I don't think that I could express in words how much I have enjoyed writing this blog. There have been very few things that would be defined as "work" that I have actually enjoyed doing lately. I forgot how much I loved writing when I was in High School. The last time that I thoroughly enjoyed writing something was probably my senior English paper on the scientific fact existing and lacking in Peter Benchley's Jaws. Since that time I had been enrolled in college courses that was either business writing, which is extremely dry; or writing on topics that didn't interest me in the least bit. When you write for an assignment, your personal style often has to take a back seat to grammar, fact and detail. It's very difficult to express who you are and your own personality in a paper on William Shakespeare's Midsummer's Nights Dream, unless of course you happen to be a mythical horned woodland creature.
Writing this blog has been a reminder to me how expressive of self that carefully constructed written thoughts can be. It can give a real sense of how one truly feels about a particular issue as well as relay what exactly they find interesting and humorous. In order to make this assignment work for myself, I needed to put myself in it. I couldn't simply just state the facts and report on the black and white. Life isn't black and white, and if anyone has ever seen the movie Pleasantville you will remember how boring life was in that little town until some "color" begins to be introduced. Once color is added to something, it seems as a life is brought into it. Everybody has a favorite color, and while you may not be fond of green there is no use arguing that green isn't red. Green is green.
Writing with color is a lot like painting with color. Artists use their own personal styles that are all unique. I may not like Picasso and may love Monet, but that crazy artist's paintings are going to hang in museums around the world regardless of my feelings about his style. Writing with color isn't writing with verbose language that fills pages, but more using the page as a type of canvas to really reflect what you are tyring to say. When the artist finishes a painting the way he wants, he doesn't continue adding to it. The work is done. Color and style are what makes it beautiful, not its size or the number of objects portrayed in it.
While I am thankful to the many who have complimented me, or commented about the blog, I probably would have been equally as happy with my work if no one had read it or said anything about it. I did it for myself. I enjoyed writing it and I looked forward to the next time I would post. If others enjoyed it as well, then that was a bonus in my mind. I wanted to make sure that people had a way to know what was happening down in Brazil, because there was so much going on. I had no idea how it was going to go, if I would stay diligent in doing it or if I would truly regret my decision to begin it in the first place. At the time I started writing this, I wasn't planning on making a second trip later in the summer. I had hoped that Mark or Lori would pick up where I left off with the writing. The "canvas" had other plans and from the moment I wrote the very first line of my very first post I was cranking away at the keyboard with a smile on my face.
I would like to again thank everyone who has been supportive of this effort. It was a lot of work, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I have set up a second blog address alexrlawson.blogspot.com, and hope to begin writing shortly. I won't post anywhere near as much as with this one, but I figured that if I would enjoy writing about something, then I should write about it. Who knows, maybe there will be a natalbrazil2008.blogspot.com sometime in the future. Until that point, the final brush stroke on this not so masterful work of art has been made. It has been real. Real fun, real exciting and real eye opening. Thanks again to everyone...
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Home...
The last thing that one wants to do after sitting on multiple planes for 14 hours is to sit on something actually more uncomfortable than a coach seat. The wooden bench that rested in the center of the Terminal C pick-up location was an uncomfortable, yet welcome resting place for me as I waited for my mom to pick me up. It had taken me nearly 10 minutes to lug the 160 total pounds of luggage out of the airport and to the second island from the door. Around 10 minutes later, the beige Mazda pulled up and parked in front of me. I hoisted my two large suitcases into the trunk and got in the passengers seat.
Fenway was there waiting for me. I could tell that he had grown in the three weeks that I had been gone, but I could have easily been mistaken because of his extremely bushy coat of hair. He rested at my feet as we made the drive back home talking about my flight, my trip in general and the fact that Mark and Lori were still in São Paulo. I was excited to get back to my house and see my room, which had been carpeted about two weeks earlier. When we finally pulled into the driveway, I saw my car now parked in the space previously occupied by my sisters Corolla. I had been trying hard not to think about the fact that she wasn't going to be there anymore. I on the other hand, had dug my roots deeper by spending a lot of money to renovate my room.
I dragged the suitcases up the two flights of stairs to my room. The carpet looked awesome, and felt so soft under my feet. I had never had a soft carpet before, and the tattered and torn indoor/outdoor carpet that had previously been there was gone for good. I managed to unpack and sort through the huge stack of mail that was piled on my desk. Its always an adjustment to return home after being away. Sometimes you are glad to be back, other times you are not.
Regardless of your feelings, there is just something almost mellowing about going back to everyday life. Most days for me are just a regime that at the end of the day, really doesn't hold much meaning. It was now time to really buckle down and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. This summer had been a whirlwind of emotional activity, and I had always been looking forward to the next step. The summer was over, and as far as I knew there were no planned "next steps". What happened next was my decision, but I wanted to make sure I used what I had seen and learned in Brazil in whichever direction my life may lead now. Knowing me, I'm sure I will continue reflecting on everything and I will be better off because of it. I'd love to go back and see my friends there and help again in the future, but for now I was home...
Fenway was there waiting for me. I could tell that he had grown in the three weeks that I had been gone, but I could have easily been mistaken because of his extremely bushy coat of hair. He rested at my feet as we made the drive back home talking about my flight, my trip in general and the fact that Mark and Lori were still in São Paulo. I was excited to get back to my house and see my room, which had been carpeted about two weeks earlier. When we finally pulled into the driveway, I saw my car now parked in the space previously occupied by my sisters Corolla. I had been trying hard not to think about the fact that she wasn't going to be there anymore. I on the other hand, had dug my roots deeper by spending a lot of money to renovate my room.
I dragged the suitcases up the two flights of stairs to my room. The carpet looked awesome, and felt so soft under my feet. I had never had a soft carpet before, and the tattered and torn indoor/outdoor carpet that had previously been there was gone for good. I managed to unpack and sort through the huge stack of mail that was piled on my desk. Its always an adjustment to return home after being away. Sometimes you are glad to be back, other times you are not.
Regardless of your feelings, there is just something almost mellowing about going back to everyday life. Most days for me are just a regime that at the end of the day, really doesn't hold much meaning. It was now time to really buckle down and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. This summer had been a whirlwind of emotional activity, and I had always been looking forward to the next step. The summer was over, and as far as I knew there were no planned "next steps". What happened next was my decision, but I wanted to make sure I used what I had seen and learned in Brazil in whichever direction my life may lead now. Knowing me, I'm sure I will continue reflecting on everything and I will be better off because of it. I'd love to go back and see my friends there and help again in the future, but for now I was home...
Thursday, September 6, 2007
An Airborne Strain of Dengue...
Around the time I was boarding United Flight 860 to Washington D.C., Mark, Lori and the family was wandering around São Paulo airport trying to collect the 8 bags that they had checked. Since they would not be leaving Brazil until the next evening, all of their bags would be their responsibility. They rummaged through the bags until they had obtained enough clothing to get them through the next day, and then found a storage location in the airport to leave their belongings rather than hauling them to the hotel only to bring them back again.
Even though none of the fiasco was the fault of TAM Airlines, they still felt bad for the family and gave them a free hotel and free meals for the following day. It turned out that they had not missed the flight, but had just been too late to be considered for it. Continental, lacking God given wisdom, had oversold all of the flights for the following few days, and they had simply made the check-in cutoff time the determining factor of who would make or miss the flight.
They checked into the hotel and went to bed shortly afterwards. Uncle Mark spent the majority of the next day in bed, while Aunt Lori and the kids used the time to explore a microscopic section of the thriving metropolis of São Paulo. Mark was very bummed to be leaving Brazil, and his his feelings were apparent in his demeanor and his actions. The family had done the wise thing by leaving him alone for the day and by the time came to leave for the airport the next night they didn't know what to expect.
They got to the airport early and proceeded with the check in process. Aunt Lori had begun to feel a little bit sick that day and it had progressed in pain as the hours had worn on. By the time she was nestled into her seat on the 767 she began to have the tremendous pain behind her eyes that indicated she probably had Dengue fever. There are different strains of the virus, some have severe nausea (Case: Caroline), others have category six migraine headaches (Case: Me) and others effect the body in other ways. One thing is for certain, no matter what strain of the virus it is, you would never want to endure it cramped in a coach seat on an aircraft.
As the seemingly endless flight wore on, Lori's symptoms got worse. The pain behind they eyes increased, slight nausea ensued and she just wanted to lie down. A grumpy Mark, sick Lori and tired Caroline and William arrived in Newark that morning and made their way through customs without any problems. The flight from New Jersey to Boston was short, but the exhausted and likely sore group just wanted to get home. They collected their bags and then waited for my father to pick them up. In case you are wondering if I am still waiting for my mother, you need not worry I have been home for almost 24 hours by this point.
I got a call from my dad shortly after that saying that they were home and very tired. Lori spent a lot of the day in bed. Her headaches had been bad, but she was feeling a lot better by the time I talked with her later that night. Uncle Mark had slept the majority of both flights, and hadn't even really noticed that she had been ill. Like a hibernating bear, he had returned beneath the sheets when he arrived at home. The kids had already missed two days of school at this point, and spent much of the time that they were awake preparing for the start of a new year at Covenant Christian Academy.
Seeing it had been a pretty major adjustment for me when I returned from Brazil the first time I can only imagine how difficult it would be for someone who was returning after an even longer extended period of time. They had both felt useful doing what they had been doing. Mark had finally found something that he really enjoyed doing, and a group that he loved working with. The fact that he had been doing something for God and God's people made it even more fulfilling in his mind. The amount of things that Lori had done had been extremely encouraging, and when you are so used to encouragement, the now "lack thereof" is even more depressing. It was going to be a major adjustment for them, even more so than first going to the distant country. There was going to need to be an unknown time period of transition or as Aunt Lori called it, a debriefing...
Even though none of the fiasco was the fault of TAM Airlines, they still felt bad for the family and gave them a free hotel and free meals for the following day. It turned out that they had not missed the flight, but had just been too late to be considered for it. Continental, lacking God given wisdom, had oversold all of the flights for the following few days, and they had simply made the check-in cutoff time the determining factor of who would make or miss the flight.
They checked into the hotel and went to bed shortly afterwards. Uncle Mark spent the majority of the next day in bed, while Aunt Lori and the kids used the time to explore a microscopic section of the thriving metropolis of São Paulo. Mark was very bummed to be leaving Brazil, and his his feelings were apparent in his demeanor and his actions. The family had done the wise thing by leaving him alone for the day and by the time came to leave for the airport the next night they didn't know what to expect.
They got to the airport early and proceeded with the check in process. Aunt Lori had begun to feel a little bit sick that day and it had progressed in pain as the hours had worn on. By the time she was nestled into her seat on the 767 she began to have the tremendous pain behind her eyes that indicated she probably had Dengue fever. There are different strains of the virus, some have severe nausea (Case: Caroline), others have category six migraine headaches (Case: Me) and others effect the body in other ways. One thing is for certain, no matter what strain of the virus it is, you would never want to endure it cramped in a coach seat on an aircraft.
As the seemingly endless flight wore on, Lori's symptoms got worse. The pain behind they eyes increased, slight nausea ensued and she just wanted to lie down. A grumpy Mark, sick Lori and tired Caroline and William arrived in Newark that morning and made their way through customs without any problems. The flight from New Jersey to Boston was short, but the exhausted and likely sore group just wanted to get home. They collected their bags and then waited for my father to pick them up. In case you are wondering if I am still waiting for my mother, you need not worry I have been home for almost 24 hours by this point.
I got a call from my dad shortly after that saying that they were home and very tired. Lori spent a lot of the day in bed. Her headaches had been bad, but she was feeling a lot better by the time I talked with her later that night. Uncle Mark had slept the majority of both flights, and hadn't even really noticed that she had been ill. Like a hibernating bear, he had returned beneath the sheets when he arrived at home. The kids had already missed two days of school at this point, and spent much of the time that they were awake preparing for the start of a new year at Covenant Christian Academy.
Seeing it had been a pretty major adjustment for me when I returned from Brazil the first time I can only imagine how difficult it would be for someone who was returning after an even longer extended period of time. They had both felt useful doing what they had been doing. Mark had finally found something that he really enjoyed doing, and a group that he loved working with. The fact that he had been doing something for God and God's people made it even more fulfilling in his mind. The amount of things that Lori had done had been extremely encouraging, and when you are so used to encouragement, the now "lack thereof" is even more depressing. It was going to be a major adjustment for them, even more so than first going to the distant country. There was going to need to be an unknown time period of transition or as Aunt Lori called it, a debriefing...
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
First United, Then Alone...
Once again my eyelids fluttered open to face a white pillow, but this pillow was not large, soft or down. This was a measly airline pillow that had a freshly washed and de-static cover over the cotton balls that made up its entire existence. My rear was hurting and the window next to me was rattling. It was a common occurrence to have my rear end hurting while seated in an aircraft. In fact I can not remember a single instance in the past two years that my butt has not been sore after a flight longer than 45 minutes. I tried to readjust, but apparently United gives less room than Continental in coach. If I had opted to purchase the "Economy Plus" ticket I could have gotten the extra 5 inches of room for the previously mentioned $109 extra. I wasn't about to spend more than I would normally spend on an entire hotel room for a measly 5 inches of space.
After several adjustments I fell back asleep, and after another several sore awakenings we were almost in Washington D.C. Breakfast was served so fast. I scoffed down the meal and remembered that I still had to fill out a customs slip. They had run out of the English version, so I used my new friends form as a guide and filled out the Portuguese immigration form instead. I was becoming quite the pro at international travel. I had not even finished the form before we had touched down on the ground. The woman in front of me was complaining again to the flight attendant, and I just wanted to tell her to shut up and understand the fact that this is in fact "coach" not first class. If she wants a seat with no problems, next time choke up the extra $6,000 for a ticket. We finally disembarked, and my Canadian friend and I went our separate ways, bound to meet again since we were both on the plane to Boston.
The immigration line was slow, but I made it through and cleared my cashews and the and $750 worth of product I was bringing across for Lori. I rechecked my bags on to Logan International Airport, and then walked through the airport until I found the appropriate gate. There were several familiar people that had been on the flight from São Paulo including the Canuck. I was fortunate enough to be seated in the very first row of the plane, after first class of course. This was an emergency row. Even though United had not served me my Wheaties that morning, I felt that I could complete the necessary functions should the aircraft be put into a state of turmoil. I didn't know exactly what I would have needed to do had we gone down over Chesapeake Bay, since the instructions were in the "seat back in front of us". Since the only thing in front of us was a big black flight attendant named Steve, there were no instructions. This would probably doom the remaining survivors of the flight had any problem arisen.
The flight was relatively uneventful. Even though my Canadian friend and I had been reunited, his seat was toward the back of the plane. After we landed, I was the first one off so I never saw him again. I hope his catering for 3,500 Irving Oil employees goes well this upcoming weekend. I called my mother and told her I had landed, then quickly phoned Uncle Tim to make sure he knew that he wouldn't have pick up Mark and Lori that day. My bags were just coming out of the tunnel when I arrived at the baggage claim. I only hoped that my mother would be as punctual as the suitcases had been. Even though the bags weight 70lbs each, I didn't have enough singles to spring $3.00 for the push cart. Is it just me or have they raised the price on those things? It took me nearly 10 minutes to carry the ridiculously heavy bags out to the curb, where I sat on a bench and waited for my mom to arrive...
After several adjustments I fell back asleep, and after another several sore awakenings we were almost in Washington D.C. Breakfast was served so fast. I scoffed down the meal and remembered that I still had to fill out a customs slip. They had run out of the English version, so I used my new friends form as a guide and filled out the Portuguese immigration form instead. I was becoming quite the pro at international travel. I had not even finished the form before we had touched down on the ground. The woman in front of me was complaining again to the flight attendant, and I just wanted to tell her to shut up and understand the fact that this is in fact "coach" not first class. If she wants a seat with no problems, next time choke up the extra $6,000 for a ticket. We finally disembarked, and my Canadian friend and I went our separate ways, bound to meet again since we were both on the plane to Boston.
The immigration line was slow, but I made it through and cleared my cashews and the and $750 worth of product I was bringing across for Lori. I rechecked my bags on to Logan International Airport, and then walked through the airport until I found the appropriate gate. There were several familiar people that had been on the flight from São Paulo including the Canuck. I was fortunate enough to be seated in the very first row of the plane, after first class of course. This was an emergency row. Even though United had not served me my Wheaties that morning, I felt that I could complete the necessary functions should the aircraft be put into a state of turmoil. I didn't know exactly what I would have needed to do had we gone down over Chesapeake Bay, since the instructions were in the "seat back in front of us". Since the only thing in front of us was a big black flight attendant named Steve, there were no instructions. This would probably doom the remaining survivors of the flight had any problem arisen.
The flight was relatively uneventful. Even though my Canadian friend and I had been reunited, his seat was toward the back of the plane. After we landed, I was the first one off so I never saw him again. I hope his catering for 3,500 Irving Oil employees goes well this upcoming weekend. I called my mother and told her I had landed, then quickly phoned Uncle Tim to make sure he knew that he wouldn't have pick up Mark and Lori that day. My bags were just coming out of the tunnel when I arrived at the baggage claim. I only hoped that my mother would be as punctual as the suitcases had been. Even though the bags weight 70lbs each, I didn't have enough singles to spring $3.00 for the push cart. Is it just me or have they raised the price on those things? It took me nearly 10 minutes to carry the ridiculously heavy bags out to the curb, where I sat on a bench and waited for my mom to arrive...
The Continental Divide...
Lightning lit up the sky next to the plane as I stared out the small pillow shaped window. Rain was falling quite heavily as we made our decent into São Paulo. With each flash of lightning or flicker from the strobes on the wings, the raindrops illuminated to give the outside air a nightclub appearance. William and Caroline were getting restless in the seats next to me, and an announcement had just been made that we were in a landing pattern due to a problem on the runway. Knowing the safety problems that TAM often has, one can never be too sure if a runway problem is a burnt out light bulb or an aircraft explosion.
We finally landed at about a quarter to eight. My flight wasn’t until 10:10 so I was not worried about missing my plane. Mark and Lori’s Continental flight was set to leave at 9:20, so I suggested that the allow me to wait for my bags alone and maybe I would catch up with them later. They told me they would wait for a few minutes with me, and I wasn’t going to put up an argument. William kept both his bulging eyes glued on the conveyor belt as the same small green bag went around over and over again. Soon some boxes marked fragile followed suit of the canvas bag, and I joked with the kids that they were human organs on their way to a transplant candidate. My joke ended however when a single man scooped up all the boxes and made off with them out the door.
Just when they were about to leave me with a cell phone and head off to check in for their flight, the first of my two bags made an appearance. It was the blue one packed full of cooperative products. It was so packed so tightly that it had began to tear at the seams. I began to wonder if it was going to make it back to the states in one piece. The green bag soon followed, and we were on our way to our respective ticket counters. The plan was to check in and then meet up at the departure gates. They headed off to concourse D, while I headed in the opposite direction to A. The line was empty, which was a shocker for an airport that is normally bustling with activity no matter which hour of they day you are there. I checked in, and learned I had no seat assignment, and that I would need to be at the gate at 9:25 in order to obtain my assignment for the 10:10 flight. The plane would board 30 minutes prior to departure.
I walked briskly through the concourses until I arrived at the Continental desk. I could see from a distance that there was a grim look on all faces, and a genuine look of disgust plastered on Caroline. “What’s going on?”, I said to them as I rolled my carry on bag up to where they were standing. They informed me that they had missed their plane. I checked my watch. It was only 8:30, and their plane didn’t leave for 50 minutes. The attendant was in the middle of telling them and two other passengers that they stop checking people in 1 hour prior to departure. I thought to myself, “OK so they were five minutes late. There is still time to get them moving if you do it right now”.
The man informed them that the line to the International Police was too long and they would not make it. My eyes peered around the corner and scanned the security line. There weren’t even two people waiting in it, and part of me wanted to tell the guy to please have his cataracts removed ASAP. Since this was not my airline I kept my mouth shut. There would be no traveling for Mark, Lori, Caroline, William, the Matthew McConaughey looking gentleman or Mr. Texas Drawl himself. All of them would be stuck in São Paulo until at least the next night. It was then that they would be able to depart for the US, if there were any available seating of course.
What stunk for them is they needed to lug the nine suitcases and five carry-on bags that they had between them from the airport to the hotel and then back to the airport the next day. I stayed with them as long as I could, but I still needed to be assigned my seat. I gave them all hugs goodbye, and then turned and left. I was on my own in a great big airport in a city of almost 17 million people. Mehhh…who am I kidding...I loved it! I love traveling alone. There is just something about strolling through a strange airport pretending you know where you are going, when you really don’t have a clue. You can still feel like a big cheese though right?
I made it through security and the International Police relatively quickly and found myself at the United gate at 9:23. They had not yet given out the assignments, and as luck would have it, I would be the last one to get one. I boarded the plane after they checked my carry-on bag for the third time and found my seat. Coincidentally it was next to a man I had been talking to in the security line. He was a chef who owned a catering company in Fredericton, New Brunswick, and he had just started dating a girl from Brazil. We talked for a while as the plane sat on the runway waiting to depart. Topics ranged from women to Canada to food to Brazil to the United States to the best way of using air miles. He was very friendly and I was thankful I wouldn’t be squished next to some hag on this full 10 hour flight.
I may not have been next to a hag, but I sure was in back of one. This woman complained about everything. “My tray won’t go back up. My milk is too cold. The movie is too loud.” On and on and on she would go. After watching a movie of my own, and silently wishing that the flight attendant would sedate the wench in front of me, I put my pillow against the window and managed to fall asleep. You got to love narcotics when they help you do something you were never able to do before, sleep on a plane…
We finally landed at about a quarter to eight. My flight wasn’t until 10:10 so I was not worried about missing my plane. Mark and Lori’s Continental flight was set to leave at 9:20, so I suggested that the allow me to wait for my bags alone and maybe I would catch up with them later. They told me they would wait for a few minutes with me, and I wasn’t going to put up an argument. William kept both his bulging eyes glued on the conveyor belt as the same small green bag went around over and over again. Soon some boxes marked fragile followed suit of the canvas bag, and I joked with the kids that they were human organs on their way to a transplant candidate. My joke ended however when a single man scooped up all the boxes and made off with them out the door.
Just when they were about to leave me with a cell phone and head off to check in for their flight, the first of my two bags made an appearance. It was the blue one packed full of cooperative products. It was so packed so tightly that it had began to tear at the seams. I began to wonder if it was going to make it back to the states in one piece. The green bag soon followed, and we were on our way to our respective ticket counters. The plan was to check in and then meet up at the departure gates. They headed off to concourse D, while I headed in the opposite direction to A. The line was empty, which was a shocker for an airport that is normally bustling with activity no matter which hour of they day you are there. I checked in, and learned I had no seat assignment, and that I would need to be at the gate at 9:25 in order to obtain my assignment for the 10:10 flight. The plane would board 30 minutes prior to departure.
I walked briskly through the concourses until I arrived at the Continental desk. I could see from a distance that there was a grim look on all faces, and a genuine look of disgust plastered on Caroline. “What’s going on?”, I said to them as I rolled my carry on bag up to where they were standing. They informed me that they had missed their plane. I checked my watch. It was only 8:30, and their plane didn’t leave for 50 minutes. The attendant was in the middle of telling them and two other passengers that they stop checking people in 1 hour prior to departure. I thought to myself, “OK so they were five minutes late. There is still time to get them moving if you do it right now”.
The man informed them that the line to the International Police was too long and they would not make it. My eyes peered around the corner and scanned the security line. There weren’t even two people waiting in it, and part of me wanted to tell the guy to please have his cataracts removed ASAP. Since this was not my airline I kept my mouth shut. There would be no traveling for Mark, Lori, Caroline, William, the Matthew McConaughey looking gentleman or Mr. Texas Drawl himself. All of them would be stuck in São Paulo until at least the next night. It was then that they would be able to depart for the US, if there were any available seating of course.
What stunk for them is they needed to lug the nine suitcases and five carry-on bags that they had between them from the airport to the hotel and then back to the airport the next day. I stayed with them as long as I could, but I still needed to be assigned my seat. I gave them all hugs goodbye, and then turned and left. I was on my own in a great big airport in a city of almost 17 million people. Mehhh…who am I kidding...I loved it! I love traveling alone. There is just something about strolling through a strange airport pretending you know where you are going, when you really don’t have a clue. You can still feel like a big cheese though right?
I made it through security and the International Police relatively quickly and found myself at the United gate at 9:23. They had not yet given out the assignments, and as luck would have it, I would be the last one to get one. I boarded the plane after they checked my carry-on bag for the third time and found my seat. Coincidentally it was next to a man I had been talking to in the security line. He was a chef who owned a catering company in Fredericton, New Brunswick, and he had just started dating a girl from Brazil. We talked for a while as the plane sat on the runway waiting to depart. Topics ranged from women to Canada to food to Brazil to the United States to the best way of using air miles. He was very friendly and I was thankful I wouldn’t be squished next to some hag on this full 10 hour flight.
I may not have been next to a hag, but I sure was in back of one. This woman complained about everything. “My tray won’t go back up. My milk is too cold. The movie is too loud.” On and on and on she would go. After watching a movie of my own, and silently wishing that the flight attendant would sedate the wench in front of me, I put my pillow against the window and managed to fall asleep. You got to love narcotics when they help you do something you were never able to do before, sleep on a plane…
Could Brave Young William Be Afraid of a Little Lightning?
Frankly My Dear, I Don’t Give a TAM…
Uncle Mark and I drove with Salomão in one of his cars toward the airport. The ride was quiet for the most part. I was disappointed to be leaving, but I could tell that Uncle Mark was really upset. He didn’t want to go home, and he had been dreading this point all summer long. His feelings were just like the words of the Carrie Underwood song “they’ve been dreading this moment all summer long, the night before life moves on”. We arrived at the airport long before Luciano, which was odd seeing he had left before us. We bid farewell to Salomão and Cintia as we loaded he eleven suitcases on to carts and wheeled them into the baggage check area of the terminal.
Luis, Lillia, Dona Nier, Pietro, Neto, Paula, Liese, both Lucianos and their families were all there to see us off. We spent a great deal of time in the ticket line with Aunt Lori trying to talk the ticket agent into letting them check the bags all the way through to Boston. After a long time, and a lot of fast spoken Portuguese, she seemed to have made progress in getting ten of the bags checked through Boston (or so we thought). The remaining bag had to be a carry on, despite a feeble last ditch attempt to shrink wrap the smaller bag to another small bag to create one.
After the baggage check was completed, everyone rode up the escalator to the restaurant where we would all eat our “last supper” together. I had already went up a little bit before to stock up on a months supply of Synthroid, since my prescription had run out and I would not be able to get a doctors appointment before Friday. We ate a good meal together. It was the first I had eaten since I had first gotten sick almost 36 hours before. As we exited the restaurant I heard them calling our flight number for boarding.
We quickly said our goodbyes at the terminal gate, each of us getting to hug each other. Liese said how much her view on Americans had changed since she had met us, , Patty, Maria and Melissa. Everything she had seen of Americans on the Communist News Network (CNN) and other media outlets, as well as what she had experienced from visiting tourists in the area had showed her nothing but stupidity and selfishness. Now she understood that there were more out there than the Hollywoodites and the liberal media hordes. She had first expressed this to Lori on Friday, and then to Mark on Sunday night. When she had told Mark her opinion on American’s had changed since she met him he had turned around and said to her, “well my opinion of Germans has changed since I met you”.
Liese is from the southern part of Brazil, which is an area frequented by Italian and German immigrants. She had been raised speaking only German, and didn’t begin to learn Portuguese until the age of 14 years old. She was commended to missionary work and left the southern states to head to Rio Grande de la Norte, where she has been working in Natal for several years. She opens her house to women who need a place to board, and does a fabulous job being hospitable to anyone in need of a meal or anything that she can possibly do for them. Most of the men and women who have been working on the hall for the past few months would either be fed lunch by Liese or Lilia each day.
I said goodbye to Neto, who was probably the one person I had gotten the closest to during my six weeks in Brazil this summer. He was sad to see me go. He spoke better English than I spoke Portuguese, so we were able to communicate on a better level than I could with other people. I had given him my NLT Life Application Study Bible that I had purchased for myself. After he had looked through it I could see how impressed he was by it, and asked me where he could get one. I decided that I would give him mine and pick up a new copy for myself at CBD, since their sale was the same weekend I got home. I put a little inscription in the front page, with my E-mail address in hopes he would keep in touch.
The way I had given it to him probably wasn’t in the most gracious and time sensitive moment possible. During my bout with Dengue, in a moment of what could have come across as delusional, I held the Bible up in my hand like a children’s Sunday school sword drill. Poor Neto probably thought I was using the Book to call on God for help, but I finally had put it in his hand, and a big grin had spread across his face. I would miss him a lot. I hoped that he and Paula would manage to visit the states sometime, even if I did plan on visiting them again in Brazil.
After our goodbyes were complete, we hustled through the security check point. Lori was stopped for who knows what, as they searched her purse. Item after item was removed, and I was getting a mental picture of Mary Poppins when a lamp, birdcage and a sofa were pulled out of her small carpet bag. Finally the man just let her go after he had removed everything and still not found what he was looking for. They had made a final boring call announcement for the plane, and we quickly found our way to our seats. I had a window seat, with William in the middle. I actually managed to fall asleep rather quickly on the flight, partly in thanks to my medication.
After I woke up about halfway through the trip to São Paulo, I had a feeling that I should check my baggage stub. My bags should have been checked all the way through to Boston, but the airport code printed on the sticker read GRU. I needed to pick up two extremely heavy bags in São Paulo and recheck them. One thing is sure about that TAM airline, nothing is ever an easy process with them…
Luis, Lillia, Dona Nier, Pietro, Neto, Paula, Liese, both Lucianos and their families were all there to see us off. We spent a great deal of time in the ticket line with Aunt Lori trying to talk the ticket agent into letting them check the bags all the way through to Boston. After a long time, and a lot of fast spoken Portuguese, she seemed to have made progress in getting ten of the bags checked through Boston (or so we thought). The remaining bag had to be a carry on, despite a feeble last ditch attempt to shrink wrap the smaller bag to another small bag to create one.
After the baggage check was completed, everyone rode up the escalator to the restaurant where we would all eat our “last supper” together. I had already went up a little bit before to stock up on a months supply of Synthroid, since my prescription had run out and I would not be able to get a doctors appointment before Friday. We ate a good meal together. It was the first I had eaten since I had first gotten sick almost 36 hours before. As we exited the restaurant I heard them calling our flight number for boarding.
We quickly said our goodbyes at the terminal gate, each of us getting to hug each other. Liese said how much her view on Americans had changed since she had met us, , Patty, Maria and Melissa. Everything she had seen of Americans on the Communist News Network (CNN) and other media outlets, as well as what she had experienced from visiting tourists in the area had showed her nothing but stupidity and selfishness. Now she understood that there were more out there than the Hollywoodites and the liberal media hordes. She had first expressed this to Lori on Friday, and then to Mark on Sunday night. When she had told Mark her opinion on American’s had changed since she met him he had turned around and said to her, “well my opinion of Germans has changed since I met you”.
Liese is from the southern part of Brazil, which is an area frequented by Italian and German immigrants. She had been raised speaking only German, and didn’t begin to learn Portuguese until the age of 14 years old. She was commended to missionary work and left the southern states to head to Rio Grande de la Norte, where she has been working in Natal for several years. She opens her house to women who need a place to board, and does a fabulous job being hospitable to anyone in need of a meal or anything that she can possibly do for them. Most of the men and women who have been working on the hall for the past few months would either be fed lunch by Liese or Lilia each day.
I said goodbye to Neto, who was probably the one person I had gotten the closest to during my six weeks in Brazil this summer. He was sad to see me go. He spoke better English than I spoke Portuguese, so we were able to communicate on a better level than I could with other people. I had given him my NLT Life Application Study Bible that I had purchased for myself. After he had looked through it I could see how impressed he was by it, and asked me where he could get one. I decided that I would give him mine and pick up a new copy for myself at CBD, since their sale was the same weekend I got home. I put a little inscription in the front page, with my E-mail address in hopes he would keep in touch.
The way I had given it to him probably wasn’t in the most gracious and time sensitive moment possible. During my bout with Dengue, in a moment of what could have come across as delusional, I held the Bible up in my hand like a children’s Sunday school sword drill. Poor Neto probably thought I was using the Book to call on God for help, but I finally had put it in his hand, and a big grin had spread across his face. I would miss him a lot. I hoped that he and Paula would manage to visit the states sometime, even if I did plan on visiting them again in Brazil.
After our goodbyes were complete, we hustled through the security check point. Lori was stopped for who knows what, as they searched her purse. Item after item was removed, and I was getting a mental picture of Mary Poppins when a lamp, birdcage and a sofa were pulled out of her small carpet bag. Finally the man just let her go after he had removed everything and still not found what he was looking for. They had made a final boring call announcement for the plane, and we quickly found our way to our seats. I had a window seat, with William in the middle. I actually managed to fall asleep rather quickly on the flight, partly in thanks to my medication.
After I woke up about halfway through the trip to São Paulo, I had a feeling that I should check my baggage stub. My bags should have been checked all the way through to Boston, but the airport code printed on the sticker read GRU. I needed to pick up two extremely heavy bags in São Paulo and recheck them. One thing is sure about that TAM airline, nothing is ever an easy process with them…
One End of Our Giant Lunch Table
The Other End of Our Giant Lunch Table
The Young Boys Belonging to Luciano Two, Luis and Luciano One
The Little Angels Go Bad
Saying Goodbye
Goodbye Falling Brick Road...
My eyelids fluttered open shortly before six o’clock and I found myself staring in the exact same spot that my pupils had fixated against when they first closed around midnight the night before. I hadn’t woken once, and the position of my body made it evident that I hadn’t moved either. The once throbbing feeling I had in my head was replaced by a light buzzing. It was nothing too severe and nothing that I hadn’t experienced before. I got out of bed and was surprised to see that William was not in the bed next to me. Hearing some noise from the kitchen I made my way down the stairs and found Uncle Mark cleaning the dishes in the sink.
We had a busy morning a head of us, and while Uncle Mark washed the cars and packing, I caught up on the blogs that I had neglected during the time I was ill. After I was caught up, I finished packing myself. Salomão had stopped by the house to lend us his car. Lunch with him had been cancelled the previous day due to Aunt Lori being at the hospital with me. He had went to the church the night before to see the progress and told Mark that he would be more than happy to give us a ride to the airport. He left us his car with us so Uncle Mark and I could bring the two Gols back to the rental place.
We had two damaged hubcaps and two tickets on our record for the three months of car usage, and although the language barrier was there we managed to get a clear message with the attendants.
NOTE: As I am writing this a rude woman just put her seat back and whacked the screen of my computer. We are still supposed to have our seat backs up.
We returned to the house on Lobster Road, where bricks had fallen, alarms had screamed, water had flooded, a pool had turned a dull gray and where a Gamba would frequent nightly. Luciano, his wife Rosa, son Lucas and another friend were waiting for us when we returned. Solomon arrived to take us to the airport, the suitcases were in the Comvee and now it was time to say goodbye to Inacia. This goodbye was very emotional. Lori had saved her from a hostile relationship with her other employer, and she felt like her family was leaving her. We all hugged and prayed, then loaded the Comvee and other cars to head to the airport. This would likely be the last time we would ever be at the House on Lobster Road, also known as the House of Horrors...
We had a busy morning a head of us, and while Uncle Mark washed the cars and packing, I caught up on the blogs that I had neglected during the time I was ill. After I was caught up, I finished packing myself. Salomão had stopped by the house to lend us his car. Lunch with him had been cancelled the previous day due to Aunt Lori being at the hospital with me. He had went to the church the night before to see the progress and told Mark that he would be more than happy to give us a ride to the airport. He left us his car with us so Uncle Mark and I could bring the two Gols back to the rental place.
We had two damaged hubcaps and two tickets on our record for the three months of car usage, and although the language barrier was there we managed to get a clear message with the attendants.
NOTE: As I am writing this a rude woman just put her seat back and whacked the screen of my computer. We are still supposed to have our seat backs up.
We returned to the house on Lobster Road, where bricks had fallen, alarms had screamed, water had flooded, a pool had turned a dull gray and where a Gamba would frequent nightly. Luciano, his wife Rosa, son Lucas and another friend were waiting for us when we returned. Solomon arrived to take us to the airport, the suitcases were in the Comvee and now it was time to say goodbye to Inacia. This goodbye was very emotional. Lori had saved her from a hostile relationship with her other employer, and she felt like her family was leaving her. We all hugged and prayed, then loaded the Comvee and other cars to head to the airport. This would likely be the last time we would ever be at the House on Lobster Road, also known as the House of Horrors...
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