Change and Challenge and Moving on and Looking back and Making Decisions
Most of us are scared of change. It is a natural program mode of the human brain: Change on the horizon? Panic button! However, most change experienced leads us to challenge ourselves in ways we never imagined possible. Sometimes it means physically moving on. Sometimes it enables us to look back and reflect, process the actions taken and the lessons learned and make a spiritual change in our life. Mostly, change is frightening, in my humble opinion, because it means we have to make decisions.
I Feel Like a Grown-Up. I like this phrase. I use this phrase when I feel the strength of independent, solid decision making. But this phrase also reminds me of how complicated life continues to be as we grow up and lead independent lives, and how often, even as adults, we long for the protection of our parents.
The first few years living in Rio I didn't have a car. I used public transportation, walked or hitched rides with friends. The first months after buying my car, I often said, "I feel like such a grown-up." Independent, self-sufficient, self-reliant. There was victory in navigating the roads, the toll booths, the police blitz, and the car inspection in Portuguese. There was a sense of accomplishment in understanding the mechanic when the battery had to be replaced and the tires pumped up a little. It made me feel like a grown-up.
I'm facing a major change in my life. There's a lot going on. And although I enjoy the sense of accomplishment over those things which I tackle on my own, there is a part of me that uses the phrase I feel like a grown-up because what I'm really craving is the safe, secure protection of being a child, of being taken care of, instead of caring for the situation on my own.
Why is change so scary? Especially as an adult? Perhaps it is because if we make the "wrong" choice and move toward change in a direction that brings negative consequences we accept the ownership of the decision making process. There's no one to fall back on but ourselves--of course that's scary. I don't know anyone who LIKES to fail.
But what if we look at change first through the lense of success and opportunity? How would that alter our perspective? Continuing on the same path, on the surface, appears to be easier than facing change. It's certainly easier to accept our life's routine as is. It's comfortable to continue in the direction we have been going. You know it's that famous saying, "It's ALWAYS been done that way." Nobody really knows if "that way" is the best. What happens when somebody else suddenly sends us in another direction? What happens if we are sent in that direction when we happen to feel the most empowered we've ever felt? Couldn't we begin to view change as an opportunity rather than a burden? Might we find ourselves actually thanking the change agent for the chance to make a shift?
That is where I find myself now. Forced to make a change. Forced to change direction in my routine. A little bit nervous, but not scared. I feel invigorated. I know what I have to offer. I know what I know. I know there exists many things which I don't know and even more that I don't know I don't know. What a privilege to be able to learn more. What an opportunity to look outside of what has been and think: I can totally make a change!
That must be where the element of looking back comes into play. If we don't take the time to reflect on what brought us to where we are, to who we have become, how are we supposed to navigate in which direction we are supposed to continue living?
Wide open opportunity is scary. Limitless possibility is daunting. Who knows where to begin in making major, life-changing decisions? Who has the confidence to trust the inner voice? How many people get the chance to start again?
The beauty of it all...I do!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
I'm tellin ya.
The material is endless.
Here, from a former colleague of mine:
Just read this on a Biology exam...
"Outline two modern examples where evolution can be observed"
The answer: "museums and the zoo".
And another one from my cousin who is also a teacher:
The material is endless.
Here, from a former colleague of mine:
Just read this on a Biology exam...
"Outline two modern examples where evolution can be observed"
The answer: "museums and the zoo".
And another one from my cousin who is also a teacher:
We're reading "The Odyssey" and today we read when Odysseus' nurse says she'll keep his secret because she "fed him at the breast." The students couldn't understand how Odysseus could be breast-fed by someone other than his mother. They wanted this whole lesson on breast-feeding, and I wouldn't give it to them. One of the boys pipes up: "I can tell you all about breast-feeding. It was the best 3 years of my life." He kept a straight face...I didn't.
If you have one to share, send me an email at sarawicht@hotmail.com
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
And I Kept a Straight Face...
As a classroom teacher for 16 years, I have heard many-a one-liner from middle schoolers. I have more than once said, "I need to write this shit down!" I imagine there are infinite other "one-liners" waiting to be shared by fellow teachers. I am now working on finding the platform I can use to communicate and share them.
Something is in the works...it will probably involve Facebook. It may become a second blog instead...need to check blogspot to see if the above title is currently in use.
This is exciting!
Here's the first of hopefully many from: And I Kept a Straight Face:
Student: Ms. Sara, there's a very strange definition for climax in the dictionary. It says climax is orgasm!
Me: That's right. Climax is a synonym for orgasm.
Student: What?! But how can you say, "I was reading the story, and I just got to the orgasm."?
Me:
And I Kept a Straight Face...
As a classroom teacher for 16 years, I have heard many-a one-liner from middle schoolers. I have more than once said, "I need to write this shit down!" I imagine there are infinite other "one-liners" waiting to be shared by fellow teachers. I am now working on finding the platform I can use to communicate and share them.
Something is in the works...it will probably involve Facebook. It may become a second blog instead...need to check blogspot to see if the above title is currently in use.
This is exciting!
Here's the first of hopefully many from: And I Kept a Straight Face:
Student: Ms. Sara, there's a very strange definition for climax in the dictionary. It says climax is orgasm!
Me: That's right. Climax is a synonym for orgasm.
Student: What?! But how can you say, "I was reading the story, and I just got to the orgasm."?
Me:
And I Kept a Straight Face...
Monday, March 21, 2011
Barack Obama in Rio de Janeiro 2011
This picture is of his helicopter arriving at the Flamengo Soccer Club in my neighborhood (currently the city champions). I took the picture not knowing it was him, but I later saw on the news the report of his arrival to the club coincided with the time I took the picture. He used their field as a landing zone for getting around the city.
This picture is of his helicopter arriving at the Flamengo Soccer Club in my neighborhood (currently the city champions). I took the picture not knowing it was him, but I later saw on the news the report of his arrival to the club coincided with the time I took the picture. He used their field as a landing zone for getting around the city.I have never been in the same state as a U.S. President let alone the same room. I'm not even a super political person. I don't claim a party--not 100% anyway. I don't like to discuss politics. I don't tell people who I vote for. I just want everyone to get along. I do, however, hugely support pioneers. I am a sucker for anyone who is a 'first'. To be the first to do something, in my mind, in my little world, is like hanging the moon--it's bigger than hanging the moon. U.S. President Barack Obama may not have hung the moon, but he is a pioneer of unsurmountable proportions.
yesterday, I was lucky enough to be one of twenty teachers from Escola Americana do Rio de Janeiro to receive a ticket to listen to President Obama's presentation Sunday, March 20, 2011 at the Municipal Theater in Rio de Janeiro. I have to say, it was EVERYTHING and more than I could have expected. I sat at the edge of my seat for the entire 22 minutes, hanging onto every word as President Obama greeted the 2,000 in attendance with a "boa tarde Brazil" and went on to recognize the natural beauty that makes up this incredible country. The landscape that hasn't stopped taking my breath away since first seeing it 16 years ago when I first fell in love with Brazil.
President Obama is a fan of "firsters" too I think, as he made it known that the Brazilian people have moved mountains in their history as well; from overcoming Portuguese rule to surviving two dictatorships, and recently electing their first female president. He applauded the Brazilian people for their exercise in democracy.
All the while, on the edge of my seat, I was willing him to look my way. I was determined to get eye contact. I was seated in the balcony, stage left, the side which he entered and exited the stage, and I was working the super power of telepathic persuasion the whole time. Just as I thought I had lost out on my chance of a lifetime to come "face-to-face" with an American President...he did it, on his way off stage he looked up, RIGHT at ME! Eyes to eyes, he looked at me! I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "Wow, that looks like a fellow American! Actually, I think that woman is a fellow Midwesterner." And...he SMILED, waved, and exited the stage, leaving me extremely happy, proclaiming, "He looked at me! He looked at me and smiled!"
I've been living as an expat for nearly five years now. In many ways Rio is my home. I have acclimated nearly 100% to life as a Carioca. I am not sure I would be as happy living stateside at the moment. I do love it here; however, there was something special about being surrounded by all those American Secret Service Agents yesterday afternoon that all of a sudden made me feel overwhelmingly patriotic, proud to be an American and little homesick for the Land of the Brave.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Beach Volleyball EARIOJ-style
If you know anything about Brazil you know:
1. Brazil is actually spelled BraSil.
2. Brazilians LOVE samba and celebrate by drinking chopp--draft beer
3. They have produced some of the best beach volleyball players in the world!
Well, I have to remind myself now to spell Brasil, BraZil when writing to my American friends. I have acquired a passion for Samba and wait with baited breath each year for Carnival. I am pretty good at celebrating just about any occasion with a cold chopp. However, all the Friday Volleyball Matches in the world will not make me one of the best beach volleyball players in the world.
But I'm sure having fun trying. Some friends from work and I started a Friday routine this year: Beach Volleyball/Happy Hour. We comnandeered a sand court on the beach in Leblon, made friends with the barraca owner in front of the court to ensure plenty-o-ice-cold beer--at a discount--and every Friday we play until the sun goes down.
At first my colleagues were timid.
"Oh, I don't know how to play Sara."
"What? Beach Volleyball? I've never played."
Through coaxing and trial and error, we have a pretty regular group coming out each week to actively participate in the game or as a 'beerleader' (vs. cheerleader).
It has proven to be a great end to sometimes hectic work weeks. Plus it's fun to hang out with people you work with and NOT talk shop! For teachers, that is sometimes a difficult task as many conversations tend to revert to the topic of shop.
Part of my persausion has been a weekly email, inviting faculty and staff. I have written formal invitations, quick reminders, and poems. One week, my poem set off an avalanche of rhyming diddies from the science teachers even!
Well, this week...I thought...I can't do just another poem. The poem has kind of lost its punch. I need to do something new, something different, something people don't expect; and during the night last night--as all creative artists are inspired--it came to me.
In David Letterman style:
If you know anything about Brazil you know:
1. Brazil is actually spelled BraSil.
2. Brazilians LOVE samba and celebrate by drinking chopp--draft beer
3. They have produced some of the best beach volleyball players in the world!
Well, I have to remind myself now to spell Brasil, BraZil when writing to my American friends. I have acquired a passion for Samba and wait with baited breath each year for Carnival. I am pretty good at celebrating just about any occasion with a cold chopp. However, all the Friday Volleyball Matches in the world will not make me one of the best beach volleyball players in the world.
But I'm sure having fun trying. Some friends from work and I started a Friday routine this year: Beach Volleyball/Happy Hour. We comnandeered a sand court on the beach in Leblon, made friends with the barraca owner in front of the court to ensure plenty-o-ice-cold beer--at a discount--and every Friday we play until the sun goes down.
At first my colleagues were timid.
"Oh, I don't know how to play Sara."
"What? Beach Volleyball? I've never played."
Through coaxing and trial and error, we have a pretty regular group coming out each week to actively participate in the game or as a 'beerleader' (vs. cheerleader).
It has proven to be a great end to sometimes hectic work weeks. Plus it's fun to hang out with people you work with and NOT talk shop! For teachers, that is sometimes a difficult task as many conversations tend to revert to the topic of shop.
Part of my persausion has been a weekly email, inviting faculty and staff. I have written formal invitations, quick reminders, and poems. One week, my poem set off an avalanche of rhyming diddies from the science teachers even!
Well, this week...I thought...I can't do just another poem. The poem has kind of lost its punch. I need to do something new, something different, something people don't expect; and during the night last night--as all creative artists are inspired--it came to me.
In David Letterman style:
Top 10 Reasons to Play Volleyball on the Beach on Friday
10. VB skills really improve with time and practice. (It's true; ask Amanda or Katie!)
9. The laughter will leave your stomach hurting so much you will swear you just did 20 minutes of Abs of Steel.
8. Free exfoliation on your feet from running through the sand.
7. Balance your body's Vitamin D. (In case Cod Liver Oil is not a part of your regular diet.)
6. Clear your sinuses by breathing the salty, sea mist for a couple of hours.
5. Studies have found that drinking beer actually reduces your chances of stroke and heart and vascular disease.
4. It has been proven that positive relationships with colleagues outside of the workplace increases workplace morale.
3. You can avoid Friday afternoon traffic out of Zona Sul, reducing the amount of stress in your day.
2. Sweating improves circulation and skin health, eases joint pain and stiffness, reduces cellulite (come on, who doesn't want that), eliminates impurities like heavy metals (AC/DC, Metallica, Iron Maiden, etc.), burns calories and controls weight (after the holidays this is important), reduces stress and fatigue (we work with children and adolescents of course we have stress and fatigue), relieves pain (but not the pain in your block 4), promotes healthy immune system (to fight all the bacteria students expose to us each day), strengthens the cardiovascular system (who doesn't need a bigger heart?)
And the number one reason to join us Friday after school in Leblon....
1. It's FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!
We'll have to wait until tomorrow to see how persuasive the list of 10 is.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Things that I LOVE...
Batman at the beach when Bira is working.
New Year's Eve on Copacabana w/ Bira.
My Girls Walkin the Dinosaur in Buzios.
Quiet nights at home, just me and my violao.
Running across an abandoned canoe on an abandoned beach on horseback.Life is good.
Live well.
Love hard.
Say you're sorry.
Respect nature.
Kiss the people you love.
Smile at your reflection.
Work hard.
Play fair.
Pray.
Be gracious.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Being Satisfied...or not
Feeling the need to write it all down. To remember how thankful I am for so many loving people and incredible opportunities in my life. Write it all down in order to preserve what might be lost to the daily regiment that we often find ourselves in. This idea of being satisfied continues to resurface in my mind. My thoughts are often trickling back to this notion of "enough". What is enough? A roof over one's head. Enough food to be healthy? The means for a daily laugh, intellectual stimulation? or a big house and a fancy car, countless friends and a full social calender?
I would guess as in all things, enough too is a matter of perspective and unless one sees another's perspective the measurement of enough will never be equal. I have had more than enough in many ways at many times throughout my life. Thank God. Yet, at times I have sunk to the thoughts involving: I Want More. Why is that?
I am facing a crossroads in my life. A major decision. Sure I've been at this sort of impasse before, but somehow this time it feels like it isn't as much about me as it was 15 or 10 years ago. This time it seems that no matter what decision I make, somehow someone will not be happy, including me. How does one begin to even think about what to do? When there is no one right answer but 100 possible right answers. I guess I could stop fretting and look at that as a blessing since many people don't even have 1 right answer to choose at times in life.
Here's the deal: I have to leave EARJ after this year. I will have fulfilled the 5 years alotted as an expat teacher with the school. I cannot continue directly. I have the option, after a minimum of 6 months, of reapplying and returning, pending vacancy, to the school. But I cannot continue as is after June 2011.
What do I do?
I am happier and halthier in Brasil than I have ever been in my lifetime. I guess I sorta saw that coming when we moved here in 2006, but I had no idea it would be this influential. I knew then what I know now about how much this country feels like where I belong, but I had no idea it would get into my soul the way it has.
Do I stay? Pound the pavement. Push my professional life in another direction? Feed creative energies and return to writing? Publish the book I've always wanted to publish? Do I seek another international post? There are a lot of places in the world. A lot of great schools around the globe looking for educators. Living in another country would be a worthy experience for my daughter. It would be a financially comfortable life. It would be stimulating. It would be challenging.
What do you do when you don't have control? Or you don't feel like you have control? When you can't see the answers to the questions that are floating around in your head. When you would like to know the future. When you are forced to make a change that you don't necessarily want to make? The truth is that the options are limitless. That's what makes it so hard. There are too many options and I have no guarantee what the outcome of any one of the options will be.
I want to be 5 again. I want to hear: You can have the grape popsicle or the orange popsicle. You pick. I want the choice to be that easy.
But it's not...
Feeling the need to write it all down. To remember how thankful I am for so many loving people and incredible opportunities in my life. Write it all down in order to preserve what might be lost to the daily regiment that we often find ourselves in. This idea of being satisfied continues to resurface in my mind. My thoughts are often trickling back to this notion of "enough". What is enough? A roof over one's head. Enough food to be healthy? The means for a daily laugh, intellectual stimulation? or a big house and a fancy car, countless friends and a full social calender?
I would guess as in all things, enough too is a matter of perspective and unless one sees another's perspective the measurement of enough will never be equal. I have had more than enough in many ways at many times throughout my life. Thank God. Yet, at times I have sunk to the thoughts involving: I Want More. Why is that?
I am facing a crossroads in my life. A major decision. Sure I've been at this sort of impasse before, but somehow this time it feels like it isn't as much about me as it was 15 or 10 years ago. This time it seems that no matter what decision I make, somehow someone will not be happy, including me. How does one begin to even think about what to do? When there is no one right answer but 100 possible right answers. I guess I could stop fretting and look at that as a blessing since many people don't even have 1 right answer to choose at times in life.
Here's the deal: I have to leave EARJ after this year. I will have fulfilled the 5 years alotted as an expat teacher with the school. I cannot continue directly. I have the option, after a minimum of 6 months, of reapplying and returning, pending vacancy, to the school. But I cannot continue as is after June 2011.
What do I do?
I am happier and halthier in Brasil than I have ever been in my lifetime. I guess I sorta saw that coming when we moved here in 2006, but I had no idea it would be this influential. I knew then what I know now about how much this country feels like where I belong, but I had no idea it would get into my soul the way it has.
Do I stay? Pound the pavement. Push my professional life in another direction? Feed creative energies and return to writing? Publish the book I've always wanted to publish? Do I seek another international post? There are a lot of places in the world. A lot of great schools around the globe looking for educators. Living in another country would be a worthy experience for my daughter. It would be a financially comfortable life. It would be stimulating. It would be challenging.
What do you do when you don't have control? Or you don't feel like you have control? When you can't see the answers to the questions that are floating around in your head. When you would like to know the future. When you are forced to make a change that you don't necessarily want to make? The truth is that the options are limitless. That's what makes it so hard. There are too many options and I have no guarantee what the outcome of any one of the options will be.
I want to be 5 again. I want to hear: You can have the grape popsicle or the orange popsicle. You pick. I want the choice to be that easy.
But it's not...
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Riding a Bicycle
Writing is kinda like riding a bicycle. Ok, not really. Maybe it's more like driving a car. It's something you learn through concentrated, deliberate, hopefully well guided practice before you can consider yourself versed in the task. I used to be a writer. But I haven't been practicing. And now being out of practice makes me envy all those beautiful things I read for the talent portrayed in the work.
I just spent 30 minutes reading other people's blogs (there are some beautiful things written on some of these blogs. Some real talent that would sell if transformed into print). At least they are people I know. It's not like I was surfing random blogs. It left me with this feeling of loss, emptiness...I used to do that. I used to be good at that. I'm not feeling very good at it anymore. Why not? Because I don't do it anymore, and I'm fighting this language war inside my head almost 24 hours a day. Thinking in English, speaking in Portuguese, dreaming in English, retelling the dream in Portuguese, working in English, socializing in Portuguese. It's like having two little armies between my ears battling it out for ownership of the podium. Once in awhile Captain Port. wins the battle and both the thoughts and the words end up in his mother's tongue. Most of the time, it's a clustered, confused combination of two languages and some garble.
In the end, this language acquisition experience of the past 4 years has left me feeling slightly less intelligent and hugely less verbose. I used to be characterized as verbose. Ask me where something is and I'll explain to you how it was built and arrived at its current state. Not anymore. Hey, Sara, where's the extra garrafa of agua (see the mixture of language there). My answer would be: in the cozinha. Some days I feel ill-prepared to formulate even one complete sentence.
I'm a writing teacher. And a pretty good one if I do say so myself. My students generally improve their writing skills by 3-4 years as a result of having my class. How can I be so good at telling other people what to do, but so bad at doing it myself? Practice, or lack there of. I know what it takes to be a good writer. I know training and determination makes you a better writer, but I don't have anyone hanging the "A" over my head for producing the next great blog post. So, I don't practice and I don't train. But I sure know how to tell my students they need more organization. Maybe that means it is more about the pressure and needing external stimulation...hmmm, that sounds like a totally different topic and perhaps one that would be appropriately discussed with my shrink (if I had one, which I don't but am now considering hiring).
Why isn't riding a bike the same as writing? You can learn to ride when you're 5 years old, ride like the wind until your 15 and start driving and not get on a single bicycle again for 20 years, but still ride like the wind without a moment hesitation when you do. Is it the pure motor memory that kicks in and leaves out any real need for intelligence? I don't know. Hopefully driving a car is the same because I just bought one and get to pick it up in 3 days. Let's hope I remember how to do that.
Writing is kinda like riding a bicycle. Ok, not really. Maybe it's more like driving a car. It's something you learn through concentrated, deliberate, hopefully well guided practice before you can consider yourself versed in the task. I used to be a writer. But I haven't been practicing. And now being out of practice makes me envy all those beautiful things I read for the talent portrayed in the work.
I just spent 30 minutes reading other people's blogs (there are some beautiful things written on some of these blogs. Some real talent that would sell if transformed into print). At least they are people I know. It's not like I was surfing random blogs. It left me with this feeling of loss, emptiness...I used to do that. I used to be good at that. I'm not feeling very good at it anymore. Why not? Because I don't do it anymore, and I'm fighting this language war inside my head almost 24 hours a day. Thinking in English, speaking in Portuguese, dreaming in English, retelling the dream in Portuguese, working in English, socializing in Portuguese. It's like having two little armies between my ears battling it out for ownership of the podium. Once in awhile Captain Port. wins the battle and both the thoughts and the words end up in his mother's tongue. Most of the time, it's a clustered, confused combination of two languages and some garble.
In the end, this language acquisition experience of the past 4 years has left me feeling slightly less intelligent and hugely less verbose. I used to be characterized as verbose. Ask me where something is and I'll explain to you how it was built and arrived at its current state. Not anymore. Hey, Sara, where's the extra garrafa of agua (see the mixture of language there). My answer would be: in the cozinha. Some days I feel ill-prepared to formulate even one complete sentence.
I'm a writing teacher. And a pretty good one if I do say so myself. My students generally improve their writing skills by 3-4 years as a result of having my class. How can I be so good at telling other people what to do, but so bad at doing it myself? Practice, or lack there of. I know what it takes to be a good writer. I know training and determination makes you a better writer, but I don't have anyone hanging the "A" over my head for producing the next great blog post. So, I don't practice and I don't train. But I sure know how to tell my students they need more organization. Maybe that means it is more about the pressure and needing external stimulation...hmmm, that sounds like a totally different topic and perhaps one that would be appropriately discussed with my shrink (if I had one, which I don't but am now considering hiring).
Why isn't riding a bike the same as writing? You can learn to ride when you're 5 years old, ride like the wind until your 15 and start driving and not get on a single bicycle again for 20 years, but still ride like the wind without a moment hesitation when you do. Is it the pure motor memory that kicks in and leaves out any real need for intelligence? I don't know. Hopefully driving a car is the same because I just bought one and get to pick it up in 3 days. Let's hope I remember how to do that.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Rio Under Water
Last Monday, April 5, the rains commenced around 6:30 p.m. The winds were similar to Hurricane/Tropical Storm winds I experienced while living in Houston. The rain didn't let up for a solid 24 hours. Even after the first 24 hours, it continued to rain only with less force most of the time. The amount of rain that fell in that first 24 hours is said to be equivalant to 347 olympic sized swimming pools. I'm not sure any city could handle that much water. The city streets filled quickly. Motorists were stranded through the night. Thousands went without electricity for up to 4 days. Niteroi, a suburb of Rio and once the capital city of Brazil, seems to have suffered the highest number of casualties. A major landslide Thursday morning after the rains seemingly were on their way out, buried some 200 people and destroyed houses, stores, a school and a church.
Thousands of Cariocas are left homeless.
This is the view of the hill and Rocinha from my verandah. The path down the right side of the picture used to be full of trees--and houses. This demonstrates the landslides last week in Rio on a very small scale.
Here's a closer version of the same picture. EARJ is right at the end of the "slide".
The aftermath of this flooding is pretty complicated. I have taken to buying the daily paper in part because it amazes me how the politicians continue to point the finger at the predecessor. The areas of high fatality are almost entirely poor areas, slums/favelas, in the city. In most cases, people are there due to 'squatter's rights', and the city officials who oversee the areas haven't done their part to uphold the zoning laws. Yesterday's newspaper reported that the governor intends to move all residents from 8 of the city's favelas. This means relocated somewhere around 1 million people!
My student's family lived at the end of the landslide pictured above. Their house was within ordinance. Their house was legal. However, there were several illegal houses above theirs on the mountain side; and when the trees and foliage gave way to the rain, it swept the illegally built houses with it. The retaining wall behind my student's house wasn't strong enough to withstand the forest AND the tumbling homes. The result: their house is destroyed.
I spoke to the mother of this family yesterday afternoon. Sadly, the city will pay to construct a new retaining wall, but all repairs to their house are the family's responsibility. It's really sad; as had the city not permitted the homes above to be build, the retaining wall would have withstood the impact of the forest and their house would have been fine.
It will be interesting, to say the least, to see how this unfolds in the coming months. One thing I have learned in my four years living in Rio de Janeiro: many laws exist, but for every law there are at least 2 ways around it.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
A much needed update...
Just too lazy to keep up with the blog. Here is what we've been up to since Carnaval.
A barbeque and sing-a-long with friends...
A beautiful daughter turning into a teenager (Lord help me get through the next 8 years)...
Beautiful sunset in Macae with Francesca and Sophie...
Appreciating the full moon over the Lagoa from my verandah...
Simple things in life can keep you going.
p.s. the ear is back to normal. Dr. treated me for an inner ear infection despite the absence of vertigo or fever. All clear and hearing normally again. Thank God!!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Life goes on and the sounds of silence...
December through February is a whirlwind of holiday. Our school calender gives us 6 weeks off over Christmas and through January. Then in February the city shuts down to take in the madness of Carnaval and welcome the Lenten season. I think the overindulgence of Carnaval is all preparation for the abstinence of Lent.
This period of time 2010 was one of alegria and felicidade. LaShunda spent 3 weeks with us over Dec/Jan and Vicks returned for her second Carnaval in Rio during Feb. It was tour guide Sara 24 hours a day, and I loved every minute of it. (hence not having a lot of time for updating this blog)
We have been back to school full-time (meaning having class 5 days a week) since late February now, and I have to say getting into the groove is easier said than done when you are used to living life in anticipation of the next day off.
But that's ok. The demand to "get to work" inspires the congnitive juices, and I'm feeling fired up about all that has to still be accomplished with my 63 eighth graders between now and June 15. We have much to do. I am excited.
Through all of this, I have been battling a very persistent sinus infection/congestion issue. Beginning last November, after returning from a week long trip with those same 63 eighth graders needing a lot of class time, I have been coughing and/or blowing my nose nonstop. Morning greets me with a minimum of 20 minutes hacking up the crud that settled in my chest and face during the night. I have been to my GP 3 times, completed a 10 day antibiotic regime, lived on Tylenol sinus around the clock for almost 2 weeks, and overdosed on vitamin C in the form of acerola juice and supplemental tablets. Only to find temporary relief.
At the same time, I have intermittendly experienced strange sensations and blockages in my left ear. The first time, my ear closed completely, leaving me listening to others in a strange, bent neck, head turned to the left to accentuate my right, working ear position. Used the anti-inflamatory ear drops prescribed by my GP and experienced success when the ear finally reopened. Let me just say, speaking a second language and understanding what others are communicating through only one ear is no easy task.
I thought I was all clear and on the mend, as my ear reopened, I was still coughing and suffering the occasional sinus pressure. That's when the Tylenol sinus came into the game. Tylenol sinus accompanied me through Carnaval this year. I wouldn't have been able to survive without it, but I have to believe it's just not good for the body to take it every 6 hours for 15 days.
In the midst of this phase, that pesky left ear started acting up again. This time, it didn't close completely, but began contorting the sounds which entered the ear. It's like having a HAM radio in your head but not exactly programmed to the correct frequency. A week of this and PHEW! it passed. Life went on...
Until a week ago Thursday, when the sounds in my left ear returned to their strange ways. This time, I decided it was appropriate to call the dr. again. "Sara, I think it's time you see a specialist." A referral to an ENT, a consultation, a battery of hearing tests, and the results: I have hearing loss in my left ear! WHAT?? (literally)
It seems I have lost all the base sounds in my left ear. Do you realize the ramifications of this? Set your stereo controls to eliminate base and push all the treble to the max but make set the dial to 95.4 when the station is really 95.3. That is what I am hearing. It requires so much additional brain energy to process the sounds. It's maddening. It's uncomfortable. It's a little scary. The base and baritones are all the beautiful, delicious, chocolatey smooth sounds you get lost in and wrap around yourself. They are the pleasures of music and comforting voices, and they are gone from my left side.
So I look to the "specialist" Dr. Jair and say, "Ok, I did my part on the exam. Now you do your part and tell me why."
"Well, I don't know Sara."
Great, that is not the answer I wanted to hear. He had already gotten the sneak peek inside my ears using his super magnified ear looker thing. Couldn't he see?? He's the SPECIALIST afterall. The expert whose hands I am putting my faith and hearing in right now.
"That is why I want you to have this exam."
"What exam?"
"I am sending you to the lab to have a catscan of your HEAD!"
Gulp, nodding of head, "O K"
"This will show us exactly what is going on, and then we will be able to move forward with treatment."
This will show us exactly what is going on? What are you looking for? People don't have catscans of their heads to determine something with their ears! Do they? REally?
He continued, "no medicines or treatment until we know the results."
Great, well, really not as big of a deal as it sounds since anything I had previously tried or was currently taking wasn't making any difference in the functioning of my ear anyway.
So I had the exam Thursday, and I wait until Tuesday for the results and Wednesday to talk to the dr. again for answers and in the meantime,
I teach 8th GRADERS!! I work in a SCHOOL. The sounds coming into my left ear are only the high pitched registers. These are pre-pubescent boys and girls. Think about the register of their voices. Think about the register of 20 of their voices at the SAME TIME! Brutal torture. If I supported war, I would call the US Dept of Defense today to recommend this new form of torture for POWs. Seriously...at times I want to scream. At times I want to cry. Most of the time I just want SILENCE.
Mostly in my period of waiting, I continue to think about the what ifs.
But I work hard to push those thoughts away since there really isn't anything productive in that. My biggest concern and what is occupying many of my thoughts is WHAT IF it's permanent because so many things would have to be different.
Until Wednesday, I'm capturing silence.
December through February is a whirlwind of holiday. Our school calender gives us 6 weeks off over Christmas and through January. Then in February the city shuts down to take in the madness of Carnaval and welcome the Lenten season. I think the overindulgence of Carnaval is all preparation for the abstinence of Lent.
This period of time 2010 was one of alegria and felicidade. LaShunda spent 3 weeks with us over Dec/Jan and Vicks returned for her second Carnaval in Rio during Feb. It was tour guide Sara 24 hours a day, and I loved every minute of it. (hence not having a lot of time for updating this blog)
We have been back to school full-time (meaning having class 5 days a week) since late February now, and I have to say getting into the groove is easier said than done when you are used to living life in anticipation of the next day off.
But that's ok. The demand to "get to work" inspires the congnitive juices, and I'm feeling fired up about all that has to still be accomplished with my 63 eighth graders between now and June 15. We have much to do. I am excited.
Through all of this, I have been battling a very persistent sinus infection/congestion issue. Beginning last November, after returning from a week long trip with those same 63 eighth graders needing a lot of class time, I have been coughing and/or blowing my nose nonstop. Morning greets me with a minimum of 20 minutes hacking up the crud that settled in my chest and face during the night. I have been to my GP 3 times, completed a 10 day antibiotic regime, lived on Tylenol sinus around the clock for almost 2 weeks, and overdosed on vitamin C in the form of acerola juice and supplemental tablets. Only to find temporary relief.
At the same time, I have intermittendly experienced strange sensations and blockages in my left ear. The first time, my ear closed completely, leaving me listening to others in a strange, bent neck, head turned to the left to accentuate my right, working ear position. Used the anti-inflamatory ear drops prescribed by my GP and experienced success when the ear finally reopened. Let me just say, speaking a second language and understanding what others are communicating through only one ear is no easy task.
I thought I was all clear and on the mend, as my ear reopened, I was still coughing and suffering the occasional sinus pressure. That's when the Tylenol sinus came into the game. Tylenol sinus accompanied me through Carnaval this year. I wouldn't have been able to survive without it, but I have to believe it's just not good for the body to take it every 6 hours for 15 days.
In the midst of this phase, that pesky left ear started acting up again. This time, it didn't close completely, but began contorting the sounds which entered the ear. It's like having a HAM radio in your head but not exactly programmed to the correct frequency. A week of this and PHEW! it passed. Life went on...
Until a week ago Thursday, when the sounds in my left ear returned to their strange ways. This time, I decided it was appropriate to call the dr. again. "Sara, I think it's time you see a specialist." A referral to an ENT, a consultation, a battery of hearing tests, and the results: I have hearing loss in my left ear! WHAT?? (literally)
It seems I have lost all the base sounds in my left ear. Do you realize the ramifications of this? Set your stereo controls to eliminate base and push all the treble to the max but make set the dial to 95.4 when the station is really 95.3. That is what I am hearing. It requires so much additional brain energy to process the sounds. It's maddening. It's uncomfortable. It's a little scary. The base and baritones are all the beautiful, delicious, chocolatey smooth sounds you get lost in and wrap around yourself. They are the pleasures of music and comforting voices, and they are gone from my left side.
So I look to the "specialist" Dr. Jair and say, "Ok, I did my part on the exam. Now you do your part and tell me why."
"Well, I don't know Sara."
Great, that is not the answer I wanted to hear. He had already gotten the sneak peek inside my ears using his super magnified ear looker thing. Couldn't he see?? He's the SPECIALIST afterall. The expert whose hands I am putting my faith and hearing in right now.
"That is why I want you to have this exam."
"What exam?"
"I am sending you to the lab to have a catscan of your HEAD!"
Gulp, nodding of head, "O K"
"This will show us exactly what is going on, and then we will be able to move forward with treatment."
This will show us exactly what is going on? What are you looking for? People don't have catscans of their heads to determine something with their ears! Do they? REally?
He continued, "no medicines or treatment until we know the results."
Great, well, really not as big of a deal as it sounds since anything I had previously tried or was currently taking wasn't making any difference in the functioning of my ear anyway.
So I had the exam Thursday, and I wait until Tuesday for the results and Wednesday to talk to the dr. again for answers and in the meantime,
I teach 8th GRADERS!! I work in a SCHOOL. The sounds coming into my left ear are only the high pitched registers. These are pre-pubescent boys and girls. Think about the register of their voices. Think about the register of 20 of their voices at the SAME TIME! Brutal torture. If I supported war, I would call the US Dept of Defense today to recommend this new form of torture for POWs. Seriously...at times I want to scream. At times I want to cry. Most of the time I just want SILENCE.
Mostly in my period of waiting, I continue to think about the what ifs.
But I work hard to push those thoughts away since there really isn't anything productive in that. My biggest concern and what is occupying many of my thoughts is WHAT IF it's permanent because so many things would have to be different.
Until Wednesday, I'm capturing silence.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder
Brazierre
Tit Sling
Bra
Can you think of any other names you have heard used for the undergarment worn by women?
It is one word in Portuguese that I routinely forget. I ALWAYS remember Cueca (men's underwear). I never forget Calcinha (panties). But I can never remember sutia (bra).
I actually had to look it up right now on an online translation site. It's ridiculous. I wear one. Nearly every day, at least when I'm not in a bikini or sleeping...okay too much information.
Well today I had to have a chest x-ray to make sure what has been diagnosed as sinusitis is in fact that and not an upper respiratory thing. Going to the dr in Portuguese is always a challenge. My brain almost immediately goes into "DUH" mode. I think it is because I am overly nervous that I will not understand what is said. I think I'm afraid they're going to say, "Sara, you have a growth the size of a basketball in your bum." And I'm going to look at them, smile and say, "Tudo bem." (ok)
So the technician calls me back to the x-ray room this morning. We greet each other, and he asks, "Voce esta com sutia?"
I stare blankly in return.
He repeats, "Voce esta com sutia?"
I stare for about 15 solid seconds and say, "Eu nao entende."
He repeats, this time a little louder and slower, "Voce esta usando sutia hoje?" Only this time he added a very discreet gesture in the direction of my chest.
AHHH, the light goes off bling bling...
"Sim, to usando. Claro." Like of course I'm wearing a bra, duh!
Had I not been preoccupied with the basketball sized tumor, I probably would have used common sense to know that you can't have an underwire bra on while taking a chest x-ray and I would have understood him the first time he asked.
I think after today, I'll remember sutia is bra in portuguese.
Brazierre
Tit Sling
Bra
Can you think of any other names you have heard used for the undergarment worn by women?
It is one word in Portuguese that I routinely forget. I ALWAYS remember Cueca (men's underwear). I never forget Calcinha (panties). But I can never remember sutia (bra).
I actually had to look it up right now on an online translation site. It's ridiculous. I wear one. Nearly every day, at least when I'm not in a bikini or sleeping...okay too much information.
Well today I had to have a chest x-ray to make sure what has been diagnosed as sinusitis is in fact that and not an upper respiratory thing. Going to the dr in Portuguese is always a challenge. My brain almost immediately goes into "DUH" mode. I think it is because I am overly nervous that I will not understand what is said. I think I'm afraid they're going to say, "Sara, you have a growth the size of a basketball in your bum." And I'm going to look at them, smile and say, "Tudo bem." (ok)
So the technician calls me back to the x-ray room this morning. We greet each other, and he asks, "Voce esta com sutia?"
I stare blankly in return.
He repeats, "Voce esta com sutia?"
I stare for about 15 solid seconds and say, "Eu nao entende."
He repeats, this time a little louder and slower, "Voce esta usando sutia hoje?" Only this time he added a very discreet gesture in the direction of my chest.
AHHH, the light goes off bling bling...
"Sim, to usando. Claro." Like of course I'm wearing a bra, duh!
Had I not been preoccupied with the basketball sized tumor, I probably would have used common sense to know that you can't have an underwire bra on while taking a chest x-ray and I would have understood him the first time he asked.
I think after today, I'll remember sutia is bra in portuguese.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Onde as montanhas entram o mar!!
My little lady in a random window in Parati! So cute!!
The first night we were without electricity due to the tropical rain storm that hit late afternoon. We became quite the pioneers. I felt just like Laura Engles.
My little lady in a random window in Parati! So cute!!
The first night we were without electricity due to the tropical rain storm that hit late afternoon. We became quite the pioneers. I felt just like Laura Engles.We woke early January 12 to catch an 8 a.m. bus to my favorite place in all of Brazil: Trindade. Just outside of Parati. This is truly a little slice of heaven on earth. The mountains literally run into the sea. I knew it was going to be a great trip when I looked out my bedroom window and was greeted by this incredible sunrise.
During our 3 days, we enjoyed swimming in calm(er) waters, hiking an amazing trail to a waterfall through a national forest, escaping a downpour, running through a blazing thunderstorm, reading by candlelight, sleeping in mosquito hell, looking out at the ocean from an unblocked vantage point, laughing at silly mistakes in language, meeting new friends, wandering the streets of Parati at night, and much needed relaxation.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Cidade Maravilhosa!
The "Carioca" (the name used for people from Rio de Janeiro) embodies a particular personality and attitude. One that is easy going, happy, relaxed and ready to put anything off until tomorrow in order to "curta sol na praia ou danca samba."
I fell victim to this crime about a month and a half ago after living in Cidade Maravilhoso for three and a half years. A beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon, roughly 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Another American teacher and I were walking the beach on our way to take a quick swim and meet friends for happy hour. The beach was packed, the sun was shining. As we attempted to cross from Leblon to Ipanema near the water, we were suddenly jumped by about 15 teenage boys at one time. They immediately separated me from my friend and commenced to strip us of everything we had. My sunglasses were literally ripped from my face.
Rio de Janeiro, 6,136,652 occupy approximately 1182.3 square kilometers.The greater metropolitan area is estimated to be home to roughly 11-13.5 million. The juxtaposition of the transatlantic rain forest and concrete is breathtaking to say the least.
View overlooking Gavea Jockey club from Christ the Redeemer
The "Carioca" (the name used for people from Rio de Janeiro) embodies a particular personality and attitude. One that is easy going, happy, relaxed and ready to put anything off until tomorrow in order to "curta sol na praia ou danca samba."
But Rio is a megatropolis. 19% of Rio's population live in favelas (Brazilian Portuguese for slums). Some of the original favelas were started as quilombos (independent settlements of fugitive African slaves). The areas later grew when slaves were liberated in 1888 and had no place to live. The housing crisis of the 1940s also forced the urban poor to erect additional shantytowns/favelas.
The favelas of Rio de Janeiro are built on the mountain side with some of the best panoramic views of the city. However, during rainy seasons, these areas are prone to flooding and mudslides, leading to numerous deaths each year.
View of Rocinha from Sao Conrado
Add to these very poor areas the fact the Brazil is one of the most economically unequal countries in the world with the top 10% earning 50% of the national income and about 34% living below the poverty line. During the 20th Century the Brazilian Government made several attempts to improve the nation's urban poverty problem. One of the most well-known is the relocation of 10,000 favela inhabitants to public housing during the 1970s while Brazil was under military governance, depicted in the film Cidade de Deus/City of God. Programs are continuously implemented but with little avail.
This huge contrast in economic dispertion leads to a sometimes volitale environment. On the surface, Rio de Janeiro is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. However, poverty perpetuates crime, and Rio is no stranger to crime. The desparate will go to extreme measures to put food on the table or clothes on their children.
Praias Lelon e Ipanema
I fell victim to this crime about a month and a half ago after living in Cidade Maravilhoso for three and a half years. A beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon, roughly 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Another American teacher and I were walking the beach on our way to take a quick swim and meet friends for happy hour. The beach was packed, the sun was shining. As we attempted to cross from Leblon to Ipanema near the water, we were suddenly jumped by about 15 teenage boys at one time. They immediately separated me from my friend and commenced to strip us of everything we had. My sunglasses were literally ripped from my face.
My initial reaction was to flee, attempt to run, fight off the little piranas, but the truth is I was completely outnumbered. The result was me getting more banged up than necessary. The delay in the struggle came because one boy wanted my watch, which needed to be unhooked in order to be removed. (He wasn't intelligent enough to know that.) He tried for what felt like 5 minutes to tear the watch from my wrist without opening it until I was able to yell in Portuguese that I would take it off.
We were left with the clothes on our backs and nothing else--literally. Thankfully, we have friends in the city. No body on the beach helped. Whether anyone saw the encounter I am not sure as it all happened very fast, but there was no reaction from any other person on the beach that day.
Where has this left me? My perspective of Rio de Janeiro has certainly been changed. I still love Brazil; I still love Rio; I still go out; I still walk the beach. BUT...I am far more cautious and at times downright scared than I ever was before this experience. I now go out with nearly nothing. I have a very plain watch. I don't carry a bag. I don't wear jewelry. I shove my cell phone in a pocket. I disperse money throughout all pockets and stuff a little in my bra. Being left that day without money to even jump on a bus and get back to my neighborhood left an ugly feeling of desperation that I don't ever wish to repeat.
Yes, these sorts of things happen in cities around the globe. Rio is not the only megatropolis in the world with crime. Lessons of life in the fast lane are sometimes harder to learn than others. I got this one. I don't need a repeat in order to understand.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Rabanada Bem
They might look like your average French Toast, but don't be fooled. These are genuine Rabanadas. Delicious and sinful, traditional Brazilian Christmas goodie. Let me share with you how to create these at your house. Make a batch to share with family and friends during your holiday feast. Add a little Brazil to the table.
Take bakery style dinner rolls. The kind that come in a "log" and you pull them apart. Pull them apart. Mix together milk, sweet and condensed milk, and if you can coconut milk. Soak the pieces of bread in the milk mixture. Beat eggs (2-3) in a separate bowl. After soaking each piece of bread, squeeze out excess milk, and dip in egg. Fry in pan with oil until golden brown. Cover with cinnamin/sugar. Enjoy!!
They are very similar to American French toast in preparation, but the milk mixture makes an incredible difference in final taste.
ENJOY!! Happy HOlidays!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)