Are you willing to pay the price? 

    Last week, I volunteered chaperone my son and his classmates from school to the theater where they were having the dress rehearsal for the school's musical. Before leaving, the wise teacher told the students: "Do you need to leave anything in the classroom? Whatever you have in your hands you must carry with you all the way to the theater and back. Are you committing to whatever you have in your hands?" They all said a very convincing "yes" and marched out with their lunch bags, water bottles, books and belongings.  

    This morning, before vacuuming the carpet, I had to pick up an infinite number of toys, paper, clothes, etc and I thought how much easier it would be if we just didn't have this much *stuff*. Because keeping all of this stuff comes with a price. I am not talking about the price tag I paid when I bought it. I mean the maintenance cost to keep these things in our house and in our lives. Pool and yard owners know exactly what I am talking about. A big box of toys that have not been played with in a long time takes up space that could be used for something else – or just free space! It takes work to move it every time I have to clean the floor. It takes mental space to remember all that is in it. And I don't even want to think about when it gets dumped all over the floor...  

    The more we have, the more work it takes to keep it. I am not sure I am committed to taking care of all this *stuff*: more-than-needed books, toys, clothes, shoes, boxes, pencils, paper, etc. I don't want to spend time, energy and space on things that are not necessary, helpful or meaningful – but I have been without noticing. The abundancy, easy access to manufactured goods, must-have-all culture, the sales and discounts have a high-maintenance fee which I am not willing to pay. The school kids didn't have trouble at all carrying their stuff, because they only took what they needed and they had to commit to caring about. Are we doing the same in our lives, only carrying what is necessary and useful? Or are we trying to carry too many things at once and running the risk of dropping it all?    

    A few weeks ago, I noticed how crowded my closet looked and how hard it was to find anything to wear – even though it was full of clothes! I looked up some ideas about a capsule closet and decided to try it. I took everything out of the closet and laid it in the bed. Then I made 3 piles: love it, hate it, maybe. The "hate it" pile went into plastic bags, out to donation. The "maybe" pile contained some seasonal stuff that needs to be put away for now, but might be needed in the next season. It also had some pieces that what I am not sure I am ready to part with, so I put it in a suitcase to decide their case later. The "love it" items were matched up in ready-to-use outfits and put back into the closet in usage order: casuals in front, dressy in the back. The result is that now when I open my closet I immediately see something I like to wear, because I only put in there what I love. I have a third of the clothes I used to have in my closet, I spend a third of the time I used to find something to wear and I enjoy it twice as much. Less is more. 

    I am wondering if my kids had half the toys they have, would they find what they want more easily? Would they enjoy more whatever they have and fight less over what they don't? It would certainly take up less space, and much less time and effort to clean up. That might be our next step.     

When notes become words

A few words on writing and music interpretation ... from while back.

When Notes Become Words

International Student Essay Award

Writer's Memo

When I came to study Music Performance at Miami University, I thought I would be able to spend a lot of time practicing my instrument, the violin. But I was supposed to attend to classes such as Music Theory, Research Methods and English, and all these required me to do so many readings and writings that some days I could hardly touch my instrument. Reading and writing are very time-consuming — even more so in a foreign language. And I could not see how they could contribute to improving my violin playing, which is the main goal of my studies. It all annoyed me because I was forced to spend my time reading and writing rather than doing what I really wanted to do: practice.

But after a while, I realized that writing and playing an instrument are actually correlated. They have many similarities, and I would like to describe some of them through this essay.

***

Our first experience with writing happens when we learn how to write some words and put them together in an order that makes sense. Our parents have to make some effort to understand our unshaped handwriting, but they feel proud of us. Then, through many years at school we learn a lot of grammar, vocabulary and spelling, so we can work with words in order to express ourselves well when we write and to understand others' writings.

It is the same with playing an instrument, for example the violin. In the first lessons, we learn how to hold the instrument with the chin, how to use the bow to produce sound and how to play a few different notes. When we can put it all together and play a

little well-known melody on the violin, our parents are moved to tears of pride. And while we improve our violin technique, which is our musical grammar, we also learn many different pieces, that is our vocabulary.

In order to keep improving our writing and playing skills, we need to practice really hard. We must do it tirelessly, trying to do it better and not to repeat the same mistakes. Also, it is very important to have a good teacher, who points out our mistakes, who suggests how we can improve and who encourages us to keep going.

We may also drink from resources of inspiration by watching really good performances of artists that we admire, like the violinists Itzaak Perlman and Hillary Hant, and reading really good pieces of writing, like some articles and op-ed pieces from The New York Times or books by great Brazilian writers such as Clarice Lispector and Machado de Assis. All these give us valuable ideas of how to improve our performance, and such ideas can be the guidelines for our next practice period.

Good writers have always something important to say. Otherwise, their papers are just a big pile of words. And they need to make sure they write clearly enough so the reader can understand them. I can say the same about music performance. Musicians have to know which story they are going to tell through the piece they are playing and the feelings they want to make the audience feel. For example, if the character of a piece is happy, the musicians have to make sure that everything they play can be translated in happiness — the sound, the articulation, the way they move their bodies, even their facial expressions.

In a good performance, every note, like every word, has a meaning. Both musicians and writers must know how to use them idiomatically, effectively and expressively. For example, when a writer is telling a story and a surprising event comes up, he or she must know how to keep the reader interested but without telling the secret before the right time. This effect of surprise also happens in music. In Beethoven's symphonies, for example, there are some passages in which the whole orchestra is playing pianissimo (very quietly) and suddenly everybody plays fortissimo (very loud) creating a surprise effect.

According to an essay called "The Maker's Eye," by Donald Murray, writing is a process. The first writing is only the first draft, the first step on a long staircase. He says the writer must be able to stand some distance from his own paper, analyze it and make it better, until the final version is achieved. For the musician, this process starts when he first sight-reads a piece. So it is followed by a period of conscious practice, in which he must be able to hear and judge what he plays, until the performance on the stage happens — that is the final version which he submits to the audience.

If writing is a process, so is music performance. And I hope all of this practice on English writing can really help me to express myself better and clearer, as a writer and as a musician as well.

Boiling water

Last week I met some nice people. Over a pot of coffee, one of my new friends who told me a story: when an egg goes through boiling water it gets hard. When a hard carrot goes through boiling water it becomes soft. And when ground coffee goes through water it becomes one of the most appreciated drinks that everyone enjoys. We shouldn't be like eggs, hardening our hearts after a hardship, nor like carrots, becoming soft - and she slumped on her chair as she said it, as if she was giving up her life. But we should be like ground coffee: as we go through a trial we become something good, useful to others.
Later that week I told my husband the story and he said: "This is cheap philosophy. You have been smarter than this!"
Well, maybe... but I have to say, that simple story really touched me. I think it is because I actually feel like a carrot, slumped on my chair, watching life pass (instead of living it).
I have been through a few struggles, some pretty nasty ones. And I feel like they made me more gracious, more enduring, more mature - like coffee, I think. But now that I am not really facing any severe storms - not on the outside, at least - I am ready to give up at the first challenge, just so I won't be frustrated and upset in case it doesn't come true. Just like a carrot. Well, it is time to wake up from this "slump" and start to make some coffee. Would you like some?

Bad news

During the years I lived in Oxford, OH, I learned from my friends and coworkers to wait until the 12th week of pregnancy to tell every one if you were expecting. At first I thought that was because it took some time to get used to the idea of having a child, get over the fright or excessive excitement the big news brought to the couple and become ready to tell the world you were going to be parents.
Well, the truth is that until the 12th week unexplained many things can happen to the embryo that could cause miscarriage. After that, it is more likely the embryo's development will follow its course into a normal pregnancy. Most people don't know that up to 1 in each 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Some  women may bleed 2 weeks after missing a period and think that was just a late period, but it could be a miscarriage.
About 2 years ago, when I was expecting my first child and had recently moved back home, I followed what I had learned from my friends and waited until close to 12 weeks to tell everyone about it. It felt safe, and it was the right thing to do. I got yelled at by some Brazilian friends for waiting so long to tell, I guess they were not used to this concept. Here, many women publicly announce their pregnancy as soon as the pharmacy test shows positive, ignoring the risk of having to tell "hundreds" of people that they have bad news.
A few weeks ago I got over excited about the big news: I was pregnant. I had morning sickness, felt sleepy and very hungry, exactly like I felt during the first few weeks of my previous pregnancy. I was scared I would have a newborn baby when my son would be just under 2 years of age. But that was what I planned: having my kids close in age so they would grow together, play together and be close friends.
So I acted like a good Brazilian: told lots of people as soon as I found out. I made plans and arrangements for our family. I bought a new nursing bra. I did a 6 week ultra sound and heard the heart beat. I thought, if I heard the heart beat, it is going to be fine. And after the morning sickness and the sleepiness were gone I felt terrific.
When the time came for the 12th week, I was scared. I feared the exam would show some sort of developmental problem with the baby. I was on vacation that week, away from home and from my husband. I had to go to the clinic by myself. As soon as the doctor touched my belly with the machine, we didn't see the image of the baby. Something was wrong. He said he had to do another test to see with more detail. And gave me the bad news: there was no heart activity, the baby was dead. I had to hold the tears. Alone, at the doctor's office... terrified. I asked a couple of questions. As soon as I walked out the door, I couldn't hold the tears anymore. I sat in the car and cried. I called someone close to me and told her. She told me to meet her somewhere. I cried some more, until I was calm enough to drive. I met my friend and as she hugged me she told me she knew how it felt.... she had lost an unborn child as well. That was horrible, but it was incredibly comforting to know someone else had gone through that too. It seemed possible to handle it.
I thanked God so much I already have a baby to hug, hold and care for. That makes it a lot more manageable. I have no idea why all this happened. I am not sure how to mourn for someone I never met. But if this ever happens to you or someone you love, know that you are not alone and it happens much more often than we are willing to tell.    

Você é brasileiro?

Essa não é uma tradução da última postagem "Are you American?". Preciso falar de algo bem mais grave desta vez.  E preciso que seja logo. Eu não aguento mais ouvir sobre corrupção no meu país. Um caderno inteiro do Estado De S. Paulo está dedicado ao tema. Já nem me animo a ler VEJA pois de capa a capa são denúncias de desvio de dinheiro público. É o meu dinheiro que eu ralo para ganhar - tá, tem gente ralando bem mais que eu e em condições bem piores, mas eu tenho que trabalhar pelo meu também - sendo ROUBADO. É, roubado. Quando verbas são desviadas, obras superfaturadas, é o MEU dinheiro que está sendo roubado. São os quase 30% de imposto que EU pago sobre TUDO o que eu recebo pelo MEU trabalho, e sobre TUDO o que compro: água, pão, sapato, fraldas para o meu filho. É o SEU dinheiro também. Nunca se descobriu tanta falcatrua e nunca se fez nada a respeito. Quantos políticos ladrões estão presos? Quantos sequer perderam os seus mandatos? Enquanto não se fizer nada, eles vão continuar roubando o nosso dinheiro - aquele que nós trabalhamos para ganhar. E o que se há de fazer? Eu não sei, mas preciso fazer alguma coisa. É por isso que estou aqui escrevendo. Estou disposta a ir para rua gritar que chega de político ladrão, que o Palocci tem que se explicar sim, que a Lei da Ficha Limpa tem que valer sim, que o Jucá tem que sair sim, etc. Quem vai? Quando? Onde? Como se organiza isso?

Are you American?

The first couple of times our friends invited us over for a gathering we arrived "late", that meaning about 30 to 40 minutes after the time we were supposed to be there. For our American friends, that was "late". They used to say we lived in the "Brazilian time". Well, in Brazil when someone says, "come over at 8pm for dinner" you would NEVER show up at 8pm because you would know they would definitely not be read for you... 30 or 40 minutes later would be perfect timing! Not late at all.
I would say we learned our lesson and started arriving on time. Now that we are back here in the tropics we are trying to keep it up. Not easy. Last week we arrived 10 minutes before the orchestra bus was supposed to leave for a out-of-town concert - assuming, by the "Brazilian time", it would leave about 15 minutes late, so that was plenty of time. We wouldn't be back until the middle of the night so we had to make complicated arrangements so we could leave our son with Grandma. We travelled 3 hours to pick her up, 3 hours back home. I pumped 3 bottles of breast milk so she could feed him during the 12 hours we would be gone. So we waited the reasonable 15 minutes and nobody knew where our bus was. 30 minutes later someone called the orchestra producer to say the driver was in town, but was lost. A couple more minutes and we hear that the bus was on the road, wouldn't be there for another hour or more. OK, that's at least one more feeding that I could have given my son, would I have known this... I could have spent 2 more hours with him... OK, someone gotta be responsible for this... OK, it is insane! How can we live like this? Next thing I know I am asking myself, is it worth it? To leave my son so I can wait endlessly for a bus that will arrive nobody knows when? If you are on time here, you are going to wait.
This is just another way of saying it has not been easy to re-adjust to life here. I am definitely Brazilian, but America has definitely changed me more than I wanted to. Now I feel homesick from America.

Maternity leave: 6 weeks or 6 months???

A week ago my son was 6 weeks old and I realized that if I was still living and working in the US that would be the end of my maternity leave. I would have to go back to work... and I wasn't ready for that! He is so fragile, so dependent, how in world could I trust someone else to take care of him? Well, I had left him with my mother-in-law for a couple hours here and there... but now that she's gone I had to resort to a baby sitter: it was not easy. I kept thinking, "if something wrong happens to him it is all my fault. I hope he is still alive when I come back." And I was gone for only for 3 hours in an entire week! Now I am wondering how a mom can return to her full-time job, leaving her beloved baby with someone for long hours everyday, after mere 6 weeks... my dear American, working friends, I admire you in a whole new way!
After 6 weeks I can barely take care of myself and the house. I eat frozen food for lunch and count on my dear husband's mercy to bring something home or prepare something for dinner. Every time my son takes a "cat nap"- that's the most he will do during the day - I have to quickly choose something from the to do list. Should I run and try to put a load of laundry in the washer or try to eat a snack quickly before he wakes up? So not much gets accomplished in a regular day besides making sure the baby is fed, rested and changed. Putting a full-time job on top of the stack is just unthinkable. Working moms, I don't now how you do it, but you are my new heroes!
In Brazil every woman has the right to a paid maternity leave of 4 months, in some cases 6 months. That makes possible to breast-feed for that long and since mom is still getting paid she doesn't have to worry about what she'll eat. Dads are entitled 5 business days off. Nice, but what are moms supposed to do after that? What if they don't have their mom or someone else to help out? During my pregnancy I kept wondering how would I and the baby survive without dad here. Thankfully my mother-in-law and my aunt came and made all the difference.
So my request is 6 weeks of paternity leave so dad can be home and make sure mom and baby survive these first weeks and 6 months of paid, undisturbed maternity leave to all working moms. That is the least we can do to allow the most important job on earth to be done: care for our beloved children.
Well, now that I've been through the first 6 weeks I am still wondering what moms are supposed to do when their      

Dores de parto

No último dia 5 nasceu meu filho. Uma emoção só. Comecei a sentir contrações no dia 4 `a noite, mas consegui dormir entre uma e outra. `As 6 da manhã as contrações vinham a cada 7 minutos. Tínhamos optado por um parto natural (não necessariamente por conviccção, mas por falta de opção), então contratamos uma doula. Por volta do meio-dia ela chegou para ajudar a lidar com as dores. Ela sugeriu que me sentasse na bola de Pilates, depois tomasse uma ducha, depois entrasse na banheira, fez massagem nas minhas costas durante cada uma das incontáveis contrações, tudo para ajudar a aliviar a dor. Perdi a noção do tempo. Só percebi que ficou escuro. E eu esperando que ela me dissesse que era hora de ir para a maternidade, o que me idicaria que estava quase no fim, mas essa hora não chegava... Desesperada e esgotada, eu disse: "eu não aguento mais!" E foi então que as sábias palavras da nossa querida doula fizeram a diferença e eu me percebi superando a dor. A cada contração eu respirava fundo e soprava na direção de um ponto de foco: a maçaneta da porta, o buraco da fechadura, o canto da janela. As contrações estavam tão próximas que eu mal conseguia relaxar entre uma e outra. Até que finalmente chegou a hora: a bolsa estourou e tivemos que ir para a maternidade `as pressas. Chegando lá, entrei na banheira e me agachei. Em pouco tempo já podia tocar o cabelinho da cabeça do bebê. Algumas contrações vieram e nada da cabeça sair, então a obstetra sugeriu que eu mudasse de posição. Eu estava completamente exausta e queria acabar com aquilo logo, então na contração seguinte eu fiz toda a força que pude e a cabecinha saiu! Mais uma força e o corpinho veio em seguida. Em poucos minutos colocaram um lindo bebê nos meus braços. Achei que ele era a cara do pai.
Tudo muito tranquilo até a consulta do 5o. dia com o pediatra. "Ele está bem amarelo... " Era icterícia. "Ele tem que mamar a cada 3 horas, tomar banho de sol e se não melhorar vai ter que internar para tomar banho de luz." Que mãe não ficaria desesperada com a possibilidade de ter que internar seu filho? Saímos com o coração partido e um pedido de exame de sangue urgente, o médico queria o resultado "para ontem". O plano de saúde que automaticamente atende o filho recém-nascido por até 30 dias com a carteirinha da mãe exigiu uma autorização especial para fazer o exame. Autorizar o que se o prcedimento já é previsto no plano??? Meia-hora de espera e nada de autorização. Como é que eu poderia ficar plantada numa recepção de laboratório com um bebê de 5 dias sem previsão de atendimento??? Decidi pagar para fazer o exame como particular mesmo. Mas aí mais espera para ser atendida... essa angústia era muito maior que qualquer dor de parto.
Quando tivemos que interná-lo para o tratamento eu fiz questão de ligar para o plano de saúde e verificar o procedimento para não ter que ficar numa recepção asséptica com meu bebê. Mas uma nova autorização foi necessária. Mais meia-hora de espera para interná-lo, mais meia-hora de angústia. O tratamento foi tranquilo e voltamos para casa no dia seguinte. Ainda me questiono se poderia ter evitado a icterícia e a internação. E chego `a conclusão de que as dores do parto são apenas o começo. Há muito mais por vir!

The neighbor smokes/Texto em Portugues abaixo

So the downstairs neighbor smokes. And the smoke comes right through our windows - which we have to leave open since it is quite warm in here. As soon as we smell the smoke we close the windows as fast as we can and turn on the fan, in an attempt to preserve our lungs and our sanity.
I guess he is on his right to do whatever he wants in his apartment. But how far do his rights go? Where does my right to breath clean air in my own home begin? Hard to answer.
I am so grateful for the law prohibiting smoking in closed, public spaces. I am so thankful when this law is in fact respected. (Dear friends from US, I have to remind you that in Brazil there is a huge difference from there being a law and it being observed...) I appreciate the fact that in the apartment complex where we lived in US renters were not allowed to smoke inside the building. But now I am so disappointed to have won the lottery of finding an apartment right above someone who smokes inside his apartment and sends the smoke to the air I have to breath.
One is not allowed to smoke in the public areas of the building (hallways, lobby, etc) but inside one's own apartment who can tell him or her what to do or not to do? And who can obligate me to inhale smoke that wish I didn't have to?
This thing of living in society is tricky. The closer we live to people the more complicated it gets. But who can live without it? The neighbor who bothers the most might end up saving my day sometime... who knows?

Texto em Português
E o vizinho de baixo fuma. E a fumaça vem parar aqui em casa, já que temos que deixar as janelas abertas por causa do calor. Tão logo a gente sinte os primeiros sinais do cheiro de cigarro, fechamos as janelas o mais rápido que pudemos e ligamos o ventilador, numa tentativa desesperada de manter intactos nossos pulmões e nossa sanidade mental.
Acho que ele (o vizinho) está no seu direito de fazer o que bem entender no apartamento que lhe pertence. Mas até onde vai esse direito? Onde será que começa o meu direito de respirar sem fumaça na minha própria casa? Fica difícil de responder.
Eu agradeço pela lei que proibe fumar em locais públicos fechados e agradeço mais ainda quando essa lei é de fato respeitada. Afinal, no Brasil infelizmente existe uma grande diferença entra existir uma lei e esta ser cumprida na realidade. No prédio de apartamentos onde morávamos nos EUA os inquilinos eram proibidos de fumar dentro do prédio, talvez até para evitar o risco de incêndio. Mas agora eu ganhei na loteria de ter alugado um apartamento exatamente acima de alguém que decidiu fumar em seu apartamento e mandar o cheiro do cigarro e suas toxinas no ar que eu respiro - dentro da minha própria casa.
Existe uma proibição de fumar nas áreas comuns do edifício, como no hall de entrada e hall de elevadores. Mas para aí, pois quem poderia dizer a outrem o que fazer ou deixar de fazer na sua própria residência? E quem poderia me obrigar a inalar fumaça de cigarro a contragosto?
É, viver em sociedade é mesmo complicado. E fica mais complicado quanto mais próximo vivemos do outro. Mas quem pode viver isolado? O vizinho que `as vezes purturba pode ser o que vai mais ajudar uma hora dessas... será???

Too much Facebook - texto em Portugues abaixo

Have you seen those articles on how people spend hours on Facebook, Twitter, MSN and have less and less time for real relationships? I have read such articles nodding in agreement, but not considering myself one of them, until... well, until it become evident that I am!
I have moved recently to another city and to a different country altogether. I have been using the internet to keep in touch with old friends. Some days, even though I don't comment on anyone's post nor write anyone a message, I still feel I am in touch with them just by reading what they have posted. But what does this mean to the relationship? The person doesn't even know I've read what he or she posted! And this feeling of being constantly in touch may make me think that I don't need to seek friends in this new place so much. Besides, getting on Facebook is so much easier than making new friendships. Of course this is a much more complex issue, but the point needs to be made.
I can't deny the important role Facebook and other social networks have played on helping me keep in touch with precious friends and also making me reconnect with people with whom I had lost contact completely. But I can't just seat here in front of the computer and think that relationships only happen this way. I need to remind myself that besides the virtual world there is the real world, each one with its pros and cons, but both equally essential to our lives.

Texto em Portugues
Já viu alguma daquelas reportagens sobre como as pessoas tem ficado muitas horas ligadas no Facebook, Twitter, Orkut, MSN, etc e tem deixado de lado - ou tido mais dificuldade em manter - relacionamentos reais ou presenciais?
Eu lia tais artigos balançando a cabeça em afirmação, pensando: é mesmo, tem gente que não sai mais de casa, não encontra os amigos, só fica em casa na frente do computador. Mas eu não achava que eu era uma dessas pessoas, até que... bem, até que ficou evidente que eu sou!
Tendo mudado de cidade (e de país) recentemente, tenho usado a internet para me comunicar com velhos amigos e ficar por dentro do que acontece por lá. Mesmo que eu não escreva um post nem mande uma mensagem para algum amigo, só de ler o que eles postam me faz sentir como se eu estivesse em contato e participando de alguma forma da vida deles. Mas qual será a qualidade dessa interação - se é que posso chamar isso de interação? A pessoa que escreveu o post nem sabe que eu o li! E essa sensação de estar em contato com as pessoas pode me levar a pensar que eu nem preciso tanto ir atrás de relacionamentos "reais" com pessoas que moram aqui, as quais eu possa encontrar e conviver de fato. É claro que essa questão é mais complexa do que isso, mas é um ponto a ser pensado e considerado.
Não posso negar a enorme utilidade do Facebook e outras redes sociais em me ajudar a manter contato com preciosos amigos e reencontrar pessoas que não encontraria de outra forma. Mas também não posso me acomodar nessa cadeira em frente ao computador e esperar que os relacionamentos só aconteçam dessa forma. Preciso me lembrar de que além do mundo virtual também existe o mundo real, cada um com seus prós e cons, mas igualmente necessários na nossa vida.
Eu entro no Facebook várias vezes por dia e me sinto frustrada quando os posts que aparecem são os mesmos que vi da última vez que entrei - sinal de que talvez eu esteja mais no facebook do que as outras pessoas! Ou pelo menos com mais frequencia do que a capacidade das pessoas de atualizarem seus status.
Talvez eu devesse estar passando mais tempo fazendo algo que favoreça o encontro de novas amizades, especialmente daquelas que possam ser presenciais, que demandem convivencia, troca, interação. Dá muito mais trabalho do que entrar no Facebook, mas não são as coisas que dão mais trabalho as que mais valem a pena?

Almoço de domingo/Sunday's lunch-text in English below

Em Oxford, era quase uma tradição: depois da igreja, a galera ia almoçar junto em algum lugar, fosse na casa de alguém, fosse num restaurante. O interessante era que muitas vezes o convidante dizia: "Estou preparando tal prato para o almoço." E mudava-se de assunto. E era só. Você se sentiria convidado ou não? Eu não me sentia convidada. Ficava faltando a frase, "você gostaria de vir conosco?"
E foi assim que deixei de ir em muitos almoços de domingo, até entender que na praticidade e objetividade americana não cabiam gentilezas e firulas. Aquilo era o convite.
O que antes não parecia suficiente agora é mais do que desejado. Não estamos frequentando nenhuma igreja ainda, não temos um grupo de amigos para sair e encontrar de vez em quando, e nem convites para almoços de domingo. Nem ninguém mencionando o que está preparando para o almoço... porque se tivesse eu certamente aceitaria como sendo um convite!

In Oxford it was almost a tradition to go out and eat lunch with friends after Sunday's church service. Very often the inviter would say, I am making such and such dishes for lunch. And that was it, he or she would change the subject. Would you feel invited or not? I didn't. I kept waiting for the phrase, would you like to join us? And that was how I missed uncountable Sunday lunches, until the day I understood that for my American friends that was enough, that was the invitation. 
Now that those "invitations" are absent they became so desired. We are not attending any particular church. We don't have a group of friends to hang out now and then, nor the invitation for Sunday lunch. There is  no one mentioning what they are preparing for Sunday's lunch, but if there was I would certainly accept that as an invitation!