Eat rest.and love
Here hasn’t been any let up in the rain for three days. It sounds like sizzling ham on the roof punctuated by slow rumbling thunder in the distance. It’s so dark here at night you hear everything. The runoff makes you think a faucet is open down the hall. By morning I’m well rested, but my first thought is of the weather and my odds of getting out of the house today. My second is of whether or not someone is waiting for me out in the kitchen. Breakfast (café de manha) is around 8:30am and my dad is absolutely bewildered by anyone who would sleep through it. He loves his routine; he’d be easier to tease if I didn’t so often take comfort in a routine of my own. Breakfast is no pancake, bacon, and egg affair down here. We have coffee made with hot milk, breads and muffins with butter, jams, or other spreads like crème de leite (cream of milk) or “Mu Mu” which is the common name for doce de leite (sweet of the milk) because that’s the most popular brand.
Lunch (almoco ‘al-mo-so’) is the big meal of the day. It happens between noon and 12:30pm, any later and you notice that something feels off (like I’m Bill Murray in “Groundhogs Day”). Meats, sausage, fish, salad, pasta, beans and rice… anything plays. There are always a variety of foods to try. Lunch here has the feel of a family dinner in the United States; everyone is together at the table for the most important meal of the day. The afternoon is nap time. Dad likes to sleep off lunch so the house gets hushed. My stepsister and 89-year-old aunt usually watch some TV quietly and my stepmother is somewhere doing all the unseen things that make the household comfortable for us. Me… I go straight for the hammock on the front patio with iPad in hand. I read and daydream and then end up napping myself. By late afternoon the chilly and damp air has got me thinking about teatime inside. Don’t get the wrong idea; this is not high tea at the Pierre - its just tea. I go for the peach flavor, it’s hot and fragrant and I usually nibble on small bites of cake until it adds up to about two slices worth. This is when my dad and I play cards. I’m at that pivot age for card players (41) where everyone younger than me wants to play Poker, and everyone older than me wants to play Gin. So we play Gin, sip our tea, and bitch and curse in Portuguese over our cards. I admit to liking Portuguese profanity. My oldest brother is the Hemingway of vulgarity and I tend to verbally plagiarize him.
Dinner is light, usually coffee with bread, cheese, and sandwich meats. The various spreads from breakfast play an encore. On occasion there might be some leftovers from lunch, some rice, beans, potato, or maybe a fried egg or two. We might have a glass of wine. My dad doesn’t drink anymore for health reasons but when I’m around he likes to share some vino with me. I really like the big lunch/light dinner program. It’s a good thing I do because that is the program. One thing I’ve learned about having a good time with an 82-year-old man who is set in his ways (and will never change) is to just adopt his system and do what he wants to do. I have to laugh at myself because back in my life I am unyielding about my own routine, doing what I want, when I want – but here, I bend to my fathers will. And I have a great time doing it.