Vamos para Buenos Aires!

jovivebo

Muy Bien!

Another long holiday weekend in Brazil...it's true. We are off to eat lots of red meat and dulche de leche. Felipe and Georgia have been practicing the tango in anticipation. And I hear Buenos Aires has an incredible zoo.

Enjoy the weekend. Adios Amigos!

And the rain just keeps pouring down...

It is still rather misty today. So why not continue with the theme--and the most charming raindrops scene in motion picture history. Sorry Gene Kelly but you have got nothing on Mr. Robert Redford. (And could the damsel be any more beautiful? I so want the white dress.) Hope this sunniness puts a skip in every one's steps today. xo

Thanks for the reminder honey!

Singing in the rain (inside)

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
--Gene Kelly

It is Spring in the Southern Hemisphere. Our October is your April (folks up there). And I am hoping the flowers are going to be pretty this year because it seems to be a consistent London drizzle or an Indian Monsoon. I have soggy shoes and rain on the brain.

Naturally when I saw the lovely raindrops on one of my favorite artist's Camilla Engman's studio wall, I had to paint my own watery plops and platters (blush for copying). But I couldn't stop at the wall--I had to do appease the appetite (after all that work on a ladder). And out of my oven burst raindrop cookies. Pleased, Georgia and I stared at the new wall (while eating the cookies) and suddenly the sun illuminated the room. I tried to explain to G that rain plus sun = rainbows. So we made rainbow cupcakes. And to complete the fairy tale, I ran to the candy store and bought her some golden coins.

I told my dear daughter, I found them at the end of the rainbow.

But we'll keep that part a secret (wink, wink).

Afraid of heights?

1. 2.3.4.5.6.

I'm reading

Loving Hands by Frederick Leboyer
I have my mother-in-law's original 1970 version, inscribed to her by dear friends at the time of my husband's birth.
I'm only realizing now...
how much this must have meant to her.

Amour, Amour, et Amour Fou

Three favorites for rent in the "love" genre--a bit more powerful than Pretty Women.
But I like it like that.

Interneta

If it weren't for technology, I don't know how often linguists would have to revise Webster's Dictionary.

I'd like to add an entry to the upcoming volume.

Interneta-\in-tur-net-uh\ n; 1. Internet + granddaughter in Portuguese (neta)
Interneto-\in-tur-net-oh\n; Internet + grandson in Portuguese (neto) 2. phenomenon created when you speak to said granddaughter/grandson whose blood line is partially Brazilian via skype.

Example of usage: Grandma Dee skyped her interneta, Georgia, today. She got to see G wearing pigtails for the first time. She was offered a sip of her interneta's coconut water and a bite of bread. Georgia was rather impressed with the noisy slurping of the straw and the size of her Grandma Dee's mouth.

An imaginary, not-so-imaginary, playdate--now I have to clean the computer screen.

Saturday in a crayon box

Be Living School, L'entrecote, Clube Pinheiros

Whilst Walking This Week

Toddler Vanity

I am not an extremely vain person. I do love style--just not fashion. Salon trips are more of a necessity than an urge. And I worry Georgia will want a designer handbag before she ages into the double digits. (I also pray she won't be embarrassed when I pick her up from school in exercise clothes.)

But, lately, I see a gleam of admiration in her eyes when I wear a dress. And today while organizing boxes, she saw our wedding photo (make-up, gown...you know) and squealed "Mommy" (as in that's mine).

So this afternoon, at the salon, I knew I shouldn't let the girls paint her little toes--lest I create a vain mini monster. Really, I'd prefer (for a long while yet) to consistently find dirt behind her nails than vamp red on top. And I rather she surf than shop.

But once in a while? I just couldn't resist. And doesn't she look, well, satisfied?

Creative Clutter Loveliness: Work Spaces

sharesomecandy

We finally got some shelving and a proper desk installed in our home office/studio this week. And I have been on a manic plastic box purchasing spree. I now have boxes for my cupcake sprinkles and food dyes, fabric swatches, paper products, ribbons, colored pencils and markers--my everything. Because I am an obsessive-compulsive neat freak. I could go on Oprah as one of those professional organizers, cleaning up the country in a mini-van. And as I type this post from an immaculate room and a bare desktop, I feel as empty as the room. My workspace is boring, generic, lifeless.... a great big mistake.

Fretting over the "spice-less" situation at hand, incites a net surfing frenzy and sharesomecandy. Hello brain? Really. Drooling over these artist's ateliers, I realize the beauty is in the clutter: the cans, the splatters, the scraps, the swatches and the piles. (The artwork is pretty mind-blowing, too.)

Makes me want to rip open those plastic box "art supply prisons" and have a confetti-like rainstorm of beautiful, lovely art and crafting goodies (and go to art school).

Instant, authentic decorating.

G and I in the kitchen (again)

I realize it. I am a cruel case of contradictions. My morning post encourages health and then I bake cupcakes. Yet my thought process makes sense (to me). Activity and indulgence go hand and hand--a walk here and a bite (or two or three) of cupcake there. Equilibrium. Because repression leads to depression--especially when one is handing out cupcakes. And life is meant to be delicious--in all senses.

But enough expounding health. The big reason for the bake-off: October is a big birthday month for my folks and friends. And although my dear parents are thousands of miles away from my kitchen, G and I are sending sugar dusted air kisses and imaginary cakes their way. Minhas amigas queridas: Roberta, Erica, and Suzana--consider your cupcakes delivered!

Happy Birthday Everyone! Feliz Aniversário!

Move it

We are a sedentary society. And although most of us know that there is no mysterious fountain of youth in some far reaching land, we still put faith in the existence of miracle cures. We hope that cutting out an entire food group (carbs) will make us thin. Our puffy fingers reach for pills that promise to systematically gobble away all of our fat cells while we sit in front of the boob tube eating a gallon of ice cream, our arm lost in the bag of potato chips.

And we sit. And we super-size. And we wait. And we sit some more.

Just maybe the solution (besides giving all that chewing just a small break) is to move. Move your body just a little bit more every single day. Instead of circling the parking lot, plant that automobile and walk a few more paces. Get off the bus a stop early. Take the stairs in your building. Walk your dog (and your child). Move it. It doesn't take an expensive gym membership to burn calories. Gold's Gym didn't exist much before the spandex-clad 80's. And our ancestors were svelte. Because they moved. (And, by the way, they cooked in lard).

I hope I haven't offended anyone here--I am not exulting a skinny esthetic. My heart is in the right place. And if I had the budget of a city like Stockholm, I'd put these piano stairs everywhere. And we could all sing and rejoice in our movement and on our bathroom scale...with an extra loud hurrah for, what really matters, our clean bill of health.

Thanks to Plinio and Nana for forwarding the inspiring video.

Chemise da Nuit

flickr

My late Auntie M always slept in a sleep cap. And all of her pillowcases were satin. This guaranteed that her silvery "once-a-week-wash-and-set" hairdo never lost its fluff. She also only slept in long nightgowns. She passed the nightgown ritual on to all of her nieces. I fine-tuned it a bit and tossed the tiny floral print and flannel part. My gowns are always white and one-hundred percent cotton. If it's cold, I put flannel pants under and an old ratty cashmere cardigan on top.

In case your interested in the tradition, here are a few resources:

Eileen West
Lanz of Salzburg

Hanro

I promise I don't wear a sleeping cap. For now, anyway.