NYR 4-23-11 - all good things must come to an end

Today we got a 5am flight back to Sao Paulo for our return flight back to Bogota.

Sigh.

A perfect vacation ended.

Part of the point of our trip to Sao Paulo for me was to get over the enormous nostalgia and sense of longing that I still have for there. As they say in Portuguese, I wanted to matar saudades, or kill that deep nostalgia/missing/void.

In short, that didn't happen.

We had such a great time catching up with a lot of the people that made our two years there so amazing.

Even though we didn't matar saudades, I am truly thankful that I still love the place and the people as much in reality as I do in my memories.

I knew there was something I had in common with a supermodel

Do you remember who Isabeli Fontana is? You might not, but she's ingrained in my memory forever. She is the mother of one of the children Mac was in kindergarten with in Sao Paulo. She happens to be about 23 and she's a supermodel. She's young, beautiful, perfect skin, tall, skinny, etc. Which, of course, is intimidating to a middle-aged (sorry, Caroline) frumpy housewife who thinks clothes from Target border on haute couture.

Today I picked up the latest edition of my guilty reading pleasure, Vanity Fair magazine, and flipped through the first few pages where I saw this ad:

Clearly Isabeli and I could have been best friends because we both love Gap. Who knew?

Granted, I buy my jeans a little looser and I utilize a few more buttons on my shirt and I use undergarments that she might not bother with, but we clearly both have an affinity for denim. I even own some old Gap jeans that are vintage because of age and not because of the latest trend that have patches on them that I wear at the corn maze.

I'm sure Isabeli never sported a big bad perm in 1987. In fact, she might not have even been born in 1987. But we could girl talk about jeans and raising boys and her love of Argentine polo players and jetsetting to model shoots. Maybe I could give her some tips for cooking in her crockpot and using a toothbrush to clean grout. Really, the possibilities are endless for what we could bond over.

I think we might be kindred spirits.

a nice Sunday

With just 48 hours until departure, I am a big emotional mess. Today we enjoyed a really lovely church service - they're all really lovely at this church - where I just tried to soak up the mood and the music and the message, all of which are always so inspirational.

Then Mac and I treated ourselves to brunch at the Hilton. About a week ago, Mac announced that he would like to go for brunch one more time - Jimmy and I have clearly created a monster whose taste exceeds his parental budgetary constraints. But I figured why not? After all, how many "last Sundays" do we get in Sao Paulo?

So we went and had a real-life lesson in how different perceived socio-economic classes are treated differently. Every time we've gone to the Hilton, we've always been in the minivan that has the very distinctive blue consulate plates. And as soon as the car has hit the pavement of the entrance circle, valets have run out to meet us. Today, we pulled up in Jimmy's little beater car and nobody came running to meet us. We sat in the car for a few seconds. Nada. So Mac and I walked over to the valet stand where there were at least 4 valets standing there. And I told them in Portuguese that every other time we'd come in a consulate car, we'd had a huge welcoming committee, but today we're in a local-plated, very low-profile car and nobody comes. And that I thought that was an interesting little sociological study. Well of course, they apologized over and around themselves and told me that that wasn't the case, blah, blah, blah. But why, if that's not the case, did not one of these 4 gentlemen come over to get the keys from me? Were they seeing who drew the short straw and had to park the beater car when they were sure a Mercedes was going to come in right behind me? Rest assured that when we came out to pick up the car, we got service like I was the Queen of England (who is trying to cut back on the budget and drives a cheap car). And again, they apologized, but again, their behavior confirms that people who are perceived to be rich (and we're talking "perceived" wealth because we're certainly no richer driving the minivan than we are in the VW) get much better treatment in this country and probably any country for that matter.

Enough of my rant. We had a delightful and delicious brunch and our favorite Tatiana was our very pleasant server. Today I started with an assortment of salads that were all beautifully prepared and presented and then moved on to all this delicious hot food including this grilled steak that was so divine before finishing up with a trio of desserts - a cream puff, tiramisu, and a strawberry mille feuile. All yummy and all delicious and I'm sure not less than 4000 calories. But did I mention it was our last Sao Paulo Sunday, so who cares if I ate 4000 calories. Just so you know, Mac ate spaghetti which he declares is the best spaghetti in Sao Paulo and lots and lots and lots of ice cream.

I had promised Mac yesterday that we'd drive over the new bridge in Sao Paulo today (because I missed the turnoff for it yesterday). That stupid bridge is humongous and you'd think it would be easier to see how to get on it. But I spent 45 minutes driving up and down the Marginal trying to get on that bridge. About 35 minutes into this terrible effort, Mac told me he wanted to nap. When we finally approached the bridge start, I woke him up and told him to look because we were going over it and wouldn't you know that he was back asleep before we got off the bridge????

(As an aside, at some point during our Sunday afternoon drive, Mac asked me if Daddy's car was bullet-proof (this is not a conversation one ever has with their children in a place like Moncks Corner unless Daddy happens to drive the armored truck that takes money to the ATM machines). I told him no, Daddy's car was not bullet-proof and then he went on to tell me some of his friends who have bullet-proof cars (which is very common here). I asked him if the friend's car was heavy (meaning is the door heavy when you open it because they are awfully heavy and you definitely know you're opening an armored door). He misunderstood and said he wasn't sure because he hadn't tried to pick up the car!!)

Our evening ended at our church's despedida that they have every year to send off anybody who's leaving Sao Paulo. I'm just a big cry baby anyway, so this was just another opportunity for Kleenex to make more money. It was a very intimate and personal event - Mac and I had our own special time and were asked what we'd miss, what we wouldn't miss, where we were going, what we'd be doing, and any special prayer requests and then we were prayed for by someone who knows us. In our case, my dear friend Laura prayed for us and it was just so meaningful. And then everybody sang what I chose as our favorite hymn, "It Is Well With My Soul". I feel so blessed by our church family and our preacher and his family. They're going to be a tough act to follow.

miscellaneous notes, continued

5. At the Festa Junina, Mac just ran around. The school is well-contained and I knew he wouldn't be allowed out where the cars were, so I wasn't worried about where he was until the fireworks started. These were CRAZY fireworks that were still on fire when they reached the ground. When the fireworks ended, I found him and he, of course, was fine. He slept with me at our friends' house and the next morning, as we were laying there waking up, I told him how nervous I was when I couldn't find him during the fireworks and how scared that made me. He patted me on the face and said "don't worry, moma, we found each other".

miscellaneous notes

1. Mac and I went to his school's Festa Junina on Saturday. For what "Festa Junina" means, go back in the blog a year and you can learn more than you ever wanted to know from asking a polite question. On Friday night, Mac informed me that he didn't want to go. I told him we were going. He insisted not. I asked why? Turns out he didn't want to dance the quadrilha (Brazilian square dance) or wear the costume (a plaid shirt with a big straw hat). You know what? I didn't really blame him. That didn't sound like too much fun to me either, so I told him he didn't have to dance or wear that funny get-up. So we went to the party and ate fried pastels and churros stuffed with doce de leite and cotton candy. He played more of the fishing game and the beanbag through the clown's mouth and the chicken catapult game that I care to admit. It was completely blissful and we both had a great time.

2. After the Festa Junina, we went with Mac's friend's family to their weekend house. I met Claudia, the friend's mom, at the kindergarten orientation and could tell I liked this woman from the get-go. She was a kindred spirit. We went to their house last year and it's just a big slice of relaxing heaven an hour and 15 minutes outside of Sao Paulo. We got there about 8:30 on Saturday night, and the children played and the adults visited and we all ate and it was lovely. Sunday was a big breakfast and a big lunch with playing in between and afterwards. It was all so nice and relaxing and peaceful until Mac had a total meltdown over giving up a 99-cent lightstick from Wal-Mart. I nearly died from embarrassment. I begged - to no avail; I offered to buy him 10 more lightsticks as soon as our plane touched down next week - to no avail; and finally I threatened. I set my watch to beep in 2 minutes (he'd been crying and sulking in the bedroom for at least 30 minutes by then) and told him if he did not come out when that timer went off, we were getting in a taxi and going back to Sao Paulo and he would regret that decision. Thankfully he came out and acted normal because I'm not totally sure where the nearest taxi stand was. And wouldn't you know- after turning in an Oscar-worthy performance for Most Dramatic Hissy Fit - he gave his friend the stupid lightstick in the car coming home?

3. After not checking email for 2 days, I came home last night to a terrible email from our real estate agent. The inspection was done on our house, and the potential buyers used some crazy inspection person who hyper-inflated the costs for the repairs in the house. For instance, it's very likely that the house will soon need a new boiler (but we were told 6 years ago that the house needed a new boiler and it's still functioning very well). I've never even seen a home inspection where the inspector listed "guesstimate" prices, but this guy did and he said it could cost them $13,000 for a new boiler. I called our plumbing company today to get an estimate and it's a max of $6000. There's a laundry list of repairs as is expected in a 103 year-old house, but when you jack up the repair prices so much, the buyers are understandably freaked out. They've now offered a ridiculously low price that would allow them to cover some of the repairs, but we will not accept that. We're waiting for our real estate agent's contractor to finalize some numbers and then we'll make our counter to their reduced offer. But I told the real estate agent today to get ready to list it to rent. We're in a position where we can make the mortgage payments without giving the house away.

So I was pretty bummed out about this news because we had definitely counted that chicken before it hatched, and then....

4. I was just cleaning up the kitchen after dinner and noticed that a letter had been slipped under the back door. And guess what this letter was??? It's our "Notice of Favorable Determination Concerning Application for Advance Processing of Orphan Petition" from the US Department of Homeland Security office in Lima, Peru (this stems from my Rio trip on April 2). WOO-HOO!! This is a huge, huge, huge hurdle and I cried when I realized what it was and that they didn't deny us or request more information.

We have to sit tight a little longer before we submit the dossier which is all ready to go and just hanging out with Jimmy now. This portion of the adoption process is the big money portion. And we thought we had the money all figured out, but timing of expected incoming funds hasn't worked in our favor to date. But I know it's going to work in our favor soon and we'll be that much closer to bringing home our son.

driving a stick shift when you're an automatic kind of girl

I've been driving Jimmy's little car for the last 3 weeks since he left Sao Paulo. When he (as the diplomat) left the country, I (as just the diplomat's wife) lost the privilege of using the special consular blue license plates. So our minivan was turned over to its new owner and Mac and I inherited the VW Gol, which is this awful little 2-door hatchback that has the bare basics. We're talking really just 4 wheels and a steering wheel in a metal box with no AC, no radio and worst of all: it's a manual transmission.

I didn't learn to drive a manual transmission until I was 30 years old in Mozambique. We bought this enormous Land Rover and Jimmy loved driving it so much. And I loved being chauffered about. I never had to make an excuse about why it was better for him to drive; I honestly didn't know how.

And then Jimmy broke his foot in a silly basketball game and suddenly, our trips to the grocery store were no more (the grocery store being in South Africa, meaning a whole 'nother country). So I had to learn; otherwise we would've starved due to lack of groceries. We loaded up one afternoon for the first lesson and there are probably still Mozambican children, now teenagers, laughing at the memory of this big red Land Rover bucking and jerking along side streets of Maputo being driven by this white woman who clearly didn't know anything. It was awful and humiliating and I clearly did not graduate driver's school on this one lesson.

Then Jimmy's dad very unexpectedly died and he returned to the US for the funeral. I remember very clearly my first attempt at driving the car by myself. I came out of the house and told our house guard to open the gate because I needed to go out. Kenny (as we called him because that was the closest to an English name that his African dialect name sounded like) blocked my path and wagged his finger no. I hate that finger-wagging thing. I told Kenny again that I needed to go out so to please open the gate. (I was going to a baby shower that I really could have walked to, but I thought this would be good short-range practice.) Kenny then proceeded to tell me that the patron was the only one who could drive the big car. I told Kenny to open the gate because the patrona was going out for a drive. What could he do but open the gate? I did get the car in reverse and backed out past the gate. The only mistake I made was turning the wheel too soon and driving over the curb instead of straight down the driveway, but this car was built for off-roading so going over the curb was no great shakes. My last memory as I drove off that day was of Kenny standing by the gate, shaking his head and I'm sure making a tsk-tsk noise.

Long story short, I learned how to drive just fine and became confident enough to drive to South Africa and around town. We sold the Land Rover and immediately went back to automatic transmission until we moved to Brasilia and Jimmy bought the little Gol. I drove it around some there and here in Sao Paulo (close to home), but after 8 years of intermittent manual transmission driving, I have maintained an unnatural fear of hills. I wish I could say of just steep hills, but we're talking any hill of any minor degree.

In the last 3 weeks, I've kept my radius limited to just a couple miles, namely as far as the consulate. Last week when I took Mac and his friends to the movies, we took a taxi primarily because it would be dark when we came home (and I hadn't driven that car in the dark too much), secondarily because I don't think that car is the safest and putting two non-related people at risk seemed burdensome, but, if I tell the truth, we also used a taxi because I was nervous about the ramps in the parking garage. What would I do if I got stuck in traffic on the ramp and couldn't get up the hill?

Let me just tell you, when you're used to going out and about in this city, limiting yourself to a 2-mile radius stinks. The other problem is that we gave away our GPS as part of the minivan sale and I had become quite dependent on our girl, so it was nerve-wracking to think about getting lost in this city. One wrong turn here can land you in some scary neighborhoods. But I started branching out more this week. Today I went to Jardins, which I said I'd never drive to in Jimmy's car. But I had the choice of trying to drive or take an expensive taxi, and my frugal tendencies won out.

So I mapped it all out on Google Maps, but our printer was packed up this week, so I had to handwrite out the directions and I couldn't print the street map out. The only part of the directions that made me nervous was that I had to go through a tunnel on Ave. Reboucas.

A basic principle: if you go down in a tunnel, you very likely must come back up eventually. So I prayed and prayed and prayed that the traffic wouldn't be stopped in this particular tunnel. I might as well have prayed that the sun rise in the west. The sun always rises in the east and the traffic is always stopped in this tunnel, and today was no exception on either account.

So then I prayed to please just let me get up the hill and out of the tunnel in one movement without having to stop. No dice. Now let me tell you that we're not talking Mt. Everest. In fact, I am the first to admit that I am literally making a mountain out of the proverbial molehill. In fact, when you're stopped on this "hill", you feel like you're on flat land. It's only because you've seen the incline from a distance that you even realize the road goes up.

Exacerbating my nerves was this white Mercedes delivery truck behind me. The driver chose to minimize the space between my rear and his front so I'm quite sure we were 2 inches apart. This was fine when we were flat and he obviously thought I was an expert driver. And he probably even thought it when we first stopped on the hill and restarted when traffic moved. I expertly shifted to first gear, had no backwards rolling and did great.

The second restart on the hill didn't go as well. I rolled backwards (didn't hit him, though) but got so nervous that I didn't very smoothly lift off the clutch and push the gas, so there was a little squealing and a little bucking of the car, but I didn't stall out. Thank God for that because I really would've just walked away from the car if that had happened. I would have called the new owner and said your car is waiting in the Reboucas tunnel. Listen for all the angry drivers honking and you'll find it.

Now I was really nervous about the guy behind me because I knew that my confidence was shaken and he stood a really good chance of getting hit by me. So I did the only thing I could think of to get him to back off a little. I turned on my hazard lights. So yes, I looked like a total driving moron but he stayed way back and I got out of the tunnel (2 more stops and starts before we got up that interminable hill). Of course, by then my hands and feet were so sweaty that I could have soaked through 3 washcloths, but I did it.

So I met my dear friend Gisele for lunch and told her that I'd meet her anywhere for lunch in the next 11 days that didn't require going through the Reboucas tunnel. I love her, but my nerves can't take it!

in addition to the traffic - another highlight of my day

Emergency room visits and the resultant bills make me nervous. When I took Mac to the ER on Mother's Day, I told the billing guy that they really needed to bill me quickly as we were leaving the country soon for good. What I was secretly hoping is that the billing would take months/years and by then, nobody would know where we were. Because surely X-rays, doctor's fees, all this medicine that we took home with us, breathing treatments, etc is expensive, right?

Yesterday morning I got an email from the consulate that said the bill had arrived for Mac's visit. YIKES. I assured them I'd come by today to pick up the bill and pay it, unless I had to harvest a kidney first to cover the expense. (And yes, we can get reimbursed by Blue Cross Blue Shield, but that's in the future.)

I picked up the bill today and you will not believe how much it was for. Or I should say how little it was for. Just R$824, which is about $405. I think that is so dirt cheap for an ER visit. I'm sure BCBS will decide it's extraordinarily expensive but considering that a routine visit to the pediatrician here for a well-child checkup costs something like $150, I think $400 is totally worth it for all that great treatment we got at the ER. (Plus I don't like our pediatrician here at all so thankfully we only had to visit him once in nearly 2 years).

Whew! Breathing a sign of relief that I didn't have to sell that kidney after all.

(Another bit of unexpected service from the hospital - on the Thursday after we were there on Sunday, we got a big envelope in the mail from the hospital that included a CD of his X-rays. How cool is that? Mac loves looking at his bones!)

Sao Paulo traffic

I could write a list that would take me from now until next Friday of all the things I'll miss about Sao Paulo.

Traffic would not make the list.

Today I had lunch with friends in the neighborhood of Vila Nova Conceicao, a mere 8.9 kilometers from door to door. Guess how long it took me to drive those short 5.5 miles back home in the rain? A whopping 48 minutes (and I was actually counting on much longer because of the rain). You do the math, but that's some slow-going.

Because I was sitting still for so long in traffic, I got a cool photo of this motorcycle that was having a serious car wash. I kept waiting for the motorcycle to be tipped over by the force of the water, which was just gushing down the street (you can tell how fast it was going by the blurriness on the bottom left side of the photo).

The Story Tales turns 1!

One year ago today, I posted our first blog report about our trip to the Pantanal. Time sure does fly. What fun we've had!

a new approach to packouts

Today is the start of our packout of everything in the apartment. As I type, it's 9:13, and the moving company was supposed to be here at 9am, but said maybe 9:30 "with traffic", so I wait and I type.

It turns out I have been doing these moves all wrong over these last 11 years. I have not been properly organized, so this time, I've employed a tried-and-true (by others) method of using sticky notes to tell the movers where various things are going.

I thought using a system of green and red stickies would be smart. Green for "Go to South Carolina" and Red for "Stop and put it in storage in Maryland". But the store only had neon green and pink which are close enough to green and red, so I figured it would work. Our preacher here in Sao Paulo pointed out last night that I better hope and pray the movers aren't color-blind!

So there are approximately 800 sticky notes stuck on everything in this apartment. (And just to be safe, I wrote out South Carolina and Maryland on each note in case the movers forgot what green and pink mean). Time shall soon tell whether they get it or not.

In other exciting news, guess what I saw for the very first time yesterday on the grocery store shelves here in Sao Paulo? Tortilla chips! It figures since we only have 2 weeks left in the country, but boy, was I excited. To celebrate, Mac and I are having nachos for supper tonight. It really is all about the small things in life, right?

things that make you go "hmmmm"

This afternoon at 4:30, I popped over to the grocery store that is located exactly one block from the side entrance of our complex. As I was walking down that one block, I noticed two policemen at the end of the block and thought that odd as we don't see a lot of criminals being apprehended in this stretch of the city. As I took a few more steps, I noticed one policeman rifling through the backpack of the "suspicious" man standing in front of him. (Why he was suspicious, I have no idea.) I took a few more steps and realized the second policeman had his gun drawn. It was at this point that I decided I should've taken the long way around, but turning midstream would've been kind of awkward as they had seen me and clearly it would have been an obvious avoidance tactic. So I hustled myself along and got well out of their way in case shots happened to be fired. I did not want to get caught in the crossfire for some bread, microwave popcorn and Ramen noodles. There are reasons to die, but Ramen noodles are not among those reasons.

the best friends in the world

Today I invited some friends over for a coffee so I could celebrate my good fortune in meeting them during our time in Sao Paulo. I know some of you think this about yourselves, but it's true for me: I really and truly have the best and nicest friends in the world (and I'm talking about the ones here in Sao Paulo right now but the ones elsewhere are included also among the best and nicest!).

Living in Sao Paulo has been great on a number of different levels but one of the things that has been most rewarding for me is the people we've had the oppotunity to meet. At a lot of posts, you're stuck in the rut of just hanging out with other diplomat types and while that's good, being in a huge international city allows you, among other things, to meet people who live outside the consulate or embassy fish bowl and that is GREAT.

I've been so blessed by these incredible women that I've come to know through the diplomatic circle, church, the complex where we live, Mac's school, Mac's swim class, Bible study, etc. These women are PHENOMENAL for a variety of reasons, and my life is forever enriched from having known them here.

When everybody left and the dishes were cleaned and the housekeeper had taken Mac to the park for a few minutes and the apartment was quiet, I sat down on the floor to open the gifts that these dear people brought today. I read their cards and I wept for everything that I feel I'm losing by leaving here. I know good friendships stand the test of time and distance, but I am surely going to miss the close contact with these girls. Did I mention they are phenomenal women? They are beautiful and giving and compassionate, they are strong women of faith, they lead by example, they love their husbands and their children, and when they say call me if you need anything in these next few weeks, I know I can call and they will come. It has been my greatest pleasure here to be allowed into their circle. Now I just wish I could move the circle with me to South Carolina.

Jimmy's article in Rolling Stone

At long last... here's the link for Jimmy's article (you'll have to cut and paste into your web browser because I can't figure out how to make the link work!):

http://www.rollingstone.com.br/imagens/8691/em/textos/3730/

Doesn't he look handsome? If you want to try your hand at reading Portuguese (if that's not your mother tongue, of course!), click on the link underneath the photo that says "Nacoes Unidas".

truth in advertising?

I gave myself a Clinique "15 Minute Turnaround Face Mask" today, but have seen no effects of a turnaround yet. Perhaps it's one of those things that requires multiple applications?

In good news, however, we got all our clothes weeded out today for the move. Jimmy leaves next Saturday and I was running out of time to get him to purge on his own and my purging would have been far more painful. We have made progress. Will the momentum continue?

dossier SO close to being ready

Our adoption dossier is this close to being ready to be sent in. Just some documents to get notarized at the consulate next week, and we're set to get this show on the road.

Today I went to my neighborhood copy shop to copy a mountain of documents. Okay maybe it wasn't a mountain, but it was definitely a minor hill. The guy spoke to me in great English, which was very surprising as I have patronized this store before and nobody came close to saving me from my Portuguese. As I waited for the copying to be completed, he must have been reviewing my documents while making copies, and he surmised we were adopting.

When he returned with two minor hills of paper, he told me that we didn't need to buy our new child any clothes when we got him home. I asked why and he said we could make clothes out of all the paper he'd just used for the dossier and he'd be well-clothed for a long time. I like that guy's way of thinking - it is a lot of paper - and am trying to figure out what else I can copy just to give him more business!

Now I know for sure that we were the things that weren't like the others

I heard yesterday that the tickets at the breast cancer fundraiser were sold for R$5,000-R$10,000 per couple. Obviously we were in a league not our own. I also heard the event raised something like R$2.5 million and the raffle alone raised something like R$250,000. To put in US dollar terms divide by about 2.1 or 2.2. Lots o' greenbacks.

dress-up clothes and paint-by-number makeup

Before you start reading this, you should start humming (or singing if you're so inclined) that song that goes "One of these things is not like the other". Do you know the song I'm talking about? From Sesame Street?

Yesterday around lunchtime, Jimmy called me to ask if I wanted to go to this fancy breast cancer fundraiser last night. The US Ambassador's wife has started an NGO to raise breast cancer awareness here. Part of their initiative is to raise money to buy mammogram machines for out-of-the-way places in Brazil where poor women have no way to be checked for breast cancer. And so last night's fundraiser was to raise those funds. The Ambassador had bought several tables at this event and for some reason, there was a table that hadn't been filled, so the call went out to various consulate people to fill it.

My first inclination was to say no. It was one of those days where I didn't even wash my hair when I took a shower yesterday morning. A fundraiser at the Hyatt meant dress-up clothes and a late night and high heels and a babysitter, none of which seemed terribly interesting to somebody who hadn't even washed her hair that day.

Jimmy said to think about it and so I did. And what I thought is that I probably wouldn't get many chances to go to a high-fallutin' breast cancer fundraiser at the Sao Paulo Hyatt next year in South Carolina, so we should go. I called the woman who cleans our apartment twice a week who is the best thing I've discovered in Sao Paulo and asked if she was available to babysit. She said she could so one of the big dilemmas was off the table.

Then I moved on to what to wear. As you may have noticed, my style is vintage Gap, not Hyatt fundraiser couture. I have a little black dress, but I decided it's kind of sad when you show up for every event in the same little black dress, so I ditched that idea. I called my resident fashion expert and dear friend Gisele, who gave me ideas of what was acceptable, and I decided on black pants and this sparkly black sweater.

As an aside, this was supposed to be a gala event (which would have precluded my attendance as I'm fresh out of gala gowns), but with the financial crisis, the organizers decided a gala would be tacky so they made it less formal.

As another aside, until last year, the last eye shadow I bought was probably in the 8th grade when blue eye shadow was all the rage. On one of our trips home last year, I saw these great little compacts that are like paint-by-number kits for eyes. I decided to buy one for the dressier occasions in my life when I actually might have to wear more makeup than chapstick. Let me just tell you that's some of the best $4 I've ever spent. Because we've gotten to go to more dress-up things in the last year in Sao Paulo than we've been to in probably the 10 years of marriage before that, this little eye shadow set has come in handy. There's a diagram on the back for the makeup-challenged people like me that tells you exactly where to put each of the four colors. The next things in my makeup arsenal that I need to work on are blush and mascara. I'm probably risking eye infection every time I use this antiquated, dried-up tube of mascara and I lost the blush brush years ago and now put on blush with wadded-up toilet paper.

Okay, on to the event.

So we drove up to the Hyatt in our minivan with one headlight burned out. It was sort of like when the Beverly Hillbillies first got to Beverly Hills. We were surrounded by Mercedes and Volvos and BMWs. Nary a minivan in sight and certainly all the other cars had working headlights. But I didn't trip getting out of the car and my eye shadow was in place, so it was all good.

We entered the reception area to wait in the line to be checked in and there were personal bodyguards everywhere. I, of course, knew who none of these people were, but the richest man in Brazil was pointed out to me as was a woman who had Mick Jagger's love child. Roving waiters served lots of good appetizers and so I was happy.

Drinks were from 8-9pm and then we entered the ballroom for dinner and it was beautiful. I have no idea how much each seat cost, but I'm fairly certain it was probably more than our family's annual grocery budget. There were candles and flowers and printed programs and menu cards. N-I-C-E.

I studied the menu card to see what was in store. We were to start with this salmon dish that I didn't really like - weird consistency and I'm all about consistency. Then we moved on to beef with potatoes and vegetables. Then for dessert was this dinner plate full of small 2-bite desserts. It was my kind of dessert plate.

We also all studied the raffle prizes, which included such things as a trips to Paris, Buenos Aires, and Mendoza; 2 business class airlines tickets; a Gucci pocketbook, a Mercedes Benz smart car, etc. Just a few things any fundraiser-going person can use. At the freebies table, we weren't sure how you got raffle tickets, but we assumed since we didn't pay for our seats, we wouldn't be entered because surely your hefty check for entrance at least got you a raffle ticket, right? Wrong. Those cost an additional R$1000 per ticket. Young women walked around all night with credit card machines to let you buy as many raffle tickets as you wanted.

Now we were at table 40, aka the freebies table, so we were in the back corner by the cameramen and the sound crew. These young women soon caught on to the fact that we were the charity case and they left us alone and didn't try to sell us any more tickets.

The embarrassment came when the emcees for the evening (some man who I'm sure is famous and Ana Maria Braga, who, if you live in Brazil or have ever lived here, has that morning talk show with the parrot puppet) started walking around among the tables with microphones, trailed by cameramen (the video was fed to two huge screens at the front of the ballroom) to hit people up to buy raffle tickets. They were schmoozing with the rich people at the big tables for a long time and quite frankly I never thought they'd come over to our table in the dark corner. But they kept making their way across the room. And before I knew it, the man was standing behind Jimmy (who was across the table from me), tapping him on the shoulder, asking in the microphone for all the world to hear if he'd bought his raffle ticket yet. (Maybe he remembered seeing him in Rolling Stone and thought he was of the moneyed set??) Jimmy had no idea he was coming because he was engaged in conversation and was caught off-guard and could only muster a noncommittal "uhhh." And the man said "if you say "uhhh", that means you haven't bought your ticket yet." So he left the credit card girl to take care of Jimmy, who promptly sent her away.

So I didn't win the Gucci bag or the trip to Paris, but we each got a little goodie bag on the way out. We scored some MAC lipstick, chocolates and Clinique products. As the song says, we clearly were the things that weren't like the others, but I'm pretty sure I'm happier being thrilled with free lipstick than I would be if I felt the pressure to buy R$1000 raffle tickets just to look good in that crowd. Now I'm off to start trying out my new Clinique products...

Jeremy has left the building...

Jimmy, Mac and I were lucky enough to have one final visitor before we blow this popsicle stand. One of our oldest friends from childhood, Jeremy, came to visit us. I'm not 100% convinced he really came to see us; it might have been more the allure of the female Brazilian population to which he is partial, but we take visitors where we can get them.

Jeremy came to visit us in Brasilia and we wondered what in the world we were going to do with a good-looking single guy in that city, which doesn't have extraordinary nightlife (not that we would've known if there was even mediocre nightlife). As our friend James Watson used to say: "if the streetlights are on, the Storys are in bed." We need not have worried because the Brasilia nightlife came to Jeremy and thus began his love affair with this country.

Jeremy has been back to Brazil (to Rio) twice since then but he came to us in Sao Paulo this time. We removed all possibility of temptation by making him spend the first 5 days of his visit at a very family-oriented beach where there might be nightlife but he didn't experience it. It was a relaxing few days of lazing around in the sun, surfing, eating way too much, and catching up.


We returned to Sao Paulo after the long holiday weekend. Jimmy worked and Mac went to school, so Jeremy and I piddled around town. He was an easy, undemanding guest, which meant we didn't do nearly as much as we should have. But we did hit the Municipal Market, the shops, and the movies, all the while eating very well, no thanks to my kitchen or cooking talents.

It was a great visit and we're so thankful he came. Jimmy leaves Sao Paulo two weeks from tonight so it was a great excuse for us to eat at some of our favorite restaurants and to go to our favorite beach and to visit with a friend that we don't see often enough.

Jeremy, thanks for coming down. We loved every minute of it!

Jimmy makes Rolling Stone

First of all, that's Kurt Cobain, not Jimmy, on the cover!

This is quite possibly the coolest thing that has happened to anybody in our family, but an interview with Jimmy was just published in the Brazilian Rolling Stone magazine. WOW!

The guy did the interview a month or so ago and we weren't sure it would be published, but it came out yesterday. WOW WOW!

I don't even read Rolling Stone magazine because I think you need to be way trendier than I am and know way more about music than I know, but I bought my first copy yesterday. It was wrapped in plastic and I asked the guy at the newstand if he had an opened copy (a la Barnes and Noble) that I could look through first. I didn't want to spend R$9 if this wasn't the right edition. He only had one plastic-wrapped magazine (apparently we live in the neighborhood where they sell more home magazines and less rock and roll magazines). So I bought it - and of course told him that my husband was in the magazine (I thought).

I walked nonchalantly down the street until I was out of his sight before ripping off the plastic to scan the table of contents. Jimmy was in the table of contents. WOW. It wasn't like he was part of some compilation article where he didn't get a mention. He had his own section with a page number.

It's a whole one-page article and you know Rolling Stone is an oversized magazine, so it's a lot of words and this very serious picture of him. He looks super-smart and official and handsome with his dark suit and fancy glasses.

When I found out about the interview, I immediately thought I might get to be in the magazine. Don't those magazines always have a picture of the couple lounging on their sofa in the fancy apartment, glass of wine in hand? Okay, well that was a fantasy. So then I asked if Jimmy could at least mention me in the article. Reportedly, he mentioned me six times in the interview (and he says he has the interview tape to prove it). But wouldn't you know I didn't get a single mention? Granted, the published interview didn't give a lot of opportunity to discuss me. The questions were about Obama's plans for diplomacy, the Taliban, the Amazon, Jimmy's role in Afghanistan and other matters of foreign relations. And I'm quite sure it would've been difficult to mention me in the context of those subjects. I mean, was he supposed to say "the US is engaged in Afghanistan to fight the atrocities of the Taliban, and did I mention my wife, Susan, doesn't wear a burqa?" Tough transition, you know?

We don't have a scanner but once I find a scanner, I'll scan the article and include it here. It's SO cool!

random thoughts...

1. Mac is on a field trip today and he was SO excited to get up and out of the house this morning. Too bad I can't call everyday a Field Trip Day.

2. Mac has his Spring Picnic and Easter Party tomorrow at school. I bet tomorrow's wake-up will be just as easy as today's.

3. It's a very fast descent from happiest happy to saddest sad. A worse ride than Space Mountain at Disneyworld and I hate Space Mountain.

4. Jimmy helped organized and played in a charity softball tournament all day on Saturday. When we got back home, we ran by the grocery store and while he was parallel parking (and holding up traffic for approximately 20 seconds), some old guy yelled at him to "go back to his own country." That really stung me, especially after having spent the past 11.5 hours raising money for charity in this man's country. In 11 years of foreign service life, we've never been told to go back to our own country. Wow.

5. The trip to Rio last Thursday was successful. I had all my documents and the package was DHL'ed to Lima, Peru yesterday. The last immigration form Rio sent took Lima 6 months to approve. We are praying for a faster turnaround.

6. I had Round 2 with Carla, the Trainer, today. Tomorrow's going to be painful.