My town Friday shoot-out / relaxation

 For those that live in Rio de Janeiro relaxation means water and family.

Whether it be walking by, being in, being on, being solitary or with half the city, being while the sun is hot or when the air is cool, when the sun is rising or when falling, they are happiest while relaxing near water.

 

 

 

The sea, the movement of water, is reflected in the rhythms of their walk and in the sway of their music.

Some walk their dogs, some push elderly parents, some guide their children at play, and some sit quiet and contemplate but it is by the powerful sea or the soft lagoa, along the edge of water, it is a ritual as long observed as this city has lived.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

 

 

Catching up on Brasil:

Today there will be a memorial luncheon for Luisa’s family and a few friends. Tomorrow I head back to Rio and upon arriving on Thursday we will drive to Teresôpolis and on Friday we go with friends for the weekend to visit a small town called Tiradentes (named for Joaquim José da Silva Xavier or Tiradentes the ‘tooth puller’).

But before getting to deeply into the next town and its history, I have on my list of planned blogs an experience that we had in Rio nearly 3 weeks ago – its time to play catch-up.

In July Marcos and Silvia, visiting from Houston, called and ask us to dinner BUT before dinner they wanted to go to Leblon and visit his favorite liquor store.  More specifically a Cachaça shop.   Cachaça is considered the national drink of Brasil.  

Made from fermented sugarcane water it was first made and drank by the slaves of northern and central Brasil. This first, very crude drink, has a similar taste and kick as Tennessee’s white lightening. During the mid 60s more sophisticated processes and ageing in casks made of Brazilian woods developed some pretty delicious Cachaças. There was a time when the local Italian wine makers tried to get the government to ban this drink – fearing competition for their grappas. (there is no competition, after nearly 100 years of growing vines the Brazilian wines are still not competitive internationally)   The government declined this pressure and Cachaça was on it way to the top as a mixer for Caipirinha and as a straight up after dinner drink.

 

This little shop, tucked away in a side alley off Rua Carlos Góes, offers an opportunity to taste test different Cachaças. The owners well versed in the history of Cachaça, the different fermentation processes and the types of woods used during aging made this a fun experience (not to downplay the immediate warming and mood alteration effect of small sips Cachaça on a cold rainy day in RIO).

 

 

 

 

The shop carries a good selection of moderate to very expensive Cachaças (aged 3 years in imported oak barrels) and has a hidden shelf of antique (?) bottles, some history and drink mixing books and a small amount of glasses and other accessories. We brought home** two bottles to try with some good company and a special home cooked meal.

** they do not accept Master Card – so cash or visa is needed.

A Final Salute :

Luisa Mannchen - January 26, 1922 to August 4, 2009

My last entry the day after Luisa died was pretty emotional. I appreciate and thank those who left me messages of comfort.

I have spent the past 5 days since then helping her sons go through all the things a person leaves around their home, in the closets, the dressers and throughout the cupboards. Things that at one time or the other seems important, but to us doing the sorting is hard to see why? or what? or when it could have been important. My first thought was, Oh-my-Gawd! but by the time I had washed and folded and bagged just her cloths, I had regained my respect for her. The white shirts where with the white shirts, the bright colors with bright colors, tee shirts were separate of satin shirts, winter was separate of summer and night wear of day wear. I would never be able to find anything to wear if my cloths were that organized but now I know how she could go back to her room and emerge 30 minutes later in complete makeup, all dressed up with color coordinated earrings, wrist watch and handbag. (She came to despair that she would never be able to get me out of my blue jeans and tennis shoes, with my one watch and always brown handbag that my camera fits into.)

I have met Luisa’s two sons, one almost 2 years older and one a  little less than 2 years younger than I, only a few times over the past 20 years. One lives in Florida has been in Houston maybe 5 times that I know of in those years and the younger one lives here in Houston and has been to my home with his mother 4 or five times for Thanksgiving dinners and a few other occasions, but I wouldn’t say we knew each other, we just have  mutual relationships to Luisa. But this week we have talked   and laughed and compared notes on what we each know of her life. We sat and looked through shoe box after shoe box of photos of her and her mother, and aunts and pictures of the boys as children. I finally went to her computer and began to scan in some photos. (Which you are now enjoying)

Raised by a single mother and aunt, Luisa was very modern in her thinking. She was one class short of a degree in biology from the U of H, drove at 17 and owned her own car, loved to dance and during WWII drove to Galveston to meet the soldiers on leave from Ellington AFB to “dance all night” and  finally met Howard while he was station there for a short time.

Their marriage took place over a year later, children were not for 4 and 7 more years. Knowing who she was and what she wanted. Often finding it difficult to accept less. Demanding the most from her friends, from her children, disappointed at not having any grandchildren, lover of books, and music, and lately internet searches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

87 years of life, of loving, questioning, traveling, fighting the norm and just being true always to Luisa.

 

Friday Shoot-out - Power (a teaser)

 I have done some research and a lot of thinking about power in Brasil, Rio de Janeiro, Nova Friburgo. This weeks theme is one that sparked my interest and my love of research. Power is something we Americans don't think much about unless we, 1) have a major storm that knocks it our for many days or 2) we don't pay our bill and it is turned off.

In Nova Friburgo we have a more constant reminders of how electrical power affects everyday life. There is a blip in the electrical service if now daily then at least once a week. It is affected by the wind that often blows across the mountain tops felling trees and tree branches, rain storms, auto accidents on the winding road up to the house, and wire overloads that blow the transformers. Just last week after hearing the transformers blowing, popping like gun shots in the night, the power company was down at the end of our lane putting up new poles, hopefully expanding the service upstream from us.

....... this was just a teaser, the shoot out topic will be completed next week when I am back in Friburgo.

Loss of my friend

Right at this moment I wish I had Gordon’s or Mark’s talent for words – how do I tell you about the jumble of feelings, sadness, anger, guilt, that I am going through. Last month – just a month ago I featured Luisa on the Friday Shoot out - celebrate life today she is gone. One short month when I wasn’t looking, one month that I was doing my normal stuff: going to the gym, having parties, going to weddings, eating lunch on the veranda, walking down for a beer at DeVassa, how petty it all seems, and she is gone.

How many times in that one month did I not call, it was to late or too early, or I was tired or mad, how many times, and she is gone.

Time I spent on the internet, blogging commenting with strangers, and she was here alone. How is this possible? 3 days she spent alone here, ill and failing, how is it possible that I did not call, and she is gone.

I keep turning to tell her something, to laugh with her as I clean her home, her history …. why am I here now when she is gone? How did I miss this last month, only one month and she is gone.