The bad news: I'm back. The good news: I still fit in my jeans, which is nice since going out in a bikini is no longer an option, and nothing short of a miracle after a carefully premeditated and conscientiously executed attempt to consume some two hundred acarajés, a bovine, all the seafood and desserts you could name and some you have never heard of, all washed down with guaraná, sweet coffee and some very fine cachaças. You do not want to see the contents of my suitcases. I could open a supermarket, except I wouldn't sell any of the goodies I brought back for anything, I just couldn't.
Bahia did me good. Brazil, she heals me. I'm descansada and bem passada, rested and roasted. Funny how you sometimes don't realize how badly you need a break until you give yourself permission to unplug. I did, and fully embraced living without clock or calendar, amazed at how they search you for sharp objects at the airport but what do they hand you when your unidentified fried object of an airline meal arrives: cutlery to carve up whatever and whoever looks tastier; how on some hauls you can only resentfully dream of the liquids and lotions on sale beyond the Strip Here And Then Bend Over There checkpoint because they will all be taken away from you in the next said checkpoint unless you had the foresight to bring along those silly silly little containers and good luck trying to transfer anything into them when turbulence it is from start to finish (I say drop off the gentleman who lost some very expensive beverages and the lady who was forced to hand over a small spaful of stuff at Helmand because they looked and sounded pissed enough to win the war on terror in five minutes flat); how many shades of red, green and gold there are; how there's fruit and then there's fruit; how Salvador had grown but how some things never change; and how, sitting on the beach, enjoying the sand, the wind and the water, I felt like what the horizon looked like, as I hadn't felt in a long time: calm, clear, whole.
Fast forward to the present, here where the sky hangs low, the rhythm stomps instead of swaying and people sound as if they were talking backwards. Our house had taken a beating courtesy of the seasawing temperatures. A landslide of snow falling off the roof had torn off both the gutter and the downpour from the southern side of the house and a rather freakish phenomenon had killed our internet connection on the northern side. No fun at all when you have some catching up to do, news, gossip, and yeah, work, but it is what it is, it will all be sorted out eventually, everything is going to be all right.
Until then, plan B, a.k.a. Hubby's phone, which I've confiscated and hate using, damn annoying nonexistent buttons, illogical apps and programming, but as I said, it is what it is, on with the show now playing at Whipped Cream where I'm picking up where I left off and guest blogging about revisions. Hope I didn't sound too harsh. It's my personal take, based on my limited experience, of course. If it annoys you, I'm sorry. If it helps, I'm glad.
I hope the rest of the year is as good for you as the last two weeks were for me. So I don't know you. It doesn't mean I don't care. Happy Groundhog Day and Chinese New Year, Feliz Festa de Yemanjá. Happy Wednesday and forever after, my dearest, dearest denizens.
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