A Piece of Home -- the OTHER Home

This post was written a few months ago as a guest post for someone, but then they kind of disappeared.  Oh well, I can still share with you.  YOU, afterall, are my favorite readers :)

Welcome to Ribeirao Preto (pronounced Hee-bay-rou[n] Prey-toe)!  Although I cannot claim this city as my own, my husband can.  And we are here to show you a little bit of life from Brazil.

Life in Brazil is in many ways very similar to life in America, yet in other ways completely different.  Ribeirao Preto, or RP for short, is one of those cities where the similarities outweigh the differences yet Brazilian flavor is sure to be found.

Both countries have shopping areas; both have residential areas.  The biggest difference we notice between the two is the lack of parking lots (and the need to pay someone to “watch your car” while out and about) and tall gates around the homes in Brazil.  Where America is wide and open on the streets, Brazil seems to be tucked away. 

But walk into those stores and life is not much different…

… although the produce and products offered might take on a different size and shape.

What makes Ribeirao Preto different than other Brazilian cities?  It isn’t the public market, which every city has…

Like a full time flea market, people can rent stalls here to sells their goods.  Want beans of any color?  Come here.  Want some seasoning fresh from the local farms?  Come here.  Simply want cheap and sweet treats?  Once again, come here.  The prices are low and the variety is wide.

Or on Friday mornings you can visit the feira livre (free fair), what we would refer to as a farmer’s market.  Once again, it doesn’t set RP apart, but is a vital part of the city.

Feira livre is packed almost every week.  How could it not be?  Look at that fruit!  Those nuts!  And the best… that pastel and sugarcane juice!  These deep fried cheese pastries and juice squeezed fresh out of the sugar cane is the biggest hit in any Brazilian farmer’s market, not just RP.

And of course, this being Brazil and all, you can find futebol anywhere and everywhere you look, from outside on the street or inside in a fancy basketball court.

Ribeirao Preto, however, does have some things that make it unique.  It is rated as the 4^th highest quality of life throughout all of Brazil (which is the size of the continental US, to give you an idea).  Although we have not seen an official list of reasons why, we have our guesses.  Beautiful architecture and well-planned downtown-areas allow for the residents to enjoy the beauty around them as they are doing their errands.

If city scenes aren’t your thing there is ample green space to be found.  Curupira Park is the perfect place to go throw a Frisbee, unpack a picnic, or ride a bike on one of the many trails.  On the weekends it is packed, but come on a weekday morning and you can have the entire place to yourself.

  

Want some more wildlife?  Head over to the zoo which is free to the public and open all year round.  You will see turtles sauntering along all by themselves and probably a field trip or two – and of course, our favorite, Blue. 

In reality, though, it doesn’t really matter how pretty the parks are or how fancy the downtown is.  What makes a place a “hometown”?  The people you share it with – your family!  This is something that remains the same all through Brazil, America, and the world.  Home is where the heart is, and family is usually the in the center of that space.

 

At War

This past weekend I, along with the rest of America, took time to give thanks for those who have given their lives during war.  However, Ialso had another reason to give thanks: For the first time, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would not be adding my brother's name to that list.  How did I know?  Well, he returned from his last tour of duty on Saturday morning and is getting out of the Army next month.

It is finished.

Now, for the very first time I will honestly answer that question that so many people have asked me --  How do you feel about having a loved one at war?

How do you feel?  Well...

You feel a mixture of pride and fear when you find out they are signing up to join the military.  They head off to basic training and you think, "How did this little boy get to this point?"  You wait for the letters to come, hoping that they aren't screaming at him too much and that he has the endurance to make it through 22 weeks of that level of intense training.  You marvel at the fact that he got pepper sprayed and gassed and made it through and you think, "I hope that part of the training will never be useful in real life."  And then you go to graduation and your heart fills with pride to see how much this boy has become a man during that short period of time. 

Not long after that, you find out that all that training did have a purpose as he gets his first orders: Iraq.  You feel disconnected to his reality.  His random phone calls in the middle of the night tell have some stories of tanks and landmines, but are mostly filled with questions of loved ones back home.  You pray earnestly that not only will he survive, but the death and destruction that he will witness will be minimal.  You realize that those are, by definition, a very real part of war, but you can't bear to think that this little boy who you held when he was baby, got into tickling matches with, and smacked really hard when he annoyed you was facing things that you will never understand.  And then you pray some more.

You feel embarrassed when you have to get up and walk out of the sanctuary at church when they showed a short clip of soldiers passing out wheelchairs to those in need in Iraq.  You don't want people to see you sobbing, knowing that nobody else will judge you, but feeling stupid all the same. 

You have this strong, irresistible urge to go up to any boy or girl in uniform in the airport to give them a hug and a "thank you", hoping somewhere, somebody is doing the same for your brother. 

You let the only tears escape your eyes on your wedding day when you get a phone call from Iraq saying, "Sis, I wish I could be there..." 



You are angry for the Army not keeping their word on letting him take his leave during this time, but you understand that they have a war to fight, and your wedding is not their highest priority.  But you wish they understood that your brother, you only immediate family member left, being able to come to your wedding was your priority.  And you realize that sometimes you are at odds with the world.

But finally the day arrives for him to come home and you are at the airport with balloons and hugs and a heart that is skipping a beat.

Fast Forward to a year a half later and you are starting the whole process again.  But this time the destination is different and so is the situation.  This time "Afghanistan" is stamped on his orders and he has a wife kissing him goodbye.  You are grateful for this stronger support for him while he is out and you pray daily for them to stay strong for each other, knowing full well that missing your spouse is much harder than missing your brother, and there is no way you can understand how hard that must be if this is so damn hard for you...

A couple of more things change.  News doesn't get turned on because you just don't want to know if somebody died out there.  Veteran's Day and Memorial Day take on a whole new meaning.  Holidays get a date change.  Thanksgiving is celebrated in June, Christmas in January, and you realize that dates don't mean so much, but the people who spend these days with you mean the world.

You cry every time that Walmart Christmas commercial comes on.

You realize you have an awesome group of friends and feel so grateful for their response to Operation: Merry Christmas that you put into action, knowing that your little brother received close to 100 letters or packages to celebrate the holiday.



And then, when it is all over, you breathe out a big sigh of relief because he made it.  Life and limbs all still present.  You can't help but get a lump in your throat, though, when you realize that there are many families out there who can't say the same, and you don't understand why you get that privilege and they don't.  You know that some of his very friends gave their lives, and you just don't get it.  But deep in your heart you know that you are grateful it wasn't you who got that knock on the door, and decide really the best you can do is give thanks for your situation and give support for those that don't have a situation that matches yours. 

Ultimately, though, you are proud.  That is a feeling that lasts the entire time, from beginning to end.  Proud of his accomplishments, proud of his growth, proud of the fact that he maintained a good attitude throughout it all. 

Proud of the man that has come home in place of the little boy that was sent off.

"My Grandpa Makes the Tuna..." (Tuna Casserole with Spinach)

I am not a snob.  Ask those who know me and I am pretty sure *fingers crossed* they would say that "snobby" is not an adjective that describes me.  Basically, it is like this: I don't care if my clothes come from Target or some fancy-pants store, as long as they fit well and are cute.  I don't care if my friends are quote-unquote "popular" or the average Joe, as long as they are kind and not too annoying (because face it, we all have some annoying characteristics).  I don't care if I drive a BMW or a Toyota, as long as it is reliable and safe.  Shoot -- my first car was an '88 Dodge Colt Hatchback, ripped vinyl seating and rusty top included.  I drove it with pride.

Like I said, I am not a snob.

Unless it comes to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or tuna casserole.  Then you better have the right stuff.  AKA Skippy Creamy and Strawberry Smuckers (for the PB&J) or this stuff:

Yes, that's right.  Campbell's all the way, Baby.  None of that store-brand junk they try to pass off as Cream of Mushroom Soup.  And don't even think about trying to sneak in some "low-fat" goo, I will tell the difference in a heartbeat. 

There are some things in life you are allowed to be snobby about.

Mayo is another one of those things.

Bring out the Best Foods, and you bring out the best, right?

And tuna, well... there is only one kind that sits on my shelf:

But for the tuna I have a really good excuse, other than just pure snobbiness.  See, my grandpa was an engineer for Starkist before he retired (and don't ask me what an engineer might do at a tuna company, I have yet to figure that out...)  As a kid I watched the movie Annie and it inspired many things in me.  For one, I knew that I had to work in an orphanage some day.  Actually, I knew I had to buy Daddy Warbuck's house and move all the orphans there so they could have a happy life.  This is still something I have on my life's to-do list.

Something else this movie inspired in me was the need to burst out in song to express myself.  Annie did it, why couldn't I?  This is why I would sing to my cats, my dogs, and my friends, until they ran away and hid.  But my poor mother, she couldn't run and hide, now could she?  (She could regret her idea of renting Annie, however.)  This would be how the Grandpa song came about.  I remember sitting there in the little seat in the shopping carts, cruising the aisles of the supermarket, singing at the top of my lungs --

My grandpa makes the tuna,

my grandpa makes the tuna,

so if you love tuna

YOU LOVE MY GRANDPA!

Ya know what?  I don't think I have ever purchased a different brand of tuna in my life, except when I was living overseas and Starkist was not an option.  The seed was planted early on, and nothing has uprooted it.  So, yes, I am a tuna snob.  I admit it.

I was making tuna casserole the other night, with my perfect ingredients, and I realized I didn't have peas.  But I did have spinach, and I thought, "Why not?"  Then, as it was cooking, I flipped through Everyday Food by Martha Stuart and I saw a recipe for, you guessed it, tuna casserole with spinach.  I'm one step ahead of you, Martha... Anyway, it turned out great.  I like peas, but I like spinach.  I think this will get another chance in the spotlight, as long as I have my Campbell's, Best Foods, and Starkist of course!

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 pack egg noodles
• 2 cans tuna
• 2 cans cream of mushroom soup
• 1 heaping Tablespoon of mayonnaise
• 1/4 cup milk
• 1/4 onion, chopped
• 2 large handfuls of spinach leaves
• Mrs. Dash or other seasoning
• salt and pepper, to taste
• bread crumbs

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 425.  Bring water to boil in large pot and add egg noodles.  Cook for 7-8 min.
2. Meanwhile, in large mixing bowl add the rest of the ingredients except the bread crumbs.  Stir in egg noodles after they are cooked and drained.
3. In large casserole dish, dump contents in and sprinkle bread crumbs on top.  Cover with aluminum foil and bake for 40 minutes.  (Remove the tin foil for the last 5-7 minutes to give it a golden crispiness on the top.)

Cost: $6.70                   Cost Per Serving (6) $1.12

Plus bread w/ butter and salad = $1.60 per serving