This is an aimless blog that gives voices to small joys, quirky happenstances, everyday occurrences, and occasional pesterings as the author navigates her life paths as an educator, transplanted Wyomingite, traveler, and curiosity seeker.
Screeching around our home, the cicadas that come with the onset of the rainy season sound like an army of broken hard drives droning in free space. They can reach up to 120 decibels and can be heard in the heat of the day right before a storm. Their chorus is an extraordinary buzz.
Funny true life story about this part of our Brasília life. Two years ago, two friends were visiting from Alaska and Washington, D.C. when we heard a loud sound in the house. Uli was out of the house somewhere, and the sound seemed to be coming from his office. It sounded like the death of a computer, and I immediately thought that there must be some sort of hardware melting down. Our friends and I rushed into his office to intervene and search for the origin of the noise. We looked and looked and eventually found a two-inch bug happily clinging to the screen window while emitting this broken computer sound. After having a good laugh, our friends made a recording and we started to hear cicadas everywhere.
Now, when the cicadas really get noisy, I cannot help but thinking of flying broken hard drives.
Recently, Uli was introduced to Mr. Rogers, so last weekend we watched this documentary. It was beautiful and almost felt like a movie that has somehow given you a hug while watching it. And sometimes you need a hug. While not a central piece of my childhood, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood was still on air and, together with the science show for kids 3-2-1 Contact, it was PBS programming that we watched on occasion. Most notably, the theme song and some of Mr. Rogers' routines such as changing his sweater and shoes are pieces of Americana that we all know and recognize.
The film got me thinking about neighbors and the common good, finding what is special in every child (and human being), and how effective and poignant such an example of kindness can be. He tackled tough themes but did so with so much calm, focus, and goodness. His authenticity and empathy seemed to pervade his actions and motivate his encounters with others.
Wouldn't it be fine if we all could be such a neighbor for one another? Wouldn't it be fine to encounter gentleness and empathy in those we meet? Wouldn't it be possible for us to go back, put on a fresh sweater and change our shoes, and just enjoy the company of a neighbor?
As for me, I am not sure I have the right wardrobe but I'm going to see if I can seek such goodness and emulate such authenticity in my neighborhood of this universe.
Not long after I posted. Less that 24 hours after I posted.
It rained.
For four glorious days, the parched earth and dust gave way to sweet droplets of rain. The fragrance. The decadence.
On Monday, I had to drop something off at work quickly. When I exited the building, there were clouds rumbling. By the time I reached our apartment, the sky was sputtering. I arrived to run raggedly through the house shouting to my husband about the rain when everything opened and it poured.
Really there is nothing sweeter. Nothing more refreshing. More nourishing.
We haven't had a tiny drip drop of rain in 117 days, I read this morning. With temperatures near 35 Celsius/95 Fahrenheit and relative humidity around 15% Brasília is parched. Not yet record-breaking, 2020 is currently in 8th position in historical records for the length of the dry season with predictions that it could maybe rain just a little bit on the 22nd. There is a fine dust layered everywhere on everything. It makes you feel lethargic and a bit slow. This is a normal part of the seasonal changes here, and it really isn't hotter or drier than some of the arid prairie in Wyoming or deserts of Arizona where I have spent time. However, as my skin becomes flaky and cracked and I constantly gulp down liters of water, I have to admit that a bit of rain would be nice.
A friend and proud Brasíliense Nicolas Behr published a bilingual collection of poems worth a read if you'd like to understand our home town. Here's a .pdf in an online version: It Will Never Rain Again.
Until it rains, I think I will just settle into some poetry, brew a cup of strong, Brazilian coffee, and put some music on in the background from a place where it surely must be raining.
The bored girl Alice could not resist temptation nor the adventures that awaited. It has been a while since I read Lewis Caroll, but I do remember the nonsense that awaited Alice in Wonderland. The story that unfolds after she follows the white rabbit is whimsical and dangerous at the same time. My college lit class studied the book's symbols and Victorian references at length, but I still think the appeal of the story is its oddity and adventure. What if there were such a universe down a rabbit hole or through the looking glass? Would you go down the rabbit hole?
We started listening to a podcast called Rabbit Hole about what the internet is doing to us. Based on the YouTube radicalization of a twenty-something in West Virginia, the investigation looks at YouTube and its algorithms and how they shape thought. The content is well-researched and thoughtful, tracing how this young man oscillates from conspiracy theories and truths on all sides of the political spectrum. It is well worth a listen, especially with such a powerful platform like YouTube at the center of the discussion and knowing that its reach is unimaginable and global (see this article about Brazil). About half way through the series, I can draw parallels with which stories are and which stories are not coughed up on my Twitter, Google, or Facebook feeds. It is alarming, particularly so when we seem so ready to take what we see and hear at face value.
I want to think about this. How did we get here?
Are we not teaching and practicing enough critical thinking? Not only our "children" but also our adults do not seem to have the media literacy to validate sources and fact check information. When our "feeds" give us like-minded and like-sourced material, it can pull us down a tunnel of misinformation in which every publication swirls together into a loop of the same lies or truths. Would we recognize real facts if they came from another source? Do we have enough practice at dissonance and adequate exposure to multiple sides of an argument? Can we teach ourselves to get out of the rabbit hole? Can we resist the temptation of an incendiary and righteous trip down the rabbit hole in the first place?
What responsibility do big tech companies have in all of this? Have they built such perfect artificial intelligence that feeds into our vulnerabilities as humans that we do not have the will to escape? Where is personal responsibility in all of this? And, if big tech has some responsibility, how shall they enact it? Flagging or removing content is a form of censorship. What power to decide what can and cannot be seen... should this be in the hands of a company who wants you to watch and who depends on your views to generate income? should this power be in the hands of government who might easily manipulate the masses?
Can we escape our polarization - socially and politically - to come together over anything? Can we agree that some ideas and symbols are simply hateful and should be stopped altogether? We are so encamped in our positions that I have doubts that we can recognize the Mad Hatter or the Queen of Hearts... let alone the emperor without clothes!
Is this a new problem? I suspect it is a different problem. Not that talking heads, tabloids, or idle gossip did not spread its fair share of misinformation, but this is so much more instant and so much more available than ever before. Why wouldn't you believe an authoritative voice on YouTube or a Facebook post that your neighbor shared? At what time in history did we have so much information at our fingertips? How do we sit through the tea party and sort through surprising fact and absurd fiction? When did high quality journalism become something to attach? When did our media become entertainment relying on clicks and likes? What it always this way? Is there any source that we all collectively can trust with the facts? If not, truth seeking is a rather weary journey.
See? There are a lot of serious questions. As for me, I'll be on the look out for that pesky white rabbit.
Two summers in college I worked as a camp counselor in the Black Hills at Outlaw Ranch (OR). It was an impressionable time and one in which I was susceptible to bouts of reflection and philosophizing. It was a Christian camp, and I was surrounded by other truth seekers and in really good company. We spent the summer creating community by hiking at sunrise, singing silly songs, worshiping by the fireside, canoeing across the lake, and mucking bathrooms, cabins, and the kitchen. The summer at OR was divided into two distinct types of camps: youth camp for different ages and family camp. Personally, I had never experienced family camp, but we had speakers and musicians and families who came for a week at a time. As counselors, this meant that we adopted families of all ages and led activities for kids in the morning and families in the afternoon. The guest speakers often were thoughtful professor types or authors or thinkers from the greater South Dakota region. The musicians created music connected to their faith journeys and the area. For me, the time with peers, families, thinkers, music, and nature was a perfect input for a bit of wondering and questioning.
One of the summers I was there, the other counselors and I spent a lot of energy questioning what we knew to be true about our faith and the world. We received a guest speaker one week who shared a life journey in which he lost and found his faith; he was a relentless questioner. I liked this but it was new for me to be exposed to Christians who were willing to ask deliberate, tough, earth-shattering questions about religion, the bible, and Jesus. It felt refreshing and a bit dangerous. Even now, I remember a distinct conversation about reconciling doubt and questions with faith. Our guest shared his view that the best faith arises from uncomfortable questions. In fact, he went further to say that his faith was kept active and alive by questioning and coming back for more conversation. Describing his journey as one in which he always emerged with a pocketful of questions but has determined to keep moving forward, propelled by his faith, he was a good model for how I felt at that time. It is a phrase that I have tucked away for over twenty years and keep circling back to. I do have questions.
That was a long narrative to say that I have found my voice and have
begun to write. The pandemic has given me space to question, and I have a
lot of questions right now that I would like to explore. After a
meandering walk through my neighborhood, I am confronted with the
inexplicable end to a paved path before meeting another. Even those who
constructed the path must have wondered as they painted a large question
mark at the end. Did they run out of asphalt? Was there no plan to
continue further than a certain number of meters? Was the plan altered
after or before this bike path was built? What was going on here where
the sidewalk ends after several kilometers? There are interrupted sidewalks like this all over Brasília. Why? I guess I will have to keep asking and to be comfortable with a pocketful of questions.
It's the nation's biggest holiday with glitter, wigs, samba, and silly costumes almost everywhere, even in Brasilia. We went out to meet our Portuguese tutor at a local cafe on Saturday morning and the spirit was already moving the block in a neighborhood celebration (yes, at 11 a.m.!). With a spirit of anything goes and everyone belongs, I was already tapping my toes and looking for that long-lost glitter...
In town this evening running errands, I walked past this sign. The message hit me over the head. The sign must be a sign.
IN CASE OF PAIN, DANCE
I've been in a bit of a funk lately in pondering the planet, ecology, humanity, our communities, our discourse with each other, and my own place. Perhaps I should blame it on over-consumption of news as I think that if my head were in the sand and I were more oblivious, my mood would not be contaminated. Perhaps I should blame the dry examination and brooding that happens after the holidays when I set out to tackle a new year. Perhaps it is that very sentiment of "tackling" life that is to blame, whether a personal or cultural mindset. Perhaps we're just in a very heavy moment of history when there is more cognitive dissonance and discord than I can handle. I don't know. But, sometimes, we have to be in the moment that we are in to examine and work beyond it. There isn't another way...
...unless we might dance! One of my tacklings this new year has been to find community in Brasília and to learn some Brazilian dances. These endeavors both bring me distraction and joy. We are attempting some Forró and Samba de Gafeira at a local dance school, and the entire community has embraced us with friendly welcomes and chit-chat during lessons. Maybe the secret is turning my funk into a bit of toe-tapping Bruno Mars.
Sometimes the best way to find respite is to break up your routine and get out of town for a weekend. We took advantage of the MLK holiday and took off for the nearby town of Pirenópolis. The short two-hour trek from Brasília (150 km) is a beautiful drive across the cerrado or wind-swept savanna. The Portuguese colonial town is clearly an accessible escape for weekenders from the capital city, and it was particularly full of visitors on Saturday evening. The cobblestone streets are lined with vendors, restaurants, and guesthouses. We were tucked back from the party zone for the evening and choose to put our energies towards exploration of the terrain. We joined a guided trip through the information office to the State Park -- and it was lucky we did as our little car could not have possibly handled some of the rough access roads. We swam in waterfalls, awaited a rainstorm under shelter, walked to rock outcroppings and viewpoints, and breathed in the fresh air and surroundings. In less than 48 hours we found total escape from reality, and it felt rather good!
18th Century Church
Side street in the town
Ahhhhh! The Cerrado!
First waterfall of the day
And the second
Swimming in the cool, clean water (right before the rain)
Rocks!
Pretty spot for a selfie
Third waterfall where we swam (and got bitten by little itchy bugs)
Vista point - one of the highest in the state of Goiás at around 1,300 meters (4,500 feet)
