The Makings of a Memoir

People have often told me I should write a book about my life. Here, in two installments, is as far as I have gone. Perhaps, it's far enough.

DEDICATION 

to the Keeper of the Universe,

who like a gentle breeze sets the

merry-go-round in motion.

CHAPTER ONE
 

Hoisted onto the Horse with the Tossing Head
 

Scheherazade was some storyteller. She went on for 1,001 nights of exciting episodes falling all over each other, none of them to my knowledge being about her. As I recall, those tall tales were chock full of magic fish, one-eyed men, vipers as big as palm trees, and a stone-blind giant. A+ for Imagination! Not me. No. I am going to spin out my life before your very eyes at a leisurely pace and without modern day counterparts such as UFO abductions, bogdwelling monsters, presidential conspiracies, or celebrity spottings. Take a deep breath, though, because, of course, I am going to have to bring in...the U., the ever present U. which leads me here and there and causes me suddenly to say, "We have to do this NOW! Up on the ridge this minute!" The right place. The right time. But I guess you can handle it or you wouldn't have chosen this book by its cover. Sigh. I suppose you are going to quit reading at this juncture. You think I am going to preach. Keep your shirt on. I'm not the only one in this book.

It (meaning my life) started in Brazil. Well, I know. I don't sound Brazil but we're not talking ancient history here. People got around in 1938 and my folks happened to get around to Brazil. It was pretty nice for me. First of all, I wasn't the firstborn so I didn't have to deal with being smart. There was no way I could catch up to my brother, Bobby, six years ahead of me and first in his class at the German school. Secondly, I was a girl in a country where girls put ornaments in their hair as I am wont to do; and thirdly, I had good-looking pets. There were three sloths, five monkeys, six rabbits, a crowd of parrots, and two dogs. I tried to teach one of the parrots to sing Cara Nome but she was tunefully challenged. The army ant parades over the stone wall were worth pulling up a chair to, and rounding up the scorpions beat Concentration any night, especially when we had to have blackouts. Fortunately, I was born in the late evening on the eve of the summer solstice, south of the Equator (12 degrees, 58 minutes) where summer is winter during the time of the Festa da Sao Jao, a harvest festival. Throughout June, there are fireworks. I arrived to the sound of forro bands (accordians, hand-drums, triangle) and starbursts in the city by the Bay of All Saints of the Savior. In short form Portuguese, we called it Bahia. .


Change of tone. It's my book. I can do it.


The faded photo shows a family, "Before." Mother is dressed in soft cotton, with sprigs of mignonette entertwined in the dainty pleats. Father has a white, long-sleeved shirt which will never be crisp. The older brother peeks over the head of the baby. He looks to be part of the group, although in later years he will seldom be seen by them. The girl, since it is a summer scene, is possibly six months old. She is held by her mother. Her brother's skinny right hand holds her right arm gently. Father is standing, proudly gazing at the little child. Mother is seated in a rattan chair. Brother crouches. Behind them are fat columns on which bougainvilla vines lean heavily. There is a wrought iron fence connecting the columns.  Checkerboard tiles complete the decor of a terrace. This is the girl's first house. It is provided by the government of the United States of America. Foreigners and Americans of all sorts come to this house continually. The smile on the face of the nearly bald baby is worthy of a painting by Botticelli. It is angelic, infectious, hopeful. Born on a stormy night, surrounded by the hymn singing of a Methodist missionary and the agonizing cries of her mother, this child will carry with her a mix of faith, resiliency, and danger and will think of these people as her Helpers. "Who will come and go with me? I am bound for the Promised Land." Her first baby gift is a necklace, an ebony fist, a powerful symbol of a voodoo religion which she will add to her Christian beliefs. She will never be too far from darkness. 

That's one side of the story, darkness. It's what happens late at night when the merry-go-round is stilled and the music stopped but in Bahia, darkness is disguised by dazzle. Salvador overlooks a bay. There are 38 islands in that bay. I probably never went to one but the view shaped my outlook. I am an islander at heart--enriched by an enclosed environment requiring a different kind of transportation so visitors would have to intentionally want to go there. It's not a loner existence; it is a special, set apart one. 

~~~to be continued...~~~