Old Blog

 I discovered this today 29/09/2021 When I first began to blog I had a lot of trouble with my computer and as a beginner I found it very difficult. I frequently gave up and then later I would start a new blog.

Name: Victoria Wild

Location: Brittany, France

I am retired and I live in France with my cat. My daily priorities are writing , painting and gardening. This blog is supposed to keep me on task! Wild Women don't get the Blues so I intend to use this blog to sound off so that I do not repress my anger. I can get wildly enthusiastic about life too!

View my complete profile

Love/hate/commputers

I finally had to change to the new format which I resisted 'til today. I have to use google why?
I sent a story/first chapter of my novel to an 'Authors' Advisory service. I receiced no advice but a complete hatchet job. The story is called 'The Crimplene Dress' and the 'reader' seemed to react violently to the word crimplene and wrote a paragraph of verocious invective about crimplene nothing about the suitability of the title to the story. Well I didn't slit my throat and I shall continue to write even though reading between the lines of my so called advice I should never do again.
I have fallen behind somewhat in the plant a tree a day front. I hope to catch up by planting two a day.
I really must risk connecting to the net at home as I find it too difficult timewise to use internet cafés etc.

Love/hate/commputers

I finally had to change to the new format which I resisted 'til today. I have to use google why?
I sent a story/first chapter of my novel to an 'Authors' Advisory service. I receiced no advice but a complete hatchet job. The story is called 'The Crimplene Dress' and the 'reader' seemed to react violently to the word crimplene and wrote a paragraph of verocious invective about crimplene nothing about the suitability of the title to the story. Well I didn't slit my throat and I shall continue to write even though reading between the lines of my so called advice I should never do again.
I have fallen behind somewhat in the plant a tree a day front. I hope to catch up by planting two a day.
I really must risk connecting to the net at home as I find it too difficult timewise to use internet cafés etc.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Writing

I have been writing so much lately, short stories and poems and my novel that I rarely have time to write this blog which proves it works!! Reading at the moment also stimulating 'Orlando' by Virginia Woolfe very inspiring. I saw a performance of this some years ago and I didn't understand a word of it; so I never wanted to read the book. I found the book amazing. I am suprised that anyone would want to perform something which works so well in words and is mostly experiencing someones internal thoughts. I found an old copy of Charles Dickens ' Le Grillon du Foyer' in French. It must be one of his early books. I have never heard of it before.

Friday, February 02, 2007

computer success

At last I have found out how to write longer email messages without the page expiring. I had learned how to do it before on my laptop but didn't realise how to do it in the internet cafe.
I have written a short story and dug out two that I had written years ago. I typed them uo and now I am goitn to send them of to competions. Wish me luck. I normally say nothing when I send stuff away but it seems not to influence my success or failure

Monday, January 29, 2007

Wild about life again at last

I feel as though I have recovered finally from all the bereavements I suffered in the first year after moving here. I know we never stop grieving but we can continue to live happily whilst never forgetting those we have lost. And the pain never completly goes away.
I am wild about writing and gardening just now. I have started a writing group which had it's first meeting last Friday and gave me a real boost. I haven't stopped writing since.
Also a writer friend in England has been really supportive. We ring frequently for mutual support. Thirdly I have had another letter printed in Writers' Forum. Yeh! I know it's not much but it keeps me bouyant.
In the garden I have constructed a raised garden. I made the sides from woven hazel branches cut from my own tree. I never knew that gardening could be so much pleasure. The daffodils are beginning to show and a friend here has two in flower. My mimosa tree has survived the frost so far but shows no sign of flowering as yet like all the other mimosa trees I seen.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Reading Matter

I have recently bought a book which was recommended on someone else's blog. The 'Confessions of an Economic Hit Man'. It is really terrifying. I know these terrible things go on but when one reads it in print written by someone with first hand experience it brings the message home. But what to do about it. He begins by working in Indonesia. an area of the world we hear little about. In the Eighties I campaigned for the Islands south East of their in the Pacific. I gave talks for an organisation called women Working for a Nuclear Free and Independant Pacific. I am not sure how effective we were. I have no idea what is happening their today.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

blanks

Why when I am no where near the computer do I have brilliant ideas which disappear the second I sit down at the key board? I have I think/ hope finished the first chapter of my novel. However I then pick up a couple of books that I am reading which make my writing seem so bland and lifeless. When I try to insertt some colour or action it to me artifically. C'est la vie. Must keep trying. Must make meaning for myself.

About Me

Name: Victoria Wild

Location: Brittany, France

I am retired and I live in France with my cat. My daily priorities are writing, painting and gardening. This blog is supposed to keep me on task! Wild Women don't get the Blues so I intend to use this blog to sound off so that I do not repress my anger. I can get wildly enthusiastic about life too!

View my complete profile

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Previous Posts

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• Love/hate/commputers
• Love/hate/commputers
• Writing
• computer success
• Wild about life again at last
• Reading Matter
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• March 2007

 

Brazil 10

 We had a lovely time even though she took me shopping. It was Saturday evening and the shopping centre was humming. I bought a better DVD for the christening and a very small alarm clock. We had the most delicious ice cream ever.

The Christening 

I made sure that I was ready to leave with the rest by nipping into the bathroom first while the rest were having break Then I had my breakfast and waited until the very last minute before I put on my blouse. Jocara appeared from the bathroom in a black cocktail dress with bare shoulders and very high heeled shoes. I thought I was really restrained because I never once said that I thought were had been asked not to wear black. She said nothing. I know my blouse and white embroidered trousers wear smart and more appropriate for a christening.  I also felt quite attractive in fact a few people commented on my appearance. One woman that I had never met before insisted on making me understand that she thought that I was beautiful.

We collected M.L. and A and Band G. We piled into two cars somehow and proceeded to the church.  

The church was enormous. It was probably a cathedral and it was absolutely packed. It also seemed like an enormous theatre production. There was  priest of course and an altar and the stations of the cross and stained glass windows. The priest and all the main players were miked up. Which was fortunate because people were continually coming and going, children were running around and babies were crying. Families waiting for the christening were chatting and the voice of the priest could be heard above it all.

"Performers"  dressed as angels in long stripped shirts and carrying candles frequently ran by me as I waited at the entrance. They went into a side chapel which seemed to be being used as a  dressing room. "The angels " appeared a few minutes later in jeans and tee-shirts.

 I was brought up to dress modestly in church. I would never show a cleavage anywhere anytime so to see so many in church seemed to be outrageous not to mention the make up and hair do's and jewellery. The women looked like the young women in the UK who frequented night clubs. Does this mean that my views are those of an old lady. When I was young dressed up meant wearing a hat and gloves and high necks and long sleeves. I suppose the idea was to de-sex us. Hair and flesh was considered provocative and so both had to be covered.  

Eventually the service ended and the waiting families were efficiently seated in the appropriate places by a man wearing a badge, a large badge saying BAPTISMO. It would have been just as appropriate if the badge had said director. He gave everyone a polythene covered script. Before during and after the service there were more people with cameras than on a film set. One couldn't take a photo without snapping someone who was filming. One couldn't film without filming someone taking a photo. The camera crew for each baby followed mother and baby as they were lined up in front of the altar. They then followed them back to the pews as the next family was called up separately to the font. The baby was surrounded when it was receiving it's name and being doused with water. It was like a star emerging from a car at a film premiere. And who is to say it is wrong. Better to watch videos of ones own family than to watch famous people enjoying themselves. 

The priest made sure that we all followed the service by pointing very clearly to the appropriate place in the scrip which was projected on a screen. His voice was clear and above all others. The service finally ended and we went to the hotel room for the party where the camera men and women were busy again.

We had drinks and nibbles and then a very good meal and cameras continued to flash throughout. When there seemed to be nothing left to do except that one or two guests seemed to have a secret supply of beer, guess what? Just when I thought I couldn't be more bored we were given the privilege of seeing the rushes. A mini, and I mean mini camera was set up.  About twenty people strained to watch and listen to the day so far.

I noticed that when one of the members of J's family speak English and I am having an interesting conversation she intervenes. I can't understand it. When I don't speak she complains and when I do speak she seems jealous. I notice that the only topic of conversation she has with her family is about her house in France.  Since I rarely talk about my family my conversations have been about art or literature or travel. I think J resents this. Her opening gambit with friends and family has been to present them with a photo album and to follow it up with a description of each photo.

 

Brazil Part 9

 J must have said that she needed a smoke as they always spoke in Portuguese and rarely translated anything for me. We pulled up on the hard shoulder. J leapt out of the car waltzed round and lit up. She is mad I thought. Two minutes later a police car pulled up behind us. She had to show all her documents. Passport, driving licence and Identity card.  J had double for everything i.e. in French and Portuguese.

The policeman used his phone to check everything and eventually we were allowed to drive on. It was not easy getting back onto a four lane motorway but j managed it. We eventually reached our destination at about 10.30 am. 

The tiny apartment was full when we arrived. I was ordered to put my case/bags in a corner and introduced to everyone. I was polite but decided that spending a full day sitting like a prune was not for me. I said that I had to go out to find money and a phone card and a present all of which was true.

In the lift I met a woman called Maria de Loudres . She spoke some English and we hit it off immediately. She invited me to go for a beer which I did. She offered to take me out. I explained that I had a few things to do and asked if we could meet in the evening. She suggested 8.00pm which I thought was perfect. It would get me out of a four hour meal with little to do but eat and smile.

I found a cash point an internet and some money. I bought a video for Louana's christening which after all was the reason I was in Brazil with J. I had a cappuccino and something to eat. Then I remembered the teleferique.   I bought a ticket and up I went. On the way up I saw hang gliders who were jumping of the top of the hill. As I was climbing (in a chair of course ) It was absolutely lovely just to sit back and watch the beach fall away and we rose higher than the sky-scrapers. All the time the giant colourful birds  floated over our heads. 

When I reached the top I walked to a small filed where the hang gliders were taking off. I sat on the observation seats. A man who was with his daughter spoke to me in English. He was very proud of his English/American which was excellent. We compared video cameras. He told that he had been a deep sea diver. He said being deep in the ocean was as near as one could get to flying.

I sat for ages watching the real birds diving in and out among the  among these giant colourful peacocks.

I filmed the journey down on the 'train'. I could hear a samba band in the distance. When I alighted I found the band further along the beach so I bought a drink and prepared a video. I filmed them for about 10 minutes. They responded to my filming with waves and cheers. There equipment was old and tatty and broken but their smiles and enthusiasm was anything but. I toyed with the idea of giving them 50R$ but decided that that was a drop in the ocean. It wouldn't make a scrap of difference. I wondered ,not for the first time, who was rich and who was poor.

Was it the friend with all her paintings in dark rooms away from the sun entertaining stiff embarrassed guests who were afraid to make crumbs or use the wrong cutlery and afraid to speak the unacceptable. Or was it these lads, young men playing their hearts out and laughing and joking and enjoying the expansive beach and sky. The surfers and footballers all out in the elements moving their bodies enjoying every sense in total freedom.

Even the vendors who continually patrol the beaches and cafes  with their earrings, peanuts, sunglasses and blankets etc. Even the old man who is collecting beer cans and selling them for a pittance. They all have the advantage of being outside. They have the freedom of not having to conform to a dress code. They can wash in the sea and spend most of their days out of doors and probably frequently nights too. While in the apartment  we are afraid to open the window because of the mosquitoes and afraid to use the electric fan. 

I know it  How do you know if you are happy if you have never been sad. It is all a matter of perspective and it is all comparative. How do you know whether you are rich or poor unless you have experienced both? I saw a pet shop when I went to Carrefour yesterday. It had glass boxes stacked up and filled with puppies in the shop window. Were they happy? They chewed the newspaper bedding, played and then went to sleep. I felt sick and sad. I no longer know what is right and what is wrong. 

I went back to the apartment as late as possible so as not to have to suffer the stifling atmosphere. I picked up that they were taking it in turns to have a shower. I was careful not to interrupt the routine and waited until everyone had showered. I rinsed my face and changed my shoes then I casually asked J if she knew what time they would be back. "No idea," she said. " I won't be able to get in if I am back before you." She shrugged even though she had said earlier that they could leave the key at the reception.  " OK , "I said," I 'll wait in reception if I am back first."

"Restes tranquilles," she said. Then I asked her if she had told the others that I wasn't  joining them this evening. I could tell by her reaction that she hadn't. Fortunately her sister-in-law overheard and asked what the problem was. She spoke French so I was able to explain.  She said," No problem. Go and have a good time."

I rang Maria and she came immediately. She was dressed to the nines. She said that I looked nice but I explained that I only had two sets of clothes with me. 

Brazil part 8

 This time it was a very posh house full of beautiful  antiques and antique furniture. There is also a garden full of orchids and of course a palm tree.

As I am writing this sitting at a beach café the lights come on. The town gradually lights up and the last surfers trek along the sand. Back at the house the whole family are squashed in a tiny room 50yds away in the dark. How much better to be outside. They could all sit here in the open air in comfort and the children could play. Whose mad?

Am I moving Beyond Fear ? The title of Dorothy Rowe's book that I am reading. The insects appear and I have so I have to risk the lions den, 

Who is rich, the people in the flat, or the men and boys surfing and playing football. I can still see one surfer in the sea in the moonlight.

The Christening

This is why we have come to Brazil and  Sao Vicente in particular. The baby to be christened is the child of J's younger son. Apparently he told J that he didn't want anyone to wear black.  She and her sister had a trying on session in front of me but I was not asked to join in. J told me to wear the dress that I had worn to the wedding. 

I said, "But it is black." She said, "Yes but it has flowers on it." I told her that I didn't want to be cold. I was told not take many clothes. She said, "It's only two days, There is no room in the car. ( my car by the way) . Just take clothes to wear there and back and something for the Christening."

I try a few things on by myself almost in the dark because the bulb has gone in the living room where the only mirror is.  I had said to J ,"There is no light in your Mum's living room."  She said," But Freda you have a light in your bedroom and  a light in the bathroom." I said, "Yes it's OK for me I read in bed  but what about your Mum?"  She said," She can watch TV in bed."

I pack a set of clothes, some for warm and some for cold weather. The journey was uneventful for me but her poor mother was exhausted. She hadn't slept the night before. I had heard her taking a shower in the night and we had to get up at 4 o'clock. 

However to give credit where it is due  she did drive a very long way. The reason for the early start was because we had to traverse Sao Paulo. It is unbelievably big and extremely complicated. We got very lost and J did what she always did. She wound down the window and asked the first person she saw and asked for direction.  When this proved useless, ever resourceful she drove off the motorway and found a police station wet in and came out with instructions which she followed and we found ourselves on the correct road. The journey was exceedingly stressful and J had bee driving for four hours.

Brazil Part 7

 Halfway back along the 100 kilometres which was mostly unmade dirt roads we stopped at a big shop/shop.  It was like a John Lewis. We were all looking at some items on display when J walked in front of me and turned her back on me and began talking to the others. So I walked away and picked up a pair of boots. "Ah, super, super ,"cried J. She took them from me and said, " They haven't got your size."

When we arrived back from our shopping trip she announced that we were going to her other sister's for a meal. I think it was the rich sister's. We had been there on Tuesday for lunch when I was allowed to swim in the pool of the next door neighbour. The house was owned by a French friend and was empty for eleven moths of the year.

I was thrilled to visit the house and garden of this sister who lives with an successful  artist.  She showed us around the house and garden as though it were an art gallery devoted to his work. Which it was. I admired his work but thought that mine was just as good.. I can't I be more confident in my work. She too us around as though she was the curator or a gallery or an agent at an exhibition. What a lucky man to have a partner like that. He cooked lunch and everyone hummed and hahed as though it was cordon bleu. It was toasted sandwiches followed by strawberries and cream which he neither grew nor served. I bought two small paintings for the techniques and also to remind me that I can do just as well. Thirdly to remind me of Jasper who had recently died in France.

So after an exhausting day I feel like shit and say if we are going out I must rest first. I fall fast asleep. I decide it would be madness to go out. I tell her mother that I am ill and I want to stay in bed. J comes at 8.00 and looks hot and bothered. She is stupidly wearing one of the sweaters that she bought today even though the temperature must be at least 25 degrees. I tell her that I am not going because I am ill. She tuts and walks off.

I know I have made the right decision even more so when I read in DR that repressing feelings causes stress which causes the immune system to be supressed. Also is feeling powerless to change ones situation.

I decide to put my health first by recognising my feelings and doing what I can to improve each day. I can't fly back to France  but I can escape from J and her family.

On Friday I still feel tired but walk to try to find an Internet Cafe and a chemist. I see a building which looks like an Internet Cafe and walk in.  I ask the person who seems to be on the reception desk if it would be possible to use the internet. I was welcomed with open arms because I am English because it is in fact it is a school for the teaching of English. They tell me I can use the internet whenever I want to. I was invited to visit the classrooms to talk to the children. As I had my video camera with me I videoed  the children asking questions. I also filmed them singing Head, shoulders, knees and Toes.

I left the school and found a chemist and bought pills for my cold. I return but stop for a delicious hot chocolate on the way.

I thought that the evening plan was for us to get our nails done. We have spent a lot of time doing this as nail bars are "ten a penny".   But the plans have changed and I hadn't been told. Juliana who speaks English and I ask her to explain how sorry I was to miss the dinner party last evening and I really wanted to go but I felt very ill. 

" Why don't you tell her yourself she is going to be there at lunch at J's friend's. Again I hadn't been told.

"I thought we were having our nails done," I say. " No , we are having our nails done after the lunch party."

i know that will not have time to  but say nothing. We go to lunch. First of all I asked J if I should get changed I was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. " Pease your self." she said and walked away. Fortunately I decided to change. This time we walk. I wasn't told but J. just walked off expecting me to follow. This time it is in a very posh house.

Brazil Part 6

 I gave her the letter. We shared a can of coke. She read the letter and yes yessed all the way through. she agreed with everything and said," I can see it's very hard for you." Then she told me how hard it was for her and both of her sisters. She said it in a way that implied that I should hide my grief like they do. Then she decided that she had an answer.. She could make it better. She told me that all I had to do was to go and visit Simon's parents and then I would be OK. Having delivered her remedy she stood up, turned her back on me and walked to the car.

She is very good at turning her back on me.

On Thursday we went to a town which had about a hundred shops which all sold knitwear. J explained to me that we should go into all the shops to check the prices and then go back to the ones that were the cheapest. In the event it meant that J would enquire about prices, try on what she liked and walk out. We all, sister mother and me, followed like sheep.

I stayed in one shop and tried on a few jumpers. J came storming in. "what are you doing? We haven't much time. Hurry up."

In the next shop she bought some tights. She knew that I wanted tights. She also knew that I had no money because we had stopped at a bank and I was unsuccessful when I tried to withdraw the money. Her sister had said that she would lend me 100 R$ but didn't give it to me. So I stayed behind and asked the assistant   if there was a back nearby. She drew a map for me.

I found the group and suggested that we should split up and meet back at the car say in an hour. "Why can't we stay together and try things on". "I have no money," I said, " I would like to go to the bank."

J said, "But my sister tod you that she would lend you 100R$." "Yes but I she hasn't given it to me." 

Sister then hands me the money. I go back and buy tights and try on cardigans. I continually have to find them. What J means by staying together is "I want an audience. I want to try things on then prance around in front of a mirror and everyone else can admire me. Then I'll spend two minutes telling you what I think you should buy and if you disagree I'll say, please yourself."

We finally leave the place after spending about five minutes hurriedly buying one jumper for her mother. It seemed that anything would do for her. I really wanted to film the town and the countryside but I was too much of a coward to tackle her. I was also feeling awful.

Brazil Part 5

 I am sick of living in this prison of fear. Fear of shitting, coughing, blowing my nose. fear of making a noise when I open or close a  door. Fear of putting down a cup with a click. Fear of flushing the toilet .

I must be mad because as I sit writing this on the terrace in a quiet residential estate at siesta time. My hostess is lying down. But all I can hear is the roar of motor bike engines. The house next door is a motorbike repair business. The noise is unbelievable. Why am I so scared of making a noise. I remember when my father lay on the settee to sleep. He could have gone upstairs to bed but that would not have shown how powerful he was. We had to creep about silently in the tiny living room. Does my fear of making a noise stem from that time.

I almost stop crying and walk to the road to see if they have returned to the car. The car is not there. The bitch has left me here. I look around trying to decide whether I could risk walking back to the house. Would I find the way but before I reach a decision I see the car turning the corner at the furthest point on the road. Getting in the car again was difficult because I wanted to cry again and I knew that no one wanted me there. 

We returned to the sister's house where Jocara was staying. ( I was staying a few doors away in Jocara's mother's house.) Just as we had all settled down to watch the daily soap out came another box of photos. I remained polite. Ecriva  ( the sister) actually gives  me a photo of her beautiful, clever daughter. I think what do I want with a photo of your child. I want a photo of my own.

Jocara asks me why I cried. She knows about Simon. I told her last year. She told me that her own baby had died.

She asks, "Is it because Philip isn't here?"

"No".

"Is it because you are far from home?"

I think I uttered Simon's name but she chose not to hear me. I started to explain but in French as Jocara spoke no English. I couldn't stop the tears and said I couldn't explain without crying. She turned to watch the TV.

The best and worse thing happened next. Her  sister's son Philip was sitting on my right and is training to be a lawyer . Jocara's sister is sitting on my left with a big box. Christ not more photo's I think. No, no not photos this time- baby clothes. Apparently they had been worn by  J's son and then by the afore mentioned Philip. She held each one up and handed it to me, every single garment in the box. Tiny vests, nighties, rompers and hats the lot. She even handed the christening shawl to me. Each garment had been carefully folded and kept for forty years. 

Simon will be 40 on September 26. No wonder I am crying. I have been holding the date since I was told last year. No wonder I am grieving. Why didn't I think before I left home that I would be here on his birthday. I wonder if I should send a card to his adoptive parents. Will they understand my need to do this? I want to do something, anything to acknowledge him. Can I make a donation to the Terence Higgins foundation. Anything would be better than pretending he never existed.

It didn't end there.  We sit around the table having drinks. J asks me if I am Catholic. I say that I am not. She probes further. "What religion are you?"

"I am a Humanist," I say. 

"What's that is it in England?" 

"No it is Worldwide ."

"What is it again?"

"Humanist".

"Is it a Saint? It must be a Saint."

I decide to try to explain but find it difficult in French especially to a devout Catholic but I don't want to hide my beliefs. I have hidden too much already. Why should I be afraid. Catholicism is  flaunted on every wall and cupboard and sideboard.

"No it is not a Saint."

I write it down in large capital letters.

HUMANIST HUMANIST HUMANIST

"What do you believe?"

I explain that we don't believe in God (mistake) but our first rule is to do good to all human beings and to care for the whole world, nature and the environment.

She explains to her sisters. I could tell by their reaction that they had not heard beyond "We don't believe in God".  I emphasised again that our primary intention was to do good to all people. I know this was a pretty lame explanation but I am/was using a second language to someone who is hearing it in her second language. I could tell by the looks and a chilliness that I was someone to beware of.

The rest of the evening was spent pouring over jewellery. The fact that it was GOLD jewellery was impressed on me several times. I tried to be polite. I even tried on some earrings. But they didn't suit me and when I asked the price it was impressed on me that they were a bargain. They were real gold and real diamonds and were a bargain at 2,000 reals R$. I couldn't explain that I already had two pairs of gold earrings which I think is already too many and I couldn't possibly pay out another 2,000R$ as I had already paid that much on the car I hired for J to drive. Also I think it is particularly wicked to wear gold and or diamonds when I know that the men who work in the mines are oppressed - low wages and awful working conditions. I think at one point someone commented on my lack of enthusiasm. I couldn't say, " Wow, beau, belle, magnifique ."

Some days later I wrote a letter to J to explain what I was feeling and the reason I was crying so much. I also had a lousy cold and felt like shit. I went to her sister's where she was staying to give it to her but before I could give it to her another friend arrived and guess what she did? She went to her car and brought back not one album but at least six albums of photos. This time they were not family photos but photos of her travels and she spoke French which helped me. I was able to ask question about some of the photos. I got the feeling that J criticises me for not speaking she resents it when I have a conversation with someone else.

Eventually I gathered that lunch had been arranged but I wasn't informed . J and I went to town to buy a telephone card and to find dvd's for my camera. She asked me what was wrong and I said I would explain after the shopping.  The shopping was endless and ended by her shouting at me and saying ,"It's not my fault."  But she wouldn't listen to me when I tried to explain that she was trying to but the DVD's in the wrong shop.

We went back to the car and I asked her to stop for a coffee. " Why we can have a coffee at the house."  " I want  to talk to you," I said. "Oh yes," she said. She had forgotten.

I tried to ask her about the little restaurant which was near the house but she just kept saying that we could eat at her sister's.    We stopped the car and went into the cafe.  

"Why do you want to eat here?"    "Why?"

She can't hear me.

brazil Part 4

 I might have died of sorrow watching the birth of Louana. What a beautiful name. I have one tiny photo of my son when he was a baby. I don't even know how old he was when it was taken. I was given it by his adoptive mother, technically it is not even mine, that's how it feels. I have a copy of the funeral service. Should I video that? I stuff down my feelings continually. I watch the baptism and remember that I gave my son a name but they changed that. What do I have? Pain which I am unable to express. I ram it down again. Again and again for two weeks I do this. Then after the fourth or fifth or six or seventh family photo session we are sitting on the patio of one of Jocara's four sisters and one of them  points out that there is a cemetery close by. All the sisters are widows. Two  of them have recently become widows. Jocara suggests a walk around the cemetery. Oh good I think at least we can do something other than looking at photos of the living and the dead. Now we can look at their graves. It is an improvement to be out of doors and moving instead of sitting on those upright chairs. Is that symbolic. Upright Catholics sit on upright chairs. Fallen women like me lounge around in arm chairs.

I agree to the cemetery visit.  It is so big that we have to drive there. As we walk in it hits me. The flood gates open . I can't stop crying. I bite my lip. I stuff a hanky in my mouth. I try to hold back my sorrow. I clamp my hand over my mouth. Nobody notices. I recognise what I am doing to myself. Why shouldn't  I cry? I am with four women who have all experienced death but none of them notice the state I am in. 

I grab Jocara's arm. " Il me faut etre seul. Je reviendrai a la voiture." They all look aghast. I walk away quickly. " Freda, tu veux le clef?" 

"Merci je marche."

At last no prying eyes. I walk and sob amongst the graves. They are all covered  in tiles and elaborate decorations. Someone told me that AIDS victims had to be cremated. I don't know if this is true. I find these graves soppy and full of religious sentimentality, some even have photos of the deceased. Photos again!  I wouldn't want to do that  even if I had a photo. I do have three photos now but I do not know how to remember Simon as a baby? as a child? as a young man? Why oh why didn't he come to see me. I think he would have liked me. if only I could talk to him.

I walk up and down the rows of graves and wonder if it be irreligious to sit on one. Well I am irreligious but I wouldn't want to be disrespectful to other people's beliefs. I decide that it is OK and sit on one that looks as though it has been cleaned recently. I don't remember whether it was the grave of a man or a woman or a child or even a family. I don't think I read the inscription.    I was looking at the flowers when I noticed the tiniest of baby dolls at the bottom of the head stone. I have no idea if it was a child's offering to the departed or some other symbolic gesture. I wanted to pick it up but resisted and did not even touch it.

Brazil Part 3

 Continuation of the wedding reception and birthday party.

The woman begins her patter to gather the children. A game of musical chairs is organised. The usual sequence of events-losers weepers-winners all smiles. The younger children don't understand the concept of elimination and continue to run around. After the children's game the adults are persuaded to play. This I though was a good strategy because there was little else to do other than eat and drink. I filmed the whole game which I managed to do from a position near the BBQ which was considerably warmer than the draughty corner I was in.

I have eyed the table of sweets frequently since I was hungry on arrival. I noticed that a couple of older women, grannies like me, I presumed, are surreptitiously sauntering past the table and taking handfuls of smarties. I decide to do the same. I was amazed from the start that the children hardly looked at them and I didn't see one child take a sweet. It was us grannies ----. Then the organisers started to bag them up. The sweets not the grannies. They took the balloons down too and distributed them amongst the children. The girls danced with the balloons shaped like flowers and the boys fenced and fought with the ones shaped like swords. We could be anywhere in the world.

Since I have been here I have been very down. Supressed feelings, anger about the holiday, not being able to explore and unable to speak the language, not being able to phone and supressed sadness about Simon. I have had to look at so many family photos that I thought that there was a danger that I would get up in the night and make a bonfire of them.

Every single family we have visited started with looking at the photos on display and they are many. Next outcome the recent albums. Then the older albums and finally the boxful from under the bed or from the attic. The worst was  when we arrived at Sao Vicente at 6 o'clock in the morning after an overnight coach journey. As you can imagine we were both shattered. All I wanted to do was sleep but of course Jocara was rejuvenated by seeing her son and his wife and her new baby granddaughter for the first time. We were given breakfast first, at least but then I couldn't believe what happened next.

First of all the photos on show, then the most recent albums. I though that that was enough for today. Then Jocara took photos of the baby sleeping in her playpen, having a bath etc. Then the real fun began. Wedding photos, whole albums of "honey money". Just as I was about to suggest a nap, a video of the wadding was shown. Oh well I though this can't be too bad can it ? Perhaps half and hour at the most. No way. It was at least 2/3 hours long if not more. We even had lunch while the video was running.

Then the mother in law arrived and suggested that we should watch the birth of the baby!  No really, you videoed the birth. Oh yes! Every boring contraction and I mean every minute of the birth. of course it did not end with the birth oh no. The arrival of every visitor, the first attempts breast feeding and yes the second and third. The first bath in hospital. the first this the first that. They should video me, I might die of boredom whilst watching then they would have birth life and death on the same video. 

Now the christening! So it continues while we have tea. Thank Christ the child is only 7 months old.

Woman's Hour

 I sent an email to Woman's Hour To ask them if they were going to cover the 40th Anniversary of the Start of the Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp. I received an automated reply.

Thank you for contacting Woman's Hour. We do appreciate your comments and would like to assure you that E mails are reviewed regularly by the production team. However, we receive a considerable number of messages each  day so we cannot respond individually.

So I have no idea whether today's programme which covered the walk and interviewed some of the walkers was the result of my letter.

I feel that it would have been good for me to have had a reply which either thanked me for the info or informed me that they were going to do what I suggested.

Years ago I sent 2 copies of a book I had published which dealt with a topic that they were dealing with at the time. I did not get any kind of reply at all not even to say that they had received the books.

For all I know they could have binned them without even reading the forward but the least I expected was an acknowledgement that they had been received.