The tea box

Poppy Field- Monet

The butterfly was so full of light that it looked as though it would abandon the lid of the wooden box and start flying all over the place at any moment. Its wings were deep purple. Yet, the color faded away as it got closer to the orange-yellow paint. It was framed by colorful flowers and lovely slightly slanting letters formed the word Tea, though justifying the purpose of that beautiful green box.

As I opened it, I could feel the pleasant scent of wood mixed with the sweet pungent smell of cinnamon that came from one of the little colorful teabags. Mint, green tea, lemon, raspberry, vanilla, rose,  orange,  black tea, jasmine, spices; that mixture of such different scents brought along with it a longing for a cold winter day, a lazy wish of not having to go out to work.

The little tea box arrived in my house in an ordinary afternoon, on a rainy weekday. It was brought by a friend of mine, wrapped in pinkish silk paper. She gently gave it to me even though it was not my birthday or any special day. Such unexpected kindness filled me with joy and showed me again that it does not take much to make us happy. I couldn’t help noticing that when the box got to my house it was early spring, when flowers carry with them the feeling that something new and beautiful is just about to happen.

More than ever the world has been in need of thoughtful, caring people. People who are willing to donate some of their time and attention to others. People like my friend who, because she is generous and loving, reminds us of the lovely purple butterfly painted on the tea box. Luckily, there is no need to be summer or spring for these special people to fill our lives with their lightness and beauty. 

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Making amends

The Repentant Sinner - Johann Christof Rauschner

“Good morning madam, I would like to know if you are interested in purchasing a grave at the Parque Boa Esperança”. Those were the words a saleswoman from one of Belo Horizonte’s cemeteries said on a phone call to a friend of mine.

I guess the reactions of anyone who gets this phone call in the middle of a quiet afternoon, won’t vary greatly. At first, we may philosophically think about the transiency of life, of how we should enjoy the days we may still have left here on Earth. Carpe Diem would probably be the ideal expression for our feelings.

The second probable reaction would be one of questioning: “why on earth is this lady calling me, of all people?” That’s when we abandon that philosophical mood and become really concerned. We might have been unfairly included in a black list that shows how close we are to our end, which may be directly proportional to the numbers of years we have lived so far.            

The third reaction might be the questioning of the argument presented by the woman in order to sell the tomb. Tranquility? How come? Who can you be calm after knowing you have just been included by demographic statistics in a list of potential buyers of a grave? Rather than being calm, my friend got a headache: “I’m damned! This is supposed to happen to people who are much older than I am. Now I’m in this list”, she joked.

This story reminded me of a tradition we have in our family. We do not buy tombs in advance, but we like defining what our epitaph will be. Things we did and are ashamed of or unsolved problems we might have will be written on our tombstone and taken with us to the afterlife.

We do this as a joke, something to laugh at in our family gatherings. If put into practice, it would go like this: “Here lies so-and-so. Devoted mother, faithful wife, but in 1956, she broke a tambourine on her little brother’s head”.

The choice of what is going to be written on the tombstone is made by the future deceased themselves, who normally tend to choose the most difficult issues, carrying their unsolved problems with them in their tomb, in the hope that the Saints will help them when they reach the other side.

Here lies Leticia. She leaves her best regards to all. She passed away peacefully, although in 1991 she stole her elder sister’s journal so as to blackmail her. Confession made, now whatever God has in store for me, so be it!            

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Peace

Campbell's soup cans - Andy Warhol

I love one scene from the movie Caramuru- a Invenção do Brasil. In the 1500s, a Portuguese settler who had recently set foot in Brazil meets a native chief and the Portuguese tells him he should work harder selling food to the white men arriving on the ships in exchange for valuable merchandise. The chief then asks him: “And what do I need more money for?” The Portuguese explains to him that if he earns more money he won’t have to work anymore and he will lie on his hammock all day long. The chief then replies calmly, “but that’s what I have always been doing, and it feels so good…!”

This reminds me of some stories my uncle Celso once told me. A shop owner in a small village in Minas Gerais was always annoyed whenever a costumer appeared when he was having his usual after lunch nap. One afternoon, he was sound asleep after having had a big lunch when a costumer got into his shop and asked him how much a hat hanging near the window cost. Upset for being interrupted he groaned: “I can’t stand the people from this town, as soon as they see something they always wanna buy it!”

He could hardly imagine that progress would soon reach them, bringing a bank to his city and attracting people from all the surrounding areas. A luxury and modern building with blue glass windows was built right next to a small snack bar famous for its delicious meat pies. It is said that some time later, a regular customer asked the seller for one of these pies that were always baked every afternoon. He was surprised by the seller’s reply. He sadly answered in a complaining tone: "There is nothing left!... These guys from the bank next-door eat everything I make!!!”

The so-called naivety of these two men opposes our money centered contemporary view of the world. We are always worried about wealth and figuring a way to make more and more money. The “time is money” capitalistic philosophy makes us immediately think that the fact that all the pies are being sold is wonderful.

The reasoning is quite simple: with the growth in the demand and insufficient offer, the price of the pie could be raised, making it more profitable. He could also make more pies and create different stuffing, increasing the product mix. After a careful strategic planning, he would discover that it was essential to open a few branches or even create a franchising…! He even pictured his product being advertised on the local radio: “Come and have the best pies in the world”! It would be a huge success!!

However, to achieve such a great accomplishment, he would have to abandon many of the things that cannot be measured by economic standards: spend quality time with his family, take naps after lunch or have long and relaxing baths. To put it shortly: enjoy the beauty of everyday life.

One could always ponder that with the profits made from the pies he could pay for a wonderful vacation with his family, having long relaxing baths and taking naps after lunch. But he could wisely say, like someone who really knows better: “but that’s what I have always been doing, and it feels so good…!”

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Countdown

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five four, three, two, one, Happy 2011!!!!

The countdown we do every New Year’s Eve is not so different from the countdowns we do whenever we are waiting for something to happen. We count the days, hours, minutes and seconds, looking forward to happenings we believe are important in our lives.

The point is, we are always waiting for something to happen, doing these little "countdowns": a promotion at work, a boyfriend who is going to appear in our lives, a trip with friends, our wedding day, a baby who is going to be born. We focus all our energies into all these expectations and then we forget to live the present.

A pregnant woman who spends all the time counting the days till her baby is born and forgets to enjoy the unique feeling of having someone growing inside her. A bride-to-be who, instead of enjoying the pleasure of preparing her wedding, starts yelling at everybody: the wedding planner, her family and the groom.  She wants all the details of the wedding day to be "perfect", forgetting that life is more than  just one day, one night or an event, that the best part of a wedding is to prepare it: choose the flowers and decoration, try on the wedding dress, define the food to be served at the reception, the song for their first waltz, the cake, all these nice and small details.

John Lennon says in one of his songs that “life is what happens to us while we are busy making plans.” We have the tendency to always put our happiness far from us, imagining perfect situations that end up not happening the way we had planned. The boy friend you had expected for so long is not that perfect after all, your dream job may not be as wonderful as you had pictured it.

In this year that is just staring now, it would be good to think of what happened to us during the ending year; everything we had planned what we gained and what we lost. It would also be nice to think that we could change the way we face the events in our life.

I hope that in 2011 we can do many “countdowns”, especially because this means we have not stopped dreaming. But, at the same time, we should learn to enjoy the ten the nine, the eight, the seven, the five, the four, the three, the two and the one as well.  We must reach the “Happy New Year” being certain that we have lived intensely, enjoying each moment in a unique and special way. 

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My grandfather’s Christmas tree

The Persistence of Memory- Salvador Dali

After my grandmother passed away, in May 1991, my grandfather was left with the huge responsibility to take care of the Christmas decoration in their house. My grandmother was an artist: she could embroider, paint, cook, and she did everything skillfully. Each Christmas she had something new to surprise us. Once, to our delight, she made a beautiful woolen Santa Claus that came down from the ceiling, carrying a bag full of presents.

My poor grandfather soon recognized how hard it would be to compete with such creativity. So he decided to do something different: in December 1991, he decorated the Christmas tree and, as he was a very practical man, he decided to keep it that way all year round.

The tree was placed on a little coffee table beside the sofa and, depending on the time of the year, some ornaments were changed. On Easter, for example, the Christmas angels were replaced by colorful chocolate eggs. During  Carnival, its branches were covered with confetti and paper ribbons and in June, they were decorated with colorful little flags, typical ornaments from Festas Juninas, festivals in honor to Saint John, Saint Antony and Saint Peter.

Even with so many changes, there was an ornament that was never replaced. A golden star, which had been made by my grandmother, would be shining at the top of the tree throughout the year. I do believe that this star carried in it a little of all the things my grandmother left in people’s life: joy and light.

I think that we, human beings, are not that different from this Christmas tree. In J.D. Salinger’s novel “The catcher in the Rye”, a teacher explains to one of his students the importance of arts and poetry saying: “Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now.  Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles.”

This means that no matter when or where we were born, we all deal with the same anxieties and carry within ourselves the desire to be happy. Just like my grandfather’s Christmas tree our essence never changes, only the ornaments are replaced: the haircut, the car, the clothes and the makeup.

As for the star that was put on the top of the tree, I believe it represents what makes us different from one another, what makes us unique. It shows us that even having the same essence, there is a light inside us that shines in its own way: our souls.

At the end of 1995, before my grandfather had time to take out the little flags from the Festas Juninas, the tree was dismantled forever. In my box of souvenirs I kept a pen from Venice, a wine cork shaped like a little doll and the memories of joy for having had the privilege to live close to such special people, eternal shining stars.

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Laugh to keep from crying

Everyone knows the best way to handle their own problems. It is a tradition in my family to laugh at the sad situations of life, the famous "laugh to keep from crying."  To us, it is easier to solve our problems when we do not take things so seriously, laughing at ourselves instead.

That’s how it works: we do not talk about our relative’s traumatic experiences at first, out of respect. But, as soon as the person involved in the story gets used to it, we ignore his or her feelings and it becomes the laughing stock at family gatherings: one of my cousins who went to a carnival ball wearing a huge bird head and turned out to be the only person at the ball wearing a costume; another one who had a terrible fever after being booed at a catastrophic school presentation. Even the most tragic stories are not forgiven, and become part of the family folklore.

One of the saddest stories happened to one of my aunts when she moved to Manaus, in the early 80s. She had just moved into the city and was feeling very lonely. Trying to make new friends, she decided to throw a party to celebrate her birthday and invited the entire neighborhood. She prepared everything carefully, cooked tasty delicacies, baked a cake and got dressed up for the occasion.

At seven o’clock, the guests started to show up at her house and like famished grasshoppers started attacking all the food she had prepared. Among the guests there were a lot of uninvited people who had come with people they knew, but didn’t know my aunt Vânia.  Not only did they eat as much as they could but took the rest of the food with them. My poor aunt did not get a single birthday present. She just stayed there, watching them devour everything.

This story came to my mind because I celebrated my birthday in Belo Horizonte last week and it was terrific. A lot of my friends and my whole family came to my mother’s to see me and we all had a great time. The success of my birthday party in BH inspired me to celebrate it in São José dos Campos, the city where I have lived for some time.

I’ve been doing my best to adapt to São José, trying not to stick to my memories from BH. Throwing a birthday party here was a way for me to get closer to people, to create a stronger bond with the city. So I invited my closest friends, prepared nice food, baked a cake and anxiously waited for my guests. It was going to be the best party ever! The problem was that only four of my new friends showed up, and as I had moved the furniture around to make room for more people, the living-room looked even emptier…

My aunt and I had been caught by the same trap. We moved into a new town believing that in a few months we would be able to build new friendships, forgetting that this is something that takes time. After my unsuccessful birthday party in São José dos Campos, a new family riddle was proposed: is it better to have a party crowded with people who do not care for you or an empty one?

I do not have an answer for this question, but if in the 80s we had social networks like Facebook my aunt Vânia could have posted a photo of her crowded party with a caption: “awesome party!!” As for my birthday party in São José, I would not be able to post any photos, but at least I know that the few guests who were there really cared about me. And as a bonus, I could eat chocolate cake for a week!

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En cherche d’amour

Terrace of a café at night- Vincent van Gogh

Setting: an ordinary street in Paris, one of those charming boulevards in tones of gold. Character: Carol, a slightly chubby middle-aged American tourist who captivates us as soon as we see her walking wearing sweatpants and a belt pack around her waist. A voice reading an essay describes a recent trip to the French capital, in a correct, but accented French is heard. It is Carol in her language course.

We get to know Paris through the eyes of this friendly postal worker from Denver.  Used to entering people's lives delivering bills, letters and secrets, she comes into our own lives and souls, through the moving way in which she looks at the world around her. 14ème Arrondissement is the title of this beautiful story that is part of the movie, Paris, je t’aime.

Although she walks alone through the streets in Paris, her trip is not a lonely one. All of us who are watching the movie travel along with her. As she goes on reading her essay we can picture ourselves in the streets and squares through which she walks. We share her experiences, we recognize the same frustrating expectations but also the amazing fascinating power this beautiful city has on us.

"They say Paris is the city of love, but at my age I do not have such expectations," Carol tells us. The camera pulls away from the character and shows a general view of the restaurant where she dines alone. We look at the tables around her and come across ordinary people, eating their dinners and drinking their wines. If there is any love there, it is for the everyday things in life.

A story told by one of my uncles came to my mind. He was studying in Paris in the early 70's and working as a doorman at a hotel in the Rive Gauche. A German guest had come to the "city of love" excited by the prospect of living a great love affair. At eight o'clock sharp, he left the hotel in a good mood, ready to enjoy his first night in Paris.

He had pictured how that special night would be time and again. He would go to an authentic Parisian café, with cozy tables placed inside it and on the sidewalk.  He would sit at a table outside the café, where he could see people going by, through the lively city streets. A very friendly waiter would serve him gently, pleased to serve such a special customer. He would have a rare steak and a wonderful French wine. Meanwhile, the song La Vie en Rose would be playing in the background, as if welcoming him to town. A beautiful woman would sit alone at the next table. They would exchange shy glances at first and little by little they would become more daring. They would end the night together, under the Eiffel Tower, looking into each other’s eyes, completely in love.

Two hours later he was back in the hotel. No Catherine Deneuve had sat beside him and the waiter was rude and impatient like most Parisians are. Not even Edith Piaf had showed up there! He asked the concierge to serve him a beer in his room: he would drink alone that night.   
C'est la vie...

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The giant vacuum cleaner

The Garden of Earthly Delights- Bosch

Last week my mother gave me a nice red vacuum cleaner and I began vacuuming the entire house: under the bed, in the cracks of windows, on the couch, on the corners of doors, beside the computer desk. Within minutes, all the dirt that had been bothering me was trapped inside a bag, away from my eyes.

I started thinking how nice it would be if there were a giant vacuum cleaner where we could store everything and everyone bothering us. People or things that are no good to the world, that do not contribute to make it better would have a place in the giant vacuum cleaner bag.

The discussions for the definition of what or who deserves to be placed on the bag are controversial, so it would be best that each one of us had our own repository. In my bag, for instance, the first ones to be deposited would be the arrogant people, followed by the opportunist and unscrupulous ones. It is also worth to vacuum disagreements we have accumulated throughout our lives; the criteria don’t have to be so strict. Rats, cockroaches, grenades, machine guns, people who humiliate others, who steal public money or plot to disturb the lives of others, people who throw garbage on the sidewalks and do not collect their dog's poops have a great chance to be sucked by the big vacuum cleaner.

Inside the bag, these elements would have to live with each other and to start a new society. In a kind of Big Brother's bag - which we certainly wouldn’t have to watch - participants would have to put up with dog’s poop and garbage on the streets. Meanwhile, we would have a wonderful life out here, free from all this dirt. If our kids needed to learn to value life, we could send them to spend some time camping in the bag. Surely they would be more grateful when they got back.

To show everybody how generous we, the owners of the bags, are, the convicted could be given a second chance to show that they had learned to live in society. They would be free to return to the real world, on the condition of being observed by other members during rehab months.

When you think of it, this crazy idea of mine is already put into practice in our state prisons, where theoretically people who are dangerous to society are isolated. The issue is that they who define the individuals deserving to be arrested should themselves sometimes be in prison too. 

In fact, we tend to think of ourselves as the only ones who can distinguish good from evil, the only ones with the ability to define who should or shouldn’t go into the bag. And what if your neighbor decides that you or your mother deserve to go to his bag? This is how the temptation to impose authoritarian regimes emerges. I can finally get you, Commander Fidel...

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