An hour and 25 minutes in the Kornfield-Brazil household

1:45PM - I'm hungry. Time for lunch. Dad isn't eating lunch today because he had breakfast, which he doesn't usually do. I usually eat around 1:00, but I had breakfast late, so here I am. I finish a couple e-mails, send a couple of chat messages to friends who have gotten in touch letting them know I'm leaving for a bit, glance at my messy desk. The blue-glass cross I bought at a friend's garage sale yesterday is waiting to go up in the guest room. I go to look for nails. Find that the place I want to put it is hard cement and my feeble attempts with a hammer aren't going to cut it. Call my Dad. He says we'll have to use the electric drill to make the holes. I offer to have the pedreiro (Brazilian construction professional who usually works independently and is contracted and paid informally) do it next time he's here (he has several jobs pending for us). My dad sighs with relief. I just need to remember to call Manoel, the pedreiro, and find out where he's been. Lunch! I head to the kitchen. 2:15

I pop some left-overs in the microwave. While its heating, I start putting Brazilian tea bags in the "new" tea box I got at the garage sale. They don't have names on them individually, so I cut out pieces of the boxes in which they came to identify each kind. Food's hot. Just need to run to the bathroom and get my novel from upstairs. Reading during lunch sounds nice - relaxing. There are a bunch of things from the garage sale waiting on the stairs to be taken up, though. I grab an armful on the way and put them away in their respectful spots. Then, having taken care of my other business, I head back downstairs. Food's cold. 2:23.

I turn on the microwave again and remember I wanted to ask my dad if he's up for paying for fixing a couple of pieces of wooden furniture in our house that have fallen into disrepair. "Sure!" he says. I just need to remember to go up to the top of the street sometime and ask someone from the carpenter shop to give me a quote. Of course, all my neighbors say that shop is ridiculously expensive. Maybe they'll give me a break... besides, I don't know any other wood-workers. Of course, my neighbors probably do. If the people at the top of the street are expensive, I'll have to ask around. Geogea (the lady from down the street who comes to clean once a week, a good friend who is spiritually hungry and has started going to church with me, also the mother of 5 darlings ages 11 months to 11 years that continually bring me great joy) might know someone.

Meanwhile, my dad is counting his book stores (he constantly takes his books, my mom's books and other books he especially likes from Christian editors with which he has partnerships to sell at events). I remember that I've pulled several books out of the "books for sale" bookshelf in the family room (near the office) because people were asking me about them and I wanted to provide details. I go and get them. My dad sighs - he'll have to change some of his numbers. "Rachel, didn't we have more of this one?" "Yes, they're in a row behind the one's you're looking at." "No they're not, I don't see them!" "Yes they are, they're just lying down so that they could hold other's up." "Well, you can't put them lying down, I can't see them that way." "OK, Dad, next time I won't." Back to the kitchen. 2:28. Hungry! Miraculously the food is still hot. Yum. Finished off with delicious Brazilian coffee. 2:42. Time to go write the post I made up in my head during lunch. That novel never got opened. 3:10 PM, Monday, Nov. 9th.