied, and I remember the exact moment as I was biting myself in the ass "Why would I live anywhere else?!" Well there you go little Miss 3rd grader Rachel. You live in Brazil. How do you like the metric system now?

Next is Spanish in the 8th grade. I was like, "Whatever. I'm an 8th grader. I'll do what I have to to get by. Why are people trying so hard?!" I got a C. Took me forever to learn crappy Spanish in High School. I didn't have that base for Portuguese. Hello 8th Grade Rachel, any 2nd language would have been awesome. Grow up.

I land in University and have credit to burn. I took 3 dance classes.  I so should have dropped one for a language or a history class. Maybe I could have taken cooking or geography. I don't know but 3 dance classes was a bit excessive, even though I burned so many calories that I could drink like a fish and eat like a sailor.  Hey, it was college.

At one point in University, my roommate bought a ridiculously cheap round trip ticket to Paris with a mutual friend.  It was something like $400 but I didn't have the money. She told me to charge it. I thought that was irresponsible. You know what, I still don't have that money around and I missed a trip to Paris with 2 girlfriends. Should have gone. College Rachel, don't save and go on trips.

Early 20s, I freaked out when I came to Rio and had to stay with my husband's Portuguese only speaking family. I was insecure and used it for evil instead of good. I was afraid that my husband of 6 months would decide we didn't match because I didn't blend right in with everyone and speak their language. To compensate, I shut off, pulled away, and argued with my husband. Yeah, that does not make things easier.  In retrospect I was crazy. At the moment I was just confused, sad, lost, and overly sheltered.  Learning is a bitch sometimes. Best to come into it with an open mind and thicker skin.

I also could have started to blog sooner! I have met so many people in my position now that I have a blog. It also works to start reading blogs. Get out there on the internet.  There are people in your spot, feeling what you are feeling. You just have to find them.

That's pretty much all I have.  I think that for 30 years, it's pretty damn good.  I've obviously made other mistakes in my life but I feel they were necessary. How else does a person learn?

Now the ones above, those were just stupid.  How about you, what stupid choices does your retrospect focus on?