AND IT'S SUNDAY AGAIN...

 

AND IT'S SUNDAY AGAIN...

And here I am back, at 7:43 am on this wonderful Sunday, with the temperature around 25ºC and the forecast for a rainy afternoon. It was to be expected, after all, this whole week was a week with a pleasant climate, a beautiful sun, inviting us to appreciate life in all its fullness. In ten days, summer begins. Depending on the year, the climate is hot and dry. 2022 is a year with a lot of precipitation. Fortunately. After all, sun and heat are good, but if it doesn't rain for the levels of the reservoirs to remain the same, the water supply ends up becoming a problem and the rotation in its supply ends up becoming the only viable solution... who has a reservoir at home you end up feeling less, if the interruption is short... but if, as has already happened, you go two, three days without water... it's horrible, especially for those who have small children at home. The worst thing is that there are no palliative solutions for the problem, when it presents itself. The most you can do, in these cases, is to buy mineral water for the family's consumption and leave the water in the reservoir for other daily needs, such as bathing, for example. Because nothing is worse than, on a hot day, having to go to sleep without bathing due to lack of water... so, let the rain come, because it is blessed. And necessary for life!

Yesterday afternoon one of my neighbors decided to wash his car in the street, in front of my house. So far, nothing much, everything normal. The problem is that every time he goes to wash his car, he has to turn his favorite songs, which I absolutely hate, to full volume so that the whole neighborhood can also... enjoy! There were about three hours of bad music... I mean, for him who likes it, it was heaven on earth. Maybe if there's anyone else on the street who likes his style of music, the afternoon would have been enjoyable. But I doubt it a little. Heat and loud sound don't go together, at least in my opinion. Also, always in my opinion, mind you... there's no such thing as great music at extremely loud sound. Music is meant to make you dream, get lost in daydreams, float through imagination. A squeaky sound just doesn't allow you that. I will try to explain myself. When I was still a little girl, there was no TV at home. Incidentally, most homes did not. Our entertainment was mainly the radio. There were other forms of entertainment, of course. The men of the village, due to their origins in the interior, used to get together on weekends and, washed down with cachaça, sing accompanied by the viola and guitar. My father was one of those weekend guitar players. He played the viola fairly well. Cururu, catira, cateretê, toada, moda de viola... rhythms he learned in his childhood and which, together with our neighbors, he played at the meetings they held. We had a neighbor who played guitar, so the two, accompanied by their instruments, played for hours the repertoire learned from the sertanejo programs they followed on the radio. Of course, by then, all the participants of the "casual guitar circle" were more out there than here, but what mattered to them was the fun after a week of hard work. After all, getting up every day at four o'clock in the morning, facing two hours of cycling and returning to their homes around ten o'clock at night was not a very pleasant routine. But they had to do it, to guarantee the support of the family...

My father, like the other men in the region, was a fighting man. He suffered a lot to be able to give his family a home. His work started early, at dawn, and as I said, it didn't end until ten or eleven at night. And, many times, his week extended to Saturdays and Sundays and, not infrequently, he wouldn't have time off for two or three months. Of course it wasn't just him, it happened to everyone. So, nothing fairer that, when they could, they had a little fun. Too bad the drink got in the way of that fun.

I must say that my father was semi-literate. For various reasons, all of them related to the problems that life brings for each person to overcome and grow, he had to leave his parents' house as a boy and venture out into the world. He worked for some time as a caiçara, served in the army, went to work in the fields, met my mother and married her and, trying to improve everyone's lives, came to the "big city" with a suitcase and a bowl, bringing only your dreams and hopes. For some time his older sister, who already lived in the city, took him in. But for various reasons he rented, after some time, a small house for his wife and children to live in. With a lot of effort, as he earned the minimum wage at the time, he managed to buy land. Lots of overtime and deprivation. But he won.

The day we finally moved into our new house (I was about four years old, give or take) it was a party. Every cart of dirt that was taken off the ground meant more space for the children to play and for the adults get around more easily. The house didn't have any of the comforts we can't live with today... there were four large rooms, two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. The bathroom was built outside. The floor was of beaten earth and the house had no windows. I mean, the locations for this one were demarcated, but in the beginning, due to lack of money to buy them, my father chose to leave those aside, and arrange the place to house his family...

Well, that's enough talking for today. I have to leave in a little while, so I can only wish you all a beautiful weekend, and may this Sunday be the happiest we've ever experienced. May God pour all the Blessings of Heaven on our heads and allow us to meet again tomorrow here, in this little corner of ours...

See you tomorrow, God willing...