A Moment in time - The modern social networks

A thought from the veranda.

Have you ever stopped at a stoplight, looked over at the car next to you, wondering: who are they, do they live close, are they a neighbor, are they happy or are they in crisis, where are they going? What is their story?  Then the driver of the other car turns their head, looks you in the eye; a moment of recognition passes between you, there is, just briefly, an electrical current that connects you. The light changes and both cars move through the light. It is not likely that you will ever meet that person; you will never know the answers to your questions, but you will know their face, remembering always that very brief moment of connection.

Through this blog I have met many people; they visit me and from time to time make nice comments. In exchange, I go to their blog. I gain access to their hopes and dreams, their personal problems, many thoughts and perspectives. It feels that you know them. There are sometimes many exchanges of thoughts and feelings. They become your friend. Often you don’t see a real face. There is never an electrical current but often a mental one seems to be felt. Then they stop coming by. They stop commenting. Their life and interests have taken them elsewhere, to other brief exchanges of thoughts and perspectives.  Fleeting, friendships in transit; some fade quickly and some you remember several years later, feeling their loss; feeling ‘saudade’ as they say here in Brasil.

Now Facebook has emerged.  I wanted to see what all the fervor was about so I signed up. The program immediately searches your private contacts, email addresses in outlook and contacts on Skype, and says, “Ask them to be your friend”. I did, and I have to admit that I like the ‘contact’ with all my family. Through Facebook, I now see brief glimpses into the lives of nephews and nieces. I see photos of their daily activities, of their children. I hear how they feel on any given day, and in a very remote way can feel connected. I joined a group called ‘growing up in Adrian’, a discussion group that asks, ‘Do you remember when / who / what?’ I don’t, but it was fun for a while to follow, and in a remote way feel connected.  I found a few people known from the blog comments, and added them as ‘friends’ and now see them talk back and forth with their friends and family, people I don’t and will never know and find these connections to be too remote to have meaning.

I have sat here for about 20 minutes, typing then erasing sentences. They have sounded so…. well, depressing and that was not my intent, really this is only an observation on modern life, so let me try and finish  ...

…. But now a year on Facebook has brought me to this place; this place of realization that reading about peoples’ daily thoughts and activities is not being connected. This is not a moment of electrical current, a moment of understanding in the touch of a hand, or a forged friendship that will last a lifetime.  This is socialization once removed. This is city dwelling run amok; this is another short lived effort to find our place in the world, to be a part of, to belong.   I think it will be found, in the end, to be artificial and therefore temporary.  Do you remember the CB craze in the 70s – socialization once removed.  Ten-four big Charley

Accumulated Memories

I woke to blinding sunlight this morning. 

I forgot to close the shutters last night, and as soon as the sun clears the mountain tops to the east, it glares off the top of the clouds in the valley and bounces, sending bright, white light right into our bedroom.  Now at almost noon, the clouds have risen out of the valley and are sitting on the mountain ridges, causing the house to feel damp and cold.  It is probably 70 or so degrees, but feels 50.   With the blinding light, I woke to thoughts of our last trip to Italy in September of 2010.  The past 18 months have been so fast and furious and I have missed telling you about so many happenings that have now come and gone.    This morning after 7 full hours of sleep all of those accumulated memories are swirling around in my head, ready to be talked about.   But where to start.

I sent about 3 hours this morning going back through the blog, skimming through titles and looking at the photos that I shared.  I noted several things.  I’ve not been consistent with labels and my dialog has been very short, stunted even.  Not much fun for you the reader, and I am positive not much fun for me to write.  The labels are not terribly important – used mostly by the search engines and by me when I want to find a topics I’ve done in the past.  I can just imagine that most visitor to ‘Flowers’ are not even aware of the label list, let alone saying, “lets see what Ginger had to say about ‘travel in Brazil’ this morning” and then spending 3 or 4 hours driving the roads of Brasil through my photos.   Hum, just imagine.

But the other problem, the dialog being short and stunted, now that’s a real problem.  That could mean several things: I am bored with the topics, I am bored with blogging in general, I don’t have anything to say – now we know that it isn’t number 3.  I can talk, and talk; talk for hours if only someone would listen.  If I wanted to sit here another hour I could come up with more reason why the writing has gone to the...... dumps.  But If I want to get to the bottom of it – my thoughts have been dark and whiny, and I’ve just not wanted to put on paper.  (SCREEN?)  I’ve gone through these spells before, and they always go away and it seems that with the blinding, white light this morning they have receded back to where they come. 

I know it is May 2011 but today I make my New Years resolutions.   1) to write more about what I find interesting.  2) To put my photos on the computer in order – eek!, I have been downloading onto my laptop for nearly a year without moving them to appropriate folders on the external.... what a mess.  3) to make and send my mother a card with a photo on it a minimum of once a week.  So she receives real mail once a week (letter enclosed, of course).

this week’s flower for my Mom,  wild morning glories.

Friday My town Shoot-out / black and white

This has been a black week in Nova Friburgo.  A week a dealing with death and destruction, a week of mourning the loss of life and property, homes and businesses.  The atmosphere has reminded me of the sense of shock in the weeks after 9/11.  No longer in Friburgo but in Rio, in the comfort of the apartment in Ipanema, I have read many news articles, scrolled through hundred of photos and have wondered why?  You can imagine the list of whys that have gone through my mind, no answers are there and are likely to never come clear.  In the randomness of death and destruction by Nature, there are no answers to why.
This week has also been a white week.  The purity, the kindness of neighbor helping neighbor, the relief on hearing of loved ones safe and uninjured, shines white in all our minds. 
The relief of this week almost as painful as the fear of last.
The battle of good and bad, happiness and sadness, life and death, White and Black.
A few photos I have taken this week with my little point and shoot.  A few examples of use of black and white, the colors, in Rio de Janeiro.
       
our famous sidewalks made with black and white stones. a dressing room made of black and white and shadows, A glass wall made with black etched glass, a dining room set for lunch, a statue of Joseph made of white plaster, old building and new construction, and the Harleys for the new motorcycle cops of Rio.

Thoughts from the Veranda

As the sun comes up – with a new day starting – with my first cup of coffee sitting on the sunny veranda I think;

I don’t know if it is a personality trait of mine or a human trait for all mankind but change is always a problem.  We beg and plead, moan and groan; life is passing us by, life is so ho-hum boring, we need some excitement – we need help! we need CHANGE. 

Then change happens.  Whether it is a new job, a new boss, a new computer system or heaven forbid a new phone system, a new and excited co-worker who has new ideas for change…  a new husband, a new house, a new school – a new and different anything, anything simple or as different as a new time schedule for the bus, we moan and groan, beg and plead – please why can’t life stay the same – why is my day all messed up, WHY?, why?, why?   I used to be able to…. In the USA they…. These word are our buffer against change and they hamper our adjustment to change.

All of sudden I have a time consuming job, I have something to think about and analyze, I have help and a team to work with.  I have CHANGE.  My head hurts with the change.  I was angry that life was passing me by and now that I have almost adjusted to that change, a new one comes along to challenge me And I am Angry….. Am I just an angry person?  Can I not be content with the change that I ask for?  Does the change need to be on my time frame, exactly in the form that I requested in order to be good change?

I know – I know My thoughts from the veranda always end up being questions – does contentment come with the answers – the change - or with the ability to ask the questions? 

Thoughts From the Veranda

Camillo has left for two days in Macae. He has barely walked out the door when the silence of the house on the hill surrounds me, a silence so profound that I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, the soft splat, splat of the moisture from the fog hitting the roof, a lone bird calling, a clock ticking.  I have a second cup of coffee.  I make the bed.  I load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.  I have a load of laundry to do. Fifteen minutes has passed.  A day less 15 minutes is in front of me.

All the time I am doing these basic chores, I make an effort to frame a day that will pass filled, happy. No not happy but content.  I can run into Friburgo and do a spinning class.  I can call Tatiana for lunch.  I can work down in the vegetable garden, turn some soil, try to make something grow.  Pull weeds. Take photos. The two days will pass.

But I get dressed, putting on shorts and a work top, no workout cloths and I know this mean I won’t go into town, but I ignore that knaggy little voice that knows I won’t do any of the plan for the day.  I already have my excuses ready. I drove into town two times yesterday and will go tomorrow, why today?  If I want I can go later to bike class but, then it will be raining. I have to wait for the gardener to leave for the day before I can go down and work in the vegetable garden. And by the time he leaves it will be raining.

I have heard all of these before, all the excuses. I know that this indicates a deep depression, one I am able to ignore on a daily basis but one that always comes to the front when alone, in the silence, in the house on the hill. {My computer is in the shop getting a new hard drive} I go upstairs to Camillo’s computer and look at some blogs I follow. I read B&B for my daily dose of humor and write a long comment,  momentary feelings of connection to the real world.  I see one from Texas Heather, I open it. Today she talks of purpose. What she says strikes a deep cord in me. Purpose, purpose is missing. I float from day to day, month to month until another year has passed and then another. If I had a purpose what could it be?  

She asks “… if there were one word that would describe what you want for yourself in the next year what would it be?” I am stymied.  I awake every morning with my first thought being, ‘I want to go home’. I go to sleep each night with the thought, ‘I want to go home’. Camillo’s says if you want to go – GO.  But then what?  Heather has used just the right word.  Purpose.  This is what Camillo is telling me, for what purpose would I go. How would my purpose be different in Houston than it is up here on this hill?  If I don’t have a dream, a plan, A PURPOSE here, will I have one there? The thought that I would have no purpose there stops me, freezes, frightens. Maybe this feeling is not about being here but the lack of purpose in general. 

How has this happened? I have always been motivated, energetic, interested and now I’m floating just to get by, to pass the day, tick tock, tick tock goes the clock.

Thoughts from the Veranda – More Perspectives

If you haven’t noticed, my thoughts from the veranda almost always coincide with Camillo’s travel. When he is gone my schedule (HIS schedule of meals / conversation / drinks / naps / bedtime that I work around) dissolves and I become disoriented, lost and introspective. Today it is raining again so I am not actually on the veranda but metaphorically, I am thinking and contemplating life from the veranda.

 

Yesterday, I read a blog The Butler and Bagman Chronicles and something Mark (B&B) said has taken me more than 24 hours to digest and to question if this is how I feel and if not should I. He is talking about blogging and how he needs to take time away from the blog world, he says that it is "... Difficult, sometimes, to remember that there is a real world that I live in". The real world, what is a real world, who’s real world?

 

I am in my office, in our home situated on a high hill north of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – this is real. At a distance there are dogs and roosters marking their (real) world with the sound of their voices. Outside there is sound of rain, an occasional motorcycle on the road below, birds singing as they finish their ‘real’ day.  Inside my house it is silent; the only sounds are the hum of the computer and the tap of my fingers on the keyboard. If I stop writing for a minute, I can hear my heart beating in my ears it is so silent. (and I have a cold so my ears are stopped up) This is my ‘real’ world. If I type out a recipe, an observation, enter a photo or I tell a story about my ‘real’ world and I send it out into cyberspace as a blog does it become imaginary? Not of the real world.

 

I spend maybe 2 hours a day either writing or reading blogs (okay lets be fair - 3 hours, on a rainy day maybe 4). I read about 'real' life in Georgia, Maryland, New Jersey, Canada, India, other cities in Brazil and sometimes I just browse to see what is out there. There are stories about families, and dogs and the meals that have been cooked, restaurants that have been enjoyed, their ‘real’ worlds. I enjoy poetry and photography from these many different ‘real’ worlds. I often leave comments when moved by corresponding ideas and have a feeling of being a part of a very large, wide, rich ‘real’ world. This could be living vicariously (experienced through somebody else rather than at first hand, by using sympathy or the power of the imagination) but what is being a couch potato? Watching 10 hours of baseball, soccer, football, the Olympics, old Arnold Schwarzenegger movies on TV every weekend, is this living in the ‘real’ world?

 

Sad but true, blogging has taken me off the mountain top, expanded my world, added people – real people not characters from a book – to my day that I can talk with (in English), exchange ideas, keep (no matter how remote) contact with. It has added people to care about. From my perspective, sitting here in this isolated place above the forest, the world of blogs is a real world. Should this be true? Maybe another day on the veranda would answer that. Should I take warning that my life is now out in cyberspace, for now no. As long as I have family, have a husband, spend 2 hours at the gym speaking Portuguese, have interest in learning new things (mostly recipes), as long as this blogging thing is a hobby like any other hobby then it is a good thing and not to worry.

From the veranda - Dedicated to the Owl

http://www.birds.cornell.edu/AllAboutBirds/BirdGuide/Great_Horned_Owl_dtl.html#sound I have spent almost two days pondering. I got such concern over the injured owl entry. I thank everyone for their comments. For these two days I’ve been frozen with no words to say. I was unsure whether to say more or to just let the story pass…. Then I decided that being a coward was no way to be. I am not sorry that I wrote about the owl in the blog even though now I must also share the death with you. Yesterday, Camillo and I went over to the veterinarian’s clinic to see the owl. He did not make it. Apparently his right wing was nearly severed up in his shoulder. I don’t know if this is the right terminology or anatomy while talking about a bird, but bottom line, he had internal injuries and refused to eat. The day I wrote my blog entry he was already gone. I am not one for weeping, sitting and crying about what I can’t change - instead I spent several hours on the net yesterday looking for information about owls. The one I took pictures of seems to be a great horned owl and is one of our endangered species. The encroachment of man on their habitat is one of the major causes of threat to them. This question of animal / nature / versus man is too large for me to answer but I think we should at least put some of our energy into respecting the life of all the other animals within OUR habitat. If you are interested in learning more about this beautiful animal here are some links for you to visit to learn the basics. Know about Owls http://www.tooter4kids.com/owls/owl_links.htm http://domains.similarbase.com/owls.html

Thoughts from the Veranda

An inch of common ground

For the past week I have been DEEP into blogging.

I now have 9 ‘followers’ and I have visited each of their blogs. From those blogs I have gone to THEIR followers’ blogs and onward until I was lost in cyberspace. I have left comments whenever moved to comment, sat in silent contemplation at others, and at times been overjoyed by what was being said – thought – shared and the connection to my thoughts shared or not.

 

I can remember what I have read and the thoughts provoked – but not necessarily where I found those words.  I cannot call those that have touched me with their thoughts ‘friends’ – I don’t know if I will ever touch them again. There are so many bloggers out there with something to share.

It is incredible - this special group of people. Even with just a moment spent with each of you, I could never read all of what is being said.

 

Today sitting on the veranda, my feet propped on the railing in our warm sunshine, I was thinking WHY all these strangers? What is happening here that I find touching them for only one moment feels so good?

 

Do I not have friends or family to meet my social needs? Well no I don’t. All these strangers, no matter how distant, no matter their land of origin or their native tongue, have something in common with me.

It may be that they are strangers in a foreign land, or they are grandparents far from their grandchildren, or they like to cook or to take photos outside their homes, or that they are women raised in the 50s still trying to find their way out into the modern world.  Maybe they see in a poem what I see in the camera. We all share just an inch of common ground that added up allows us to be a part of the patchwork of a very lonely and complex world. Thank you all for allowing me to share, to be a part of the world OUT THERE, outside of my veranda.

More thoughts from the veranda

CAUGHT BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

There is a clear distinction in my mind between expat wives and myself. Some of the day to day problems are the same. Lack of language skills, name substitution (cuts of meat, spices, types of flour, which shampoo, MAKEUP!), the constant need to find new friends, and just the need of getting general directions, all add to both our day's feelings of 'disassociation'.

I feel that being expat means temporary assignments, it means your children and husband travel with you, it means that you know the people you meet and learn to love are temporary in your life, while I feel my situation is a lifetime of change from what I knew.

In my first photo, in the extreme left is the building where I worked in Houston on the 23rd floor. The photo brings memories of laughter with the other 'girls' as we walked to lunch. It brings memories of days 7:30 - 5:30 filled with problems to solve and tasks to accomplish. It brings memories of night classes, and lectures on the arts, history or architecture that I was always attending. It brings memories of who I was. It reminds me that I am sitting on a fence watching the ships go by while the rest of the world is learning and growing and changing their lives. It reminds me that I have to find ways of keeping busy that maybe I will learn and grow from - but mainly I will be busy. It reminds me that I am not fully a part of this world and no longer a part of the other - that I am caught between two worlds.

thoughts from the veranda

I have been spending a week in Friburgo and four days now I have been totally alone. It can be a period of vast 'aloneness' and at moments, that feeling is almost debilitating. (Don't tell Camillo, but yesterday I spent the day in my PJs and only ate popcorn and watermelon)

Today as you can tell I am much better. The hardest part of living in a foreign country is that your family is not here. Their days are abstract for you, not real, not involved. My mother is 86 years old and beginning to fail. I should be there, talking, laughing, enjoying her. My grandson will graduate from high school this coming June. I may not be there. He competes in motocross and I have seen only one competition (I have to be honest I won't go to another - I can't stand it) My Granddaughter, in this photo with my mother when she was five, is now going to be 12. I don't have a photo of her from the past year. What is their life, Their thoughts, Who are they now? No matter how beautiful the view, no matter how many churrascos you enjoy with friends, this is what you miss when you are alone in a foreign land.
gingerv