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

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

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

What If...

When I'm Big

When I grow up, I'm gonna live in a treehouse. It can be like any of these or a small modest one, but definitely would like to have one.

When life gives you lemons...

sell them and buy

cherries

or bananas
or mangoes
or better yet just throw them at the people passing by.







 

Forgot to mention

Am reading two books at once, well, not really, I read one then, stop and read the other. Would be good if "at once" were possible in this situation, but I might need a bigger brain, or at least a less sleepy one.
Changing the subject completely but not really: I'm going to be bolder when it comes to using commas when writing. One of the books I'm reading is Day and Night by Virginia Woolf. She writes enormous sentences and uses commas galore in her sentences. Counted 8 or 9 in one. Not that I'm comparing myself to her but if she can write such long sentences with soooo many commas, then, it must be ok to do so, so, I will, too. When I feel like it, of, course.
The other book is: The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo. A mystery. One of my favorite types of books. (couldn't think of any commas to use there)
Enjoying both books immensely. Believe there can't be anything better to do in life than read a good book. In paper, always, haven't gotten round to the computer-book thing yet. Definitly like the smell and feel of a new book a lot more.
Oh, by the way, here's an extremely cute one.

Isn't it nice to know there are more good days in our lives than not so good ones? The two pictures below are proof of this.

Good Days

Moon and Boats

This was the end of a vacation day in Salvador.

- Mãe, a televisão não tá funcionando.

- Troca o canal.

- Tá tudo preto.

- Tira e coloca da tomada.

- Tá igual.

- Pode ser um fio solto. Ih! Acabou a luz.

- Eu vou perder o desenho mãe!

- Daqui pouco volta. Vou ligar pra companhia de luz. Ih! O telefone tá mudo.

- NÃAAAAAAAAAAAO!

- Olha pela janela e vê se tão fazendo algum reparo.

- É mãe, acho que é um fio solto mesmo.

Wires gone Haywire

Rio, the film, shows the world the good, the bad and the ugly our city has to offer. Of course, it looks a lot better in color and in a cartoon. Loved the film, especially in 3-D.
My wish, though, is that this film would make us, cariocas, take better care of our city. Politicians mainly. Living in the suburbs of Rio has opened my eyes to what most of the city really looks like. Why do some parts  deserve more care than others? There are beautiful streets, trees, hills and people everywhere.
But looking at these posts shows how little some poeple care what our city looks like. How can the companies who supposedly manage these wires leave them like this? How do they know what to do with them when there's some problem?
I can't believe that they have to look this ugly.

setenta e três

De acordo com informações seguras obtidas recentemente, são 73 o número certo de pinguins que encontram-se sob o dominio de Lucilia. Todos foram retirados da cozinha e transferidos para um local menos gorduroso.

O Amos (my pet sheep) tá doido pra comer a bala. Só fica de olho. Mas, ele não pode, gruda no dente e o dentista proibiu.

Bala Perdida Achada

Achei uma bala perdida no quintal. Não sei de onde veio. Pode ter sido uma das crianças ou o vizinho. Ela agora é uma bala achada.

Também desconfio de que haja uma alma perdida na casa. De noite já percebi que ela fica sentada em uma das cadeiras da varanda. Acho que fica tentando lembrar de onde veio. A casa do lado está desocupada há algum tempo. Ela pode ter vindo de lá. A casa está meio que cainda aos pedaços aos poucos, a vazia, não a minha. Parece ser um bom lugar para almas perdidas, só que elas devem ficar entediadas. Eu ficaria. Por isso acho que essa nossa alma perdida pode ter vindo da casa solitária. Não tinha nada pra fazer lá. Aqui pelo menos ela observa nossa vidinha.
Pensando bem, acho que logo ela vai ficar entediada e voltar pra casa vazia.

Collections

Minha mãe coleciona pinguins. Ela não lembra exatamente como começou. Algo sobre um pinguim de geladeira que virou pinguim de TV e depois foi presenteado com um companheiro. A coleção já conta com mais de 30. Eu não contei e nem ela mas passando o olhar já se percebe mais de 30 aves, basicamente todas pretas e brancas. Esse final de semana eu, ela e uma prima comentavamos os tipos diferentes.
Na foto abaixo, podemos ter uma visão do pinguim português. Ao lado dele encontra-se o pinguim nordestino, presentes do meu irmão que tem um senso de humor dos que eu gosto.

Tirei também uma foto do pinguim Kama Sutra, que ela decidiu lavar para nos dar uma idéia melhor do que os pinguins são capazes.

Sem querer ofender nobody...

mas esses "bumper stickers" que quase todo cidadão que tem carro agora tem mania de colocar, com certeza dizem muito sobre o dono do veiculo. (que, alias, não sei se é uma idéia tão boa numa cidade violenta como o Rio, mas isso é outro assunto).
Estava no carro esperando meus filhos sairem da escola. Um carro do outro lado da rua, tentava muito estacionar. No vidro um adesivo afirmava: Tudo posso naquele que me fortalece.
 Pensei com um certo sarcasmo: menos estacionar entre dois carros. Baliza não deve contar.

glee blackbird

Beautifully sung!
Aren't Blaine and Kurt the cutest thing on Glee now?!
I don't know if I have to do this but since everyone else does (and isn't that always a good reason to do something) then here goes: I do not own this video or any rights to it.

there and then

I might have to change the blog's name to "there and then." I've hardly written anything lately.