Stories Inspired by Life in Rural Brazil
Stories with humor, finding the light in the little things in life.
Old Man McLeod leaned back in his metal folding chair and sighed. He sipped slowly from his coffee mug and gazed through the steam at the explosions of colors in the trees. From the wooden patio in front of his trailer he could see down the road. Orange and gold trees arched over the road and …
Not sure why you would want to, but locals tell me somebody did–repeatedly–thus this lovely sign: NO SWIMIN’. (p.s., apologies on the grainy resolution, but no telephoto lens and I certainly wasn’t wading into these waters to get a better shot. Click on the photo to be able to read the sign better.)
Still wandering my homeland! Few things are more quintessentially Maine than L.L.Bean. While home, I thought I’d shop for some new boots. This buttery soft white pair caught my eye. Check out the “Made In” label. Ah, the irony…
Mom says these eggs will hatch into baby tractors. Wonder if I could get one through customs?
As we filled up our plates and were about to sit down to dinner my honey looked at me from under sheepish eyebrows and said “I’m going to eat dinner in front of the movie, ok?” Which is fine because I’ve been known to make the same call for a riveting episode of C.S.I–who am …
Really, I felt sorry for her. Reading my passport just isn’t simple even if it is all in order. I entered as a tourist then extended and then overstayed my visa and then married and applied for residency. My Brazilian exit documents were the stuff that makes bureaucrats reach for the Tylenol. Which category did I fit in? …
How do you know you’ve been homesick for something? When you’re willing to pay anything–even airport prices–to have it. Things that had me dancing in the airport gift shop: a wall of nuts and dried fruit, a Real Simple magazine, and dangerously dark chocolate. Brazil, I love you, but your snacks for travelers and your …
Our farm is overrun with kids. So much so that I rarely talk to my sister-in-law, even though her home is attached ours and we share a veranda. It’s not what you think. See, before there was e-mail and voicemail there were kids. Need to grab that thing over there? Send a kid. Need to …
People don’t usually post signs like this without provocation. Which makes me wonder–how many times did it have to happen before the poor cleaning lady finally snapped?
