Well, there’s nothing like a little trip to Prague to interfere with good blogging intentions.  We visited the Czech Republic last week – it was a good trip full of beautiful sights:

This was real! The water was moving and everything.

 and good friends:

Kiddos on the Metro.

and a couple of smells, but we won’t focus on that…Anyway, it’s taken me most of this week to get back into the spirit of blogging and also I haven’t yet called Simone and she’s going to kill me. 

Simone, the German lady who lives next door has become such the part of our lives.  I call her my third mother (I already have a mother and a step-mother) because, well, she is.  She’s got the whole motherly thing going one even though she’s almost the same age as I am.  She’s excellent at it and meets all motherly criteria – she lives close – like mothers like to do if they can, she’s always baking things and bringing them over, and she has the grandmotherly superpower of not thinking my kids are ever being terrible, awful little urchins.  She also has those motherly mannerisms and passive agressive ways about her that, while endearing, tend to drive a ”kid” up a wall  - she expects to be called, she can hang around a little long and she’s all WAY up in my stuff with better suggestions on how I can do everything.  But have I mentioned she brings cookies over?

We play a game.  She loves to ask me about my things  - anything – and if it’s an American thing, she’ll get that look someone has when they eat something that’s a little “off” and helpfully suggest the German equivalent which, if you didn’t know this already, is ALWAYS better.  Her particular favorite thing to set me straight on is household cleaning supplies.  For example, she’ll say – Sally, what are you putting in your dishwasher when you run it?  And I’ll say…um…dishwashing detergent?   She’ll counter with -  American or the German kind?  And when I gulp and tell her American, she always winces as if she feels sorry for me that I don’t know any better.  Then, while shaking her head, she’ll launch into a 33 point diatribe on the benefits of German versus American dishwashing fluid.  Then to back up the point, I’ll find a box of it dropped secretly on my doorstep sometime in the week following.   She has done this with  my dish sponge (oh, Sally, you DON’T…),  my kitchen towels, my flour, my coffee creamer (“the GERMAN kind always lists the percentage of real cream in the cream half of the half-n-half – why is the American kind so vague?”), my appliances,  my laundry soap and oh so many more things that I can’t remember right now.

Paul says that the Germans like to think of us as the futuristic humans in Wall-E, the kids movie.  For those that don’t know what I’m talking about, in the movie Earth had been made uninhabitable long ago (except for robots) and the humans all went into space to live.  They had to float around in completely automated space cruiseships, and over thousands of years, since everything was automated, evolution turned us into gelatinous short-limbed blobs that would just propel ourselves around in reclining chairs and order the ship’s computer to wake us at noon and make us our double tall mochas with extra whip.  Unfortunately the humans were then relocated to Germany where they had to learn to actually DO things!  With our arms and stuff!  They didn’t know about such things as mixers, or yeast, or butchers or good laundry soap.  We just always did what the computers said, but now we have a Simone to set us straight.  Again, I go along with this part because she brings BAKERY!  To my house!

So I have to call her to check in. 

I have a lot to do in general.  I have to buy presents.  I have to clean the house.  And pressing on me is the feeling that I have to get to the gym this month.  It’s Christmas, yes, but still.  I’ve been fighting a losing battle with a flu for about a month now, and I’m not drinking water and I just feel…I don’t know…gelatinous I guess.  I need activity to loosen all this…me…up.   But I need help. I need motivation.   What do you do to get motivated to move, to sweat-to-the-oldies, power walk, lay on a giant ball, or whatever it is you do?  Someone – give me something to get me up and going.  

But for now…COMPUTER!  MOCHA!

I have longer hair though.

……………….

i’ve been getting settled in my new office and i snapped a few photos the other day. the walls are pretty bare for now, but the photo postcards i’ve got hanging up are from maria. i love them.

a few very random things to share today…

currently enjoying:
+ saladclub.co.uk
+ sight unseen (such interesting stuff — “a peek into the lives of creatives”)
+ THINGS (i’m usually not big on tumblr sites that compile images, but i really love the images here)
+ it’s nice that
+ the photography from edwin spring/summer 2010
+ and if you are wondering what to buy me for christmas, look no further

………
also, last night i had the extreme pleasure to be among 150 other fans at a special mumford & sons show outdoors in trafalgar square, behind st. martin-in-the-fields. and it was damn amazing. there was a huge, full moon hanging overhead and we could see our breath but the rain had stopped in time for the show, so it didn’t matter. they served up hot mulled wine and the band’s family and friends were there. it was such a special, intimate show and i’m thrilled that i could attend. they played a cover of “not in nottingham” from the disney version of robin hood and it was AMAZING. i’ve found a recording of the band singing this song so i have to share it with you today – listen here.

and if you still need to be convinced why these guys are so good, then watch this video.  awesome.

have a great day.

…………..

i’ve only been here for about 3 weeks, but there seems to be a vibrant and exciting food scene here in london. i’m not surprised, to be honest.  but it certainly makes me insanely happy.

today, i’m sharing some photos from the whitecross street market. every weekday, the vendors set up shop and sell an amazing variety of foods to hungry lunch crowds. the market is on a small side street near my office, and it’s really wonderful. there is amazing chorizo, grilled and served on country bread with roasted peppers and arugula (or rocket, if you’re british). i’ve also spotted thai food and indian curry, a vegetarian table with haloumi burgers and fresh soups, and a cart selling delicious, spicy falafel + hummus pitas. i haven’t tried the burrito truck pictured above because the line is super long, but i’ve heard good things and it’s next on my list. there is a great coffee roaster serving drinks made with square mile coffee (mmm), and a few vendors selling good cheeses and excellent sweets.

my favorite so far is “the roast of sherwood.” amazing roasted pork with fennel, garlic and rosemary, sliced and served hot on a soft bun with arugula and a sweet chili sauce. and if you ask nicely, they will sprinkle some pork cracklings on top for you. unwrap, eat, and you’re in heaven. seriously.

stumbling upon little things like this market is what i’ve really enjoyed about living in london so far.

…………

also, i was happy to find out that one of my photos was featured on dooce.com’s holiday gift guide for him.  if you are looking for a special holiday gift, you should buy some of the wonderful photos in the simply photo pop-up shop today.

i’ll be back here soon to share a few websites i’ve been enjoying lately. cheers!

……………

those birch trees outside of the tate modern in london are pretty impressive, i must say. i’d seen a few photos of them before, but there is something to be said for walking between the rows of white trunks on a grey afternoon.

and speaking of museums, thanks to those of you who suggested stopping by the museum of everything. i loved it … a great space filled with curious and interesting work.  after my visit, i’ve been thinking about art created without the expectation that another person will see it. secret art. how would that change your creative process? i like the idea of making something solely for my own satisfaction and i’d like to do that more often.  in this way, a lot of the art in the museum of everything appears to be less of an effort to make a statement, and more of a meditation or a way to navigate a private obsession.   (more info about this museum here)

well, enough heavy thinking for me today. i’ve got some food photos to share — see you back here soon.

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I have much to be thankful for.

• Today is our wedding anniversary. That’s right, Milady has been putting up with my craziness for twenty-three years today.
• It is also six years to the day since we moved into our house.
• We have a roof over our head
• We have a fridge full of food.
• We are debt-free except for the house.
• We live on less than we make.
• I have a job that I live that allows me to make a good living.

That makes me luckier than about 98% of the world’s population

This teeny gift guide is for the type of guy that likes whiskey, plaid, books, colorful clothes, and eating eggs. Basically, it’s for guys like my manfriend. Enjoy.

Click the photo to visit the listing.

Uncle Herbs Holiday Blazer @ MotherMidnight

Deviled Eggs Platter @ highstreetmarket

Leather Flask @ nowvintage

Cowboy Booties @ SevenSeasVintage

Brass Bookends @ fabulousmess

Yellow V-neck Sweater @ BetaPorHomme

“Há de chegar a hora
em que, com alegria,
você vai se cumprimentar ao chegar
à porta de casa, em seu próprio espelho,
e cada um sorrirá diante da acolhida do outro,

e dirá, sente-se aqui. Coma.
Você amará de novo o estranho que era si mesmo.
Dê vinho. Dê pão. Devolva seu coração
a ele mesmo, ao estranho que amou você

desde que você nasceu, que você ignorou
por outro, que o conhece de cor.
Tire as cartas de amor da estante,

as fotografias, os bilhetes desesperados,
tire suas própria imagem do espelho.
Sente-se. Celebre a sua vida.”

Derek Walcott

………………..

the book photos above are from nigel slater’s newest, “tender” (vol. 1). not surprisingly, this was the first book i bought here in the U.K. (i had trouble finding it in the U.S.). i can’t say enough good things about this book. it’s a must-have for anyone interested in growing their own small patch of fruit or veg. and if you live in a city and you can’t find the space to grow your own, but your heart skips a beat whenever you hit the farmer’s market — then this book is also for you. it celebrates eating in a very straightforward, unfussy way. these are mostly simple recipes that will surprise you – nigel has a way of putting together different ingredients in a way you have not seen before. i think i’ll always remember this as my first proper british cookbook … i can’t wait to get into the kitchen and prepare some of these dishes.

speaking of food and cooking; during this week leading up to Thanksgiving in the U.S., i have to admit that i’m going to miss this holiday! i’m getting together with a group of american expats on thursday night for a thanksgiving dinner of our own, and i’m sure we’ll have a great meal.  but it won’t be the same without some time spent in the kitchen on thursday morning. i always love preparing a few dishes for the feast … unfortunately, i can’t do much cooking this year since i’m still in temporary housing. but just as soon as i get moved into my own flat next week, i hope to cook up a storm. i really can’t wait.

so, please taunt me and let me know what you are excited to make for your thanksgiving feast … i’ll live vicariously through all of you!

http://www7.zippyshare.com/view.jsp?locale=sv&key=28415335

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top image is mine, a brooklyn sunset.
bottom images: 1. Untitled, by Lotte Scott; 2. morning coffee at St.Peterburg, by cloudsfollower; 3. Untitled, by coquinette; 4. felice anno nuovo, by m a v.

…………………
the sun sets in london quite early … by 4pm, night has fallen. instead of fighting the longer nights, i’m going to try to embrace them. it makes it easier when i see that filtered, golden autumn sunshine during the day.

a few links i’m enjoying…
+ heaven can wait, charlotte gainsbourg & beck (the video is so cool)
+ a father/daughter roadtrip documented on camera, “in search of eustace” (via 2 or 3 things i know)
+ a blog i’m enjoying, dot com dot co dot uk

looking forward to a super weekend around here. hope yours is fun, too! happy friday.

Hmm…I took this pic last week on the way to work.  After I get my coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts, I have to walk through the grass (no sidewalks on this stretch of 22nd street). Sometimes it’s wet and my shoes get soaked..but on this cool, brisk morning, I walked through frozen, crunchy, frosty grass.

Here’s the pic…kind of blurry,  because it’s my cellphone…but I like the leaves in the middle of it all:

Frosty, yes..and crunchy, too.

Oh, I should take my camera with me to work. I’d probably get some pretty interesting shots of..well…everything!

Speaking of  “everything”, I’ve decided to try out a new name for my blog. I really don’t write about pharmacy much anymore.  I mean…I’m in the pharmacy 8 hours a day, so why the heck would I want to write about it and the pills I stare at all day long?  A post about work here and there is fine…but my life isn’t all about the drugs. I think I write about a little bit of everything…hence, the new name!  We’ll see how it goes.

That was phonetic. 

St. Martin’s Day was celebrated last week on Friday (in our village).  I had never heard of this holiday, but when I received the invitation from Griffin’s kindergarten with a date and time on it, I knew I’d have to study up.  They gave me the pamphlet with music all over it and said, “Maybe you come und sing vit us fur Sahnt Mahtin?” 

I bristle when I get pieces of paper from Kindergarten with dates and times on them because I know they are expecting me to go somewhere where there will be other parents.  When we are at these events, we get the “grandparent that needs a Miracle Ear” syndrome,  where Grandpa is there in the room and the family is socializing, all having a conversation, but he’s off in the corner and kind of zoned out, so he’s not really THERE, there.  That’s us – we’re there physically but that’s it.  We can’t understand anyone, and for a while, like Grandpa does, we strain and stretch our imagination and limits to try to pick out a familiar word here or there and maybe we’ll even try to say something once or twice.  It’s usually not relevant or even understood, so we end up off by ourselves in a corner getting the feeling that they’re all talking about putting us in a nursing home, but not really knowing for sure.  It makes for a tense and paranoid evening.  But then she added, “Zer will be a fire, und the gluhwein too, so we hopes to see you zeyre!”  Now wait a minute – she said gluhwein so that changed everything.  Like Grandpa, when you add a little alcohol to an awkward evening, it can only help.  And gluhwein is my current love – it’s a hot, spiced, usually red, wine that they simmer in kettles and ladle out in mugs at outdoor events here in the Germany.  Sweet, warm and Christmasy - like Santa pee!

St. Martin’s Day is celebrating…yes…that’s right…St. Martin!  It’s a kind of celebration/reenactment thing.  St. Martin (drop the St. at this point) was a Roman soldier and very kind.  The legend says that one day he was riding through a village and spotted a freezing beggar in the streets.  He ripped his cloak in half and gave half to the beggar.  What a guy. Later, The Church made him a Bishop and (also legend), he accepted this position rather reluctantly – The Church actually had to hunt him down by lantern light in the night because  St. Martin was all, “Noooo I don’t wanna be a Bishop!”  and The Church was all, “Oh THERE you are!  We can see you with our Lanterne – now go! Be a good Bishop and we’ll all re-enact this someday!”

The celebration, which mainly involves the children of the village,  goes like this:  You meet at the church and there’s a brief service (brief because every child in the village is there and you can’t hear anything), followed by a trek through the streets with music and lanterns (held by the kids) to a big bonfire party at the Kindergarten.   

So we met at our village’s church, which reminded me of somewhere they might hold a witch trial.  The church is in the middle of town, and rather run down looking, and inside it’s just plain white walls and honey colored oak pews and accents.  The bell tower functions just fine (it’s always sounding the time at 15 minute increments), and about 15 minutes before the celebration, we heard the bells summoning us to the church – kind of cool.  It’s never called US before! We walked down and soon saw everyone else coming from all over Mackenbach.  Please view the video to the right to hear the stern German church guy (Pastor?  Father?  I have no idea) giving his sermon – I just so loved his voice – he had that stereotypical Colonal Klink voice – the Angry German voice – we all know it.  Seemed out-of-place at this kid-oriented thing.  And since we couldn’t understand him, we could only imagine what he was saying to the kids…

NOW YOU CHILTREN LIZZEN TO ME!  IF YOU ARE NOT GOOD LITTLE KINDER VOR YOUR MUTTERS AND FATTERS, VEE VILL COME FOR YOU VIT DEESE LANTERNS AND BEAT YOU VIT DEM OVER YOUR NOGGENS UNTIL YOU COMPLY! *

It didn’t seem to be scary though because there was some laughing and funny stuff happening.  I think.

So here’s a picture of the boys with their lanterne (lantern-a) about to go down to the church…

We bought Cameron's Lanterne, but Griffin made his at Kindergarten.

Griffin had been studying the songs for awhile at school, and I punched them out at home on the piano a few times and sang along on the walk to the Kindergarten. 

The crowd with their lanterne and 4-piece brass band making our way across the village.

 And finally we made it to the bonfire party – there was Gluhwein, Kinder-Punch (gluhwein for kids), brats (of course), and two kinds of pretzels (bretzel).  And Lo!  There were many American families there who either lived in the village or had kids in other classes at the Kindergarten.  Who knew.  No matter – after a couple mugs of gluhwein I was brave enough to talk a little of the German to some tolerant elders at the fire.  I will elaborate more on how the language thing is going, but I’ll just sum this night up as a victory in that department.  The kids ran around with each other in the pitch blackness over rocks and near fire, the eltern drank and ate and socialized, there was a somewhat elaborate re-enactment in there somewhere (if the video loads, it will be down by the church one soon) and it made us feel at one with our village in a way we hadn’t experienced before.  A sense of camaraderie and kinship and a sense of Father Church being ever-present (there is no separation of church and state here – the Kindergartens are all run by the churches) was there in a way we don’t get in American towns.  Trick or treating is the closest thing we have to it, I suppose.  As you might know, we would definitely not describe ourselves as religious, but I appreciate how going to religious services can make “many feel like one”.  This event had that feeling to it.

Later, Paul was scolded by the attending fire dept for letting some German kids too close to the fire. As if he was with them.

Look Out St. Martin! Me and my ducky light are coming for YOU!

* I’m sure that by writing these things out like this, or saying Colonal Klink or whatever that it’s offensive to some, but I’m intending for it to be offensive to me and my kind and not to Germans.  I’m doing this for effect and from the standpoint of us – the stupid Americans that don’t know any better and are bewildered at everything – we hear it that way, it doesn’t really sound that way.  For the record, I think German is gorgeous, contrary to what I thought before I took the time to learn a little.  It’s musical, and intricate and exact and very beautiful.  I can’t wait to learn it well and have “an American accent”.

I am feeling a little quiet these days. Is it the pending winter, general anxiety, or feeling fried? Not sure yet, but I know the cure is to get out of my head, use my hands, and get away from the intertubes.

That’s why I am giving myself a project that requires tools, steel wool, electricity, and creativity. I’m going to try to make a decorative lamp from an old oil can. I might singe my hairs — stay tuned.

Well Cameron’s school conference went swimmingly – he’s enjoying himself in his class, has many friends there and is well-behaved and bright, according to his teacher.  Teach went on to remark that Cameron’s particularly keen in the mathematics field, and thusly has been placed in the highest math group – they work at individual levels because they vary so much at this stage.  Further, he added, “Each morning, I write a difficult math problem on the board and ask the kids to solve it so they don’t bother me for a while *, and Boom – Cameron gets it right away every time.  And these are hard problems – he’s a good critical thinker”.  Then he brought out some paperwork and handed it to us and explained that each teacher gets one pick from their class to join the Math Olympiads and if Cameron was interested, he could be the chosen one.  I have no idea what’s involved in the Math Olympiads but I’ll find out because Cameron was all over it.  In the meantime, in preparation for the inevitable, I have to Google Search:  How to treat a black eye.

*  He’s a funny one, Cameron’s teacher – he always takes the sarcastic route – a route I know well.  He’ll continue with this teacher through the fourth grade which is awesome.

“Querida,

Não pense que a pessoa tem tanta força assim a ponto de levar qualquer espécie de vida e continuar a mesma. Até cortar os próprios defeitos pode ser perigoso – nunca se sabe qual é o defeito que sustenta nosso edifício inteiro. Nem sei como lhe explicar minha alma. Mas o que eu queria dizer é que a gente é muito preciosa, e que é somente até um certo ponto que a gente pode desistir de si própria e se dar aos outros e às circunstâncias. Depois que uma pessoa perde o respeito a si mesma e o respeito às suas próprias necessidades – depois disso fica-se um pouco um trapo.

Eu queria tanto, tanto estar junto de você e conversar e contar experiências minhas e dos outros. Você veria que há certos momentos em que o primeiro dever a realizar é em relação a si mesmo. Eu mesma não queria contar a você como estou agora, porque achei inútil. Pretendia apenas lhe contar o meu novo caráter, um mês antes de irmos para o Brasil, para você estar prevenida. Mas espero de tal forma que no navio ou avião que nos leva de volta eu me transforme instantaneamente na antiga que eu era, que talvez nem fosse necessário contar. Querida, quase quatro anos me transformaram muito. Do momento em que me resignei, perdi toda a vivacidade e todo interesse pelas coisas. Você já viu como um touro castrado se transforma num boi? Assim fiquei eu… em que pese a dura comparação… Para me adaptar ao que era inadaptável, para vencer minhas repulsas e meus sonhos, tive que cortar meus grilhões - cortei em mim a forma que poderia fazer mal aos outros e a mim. E com isso cortei também minha força. Espero que você nunca me veja assim resignada, porque é quase repugnante. Espero que no navio que me leve de volta, só a idéia de ver você e de retomar um pouco minha vida – que não era maravilhosa mas era uma vida – eu me transforme inteiramente.

Uma amiga, um dia, encheu-se de coragem, como ela disse e me perguntou: “Você era muito diferente, não era?”. Ela disse que me achava ardente e vibrante, e que quando me encontrou agora se disse: ou esta calma excessiva é uma atitude ou então ela mudou tanto que parece quase irreconhecível. Uma outra pessoa disse que eu me movo com lassidão de mulher de cinqüenta anos. Tudo isso você não vai ver nem sentir, queira Deus. Não haveria necessidade de lhe dizer, então. Mas não pude deixar de querer lhe mostrar o que pode acontecer com uma pessoa que fez pacto com todos, e que se esqueceu de que o nó vital de uma pessoa deve ser respeitado. Ouça: respeite mesmo o que é ruim em você – respeite sobretudo o que você imagina que é ruim em você – pelo amor de Deus, não queira fazer de você mesma uma pessoa perfeita – não copie uma pessoa ideal, copie você mesma – é esse o único meio de viver.

Juro por Deus que se houvesse um céu, uma pessoa que se sacrificou por covardia – será punida e irá para um inferno qualquer. Se é que uma vida morna não será punida por essa mesma mornidão. Pegue para você o que lhe pertence, e o que lhe pertence é tudo aquilo que sua vida exige. Parece uma vida amoral. Mas o que é verdadeiramente imoral é ter desistido de si mesma. Espero em Deus que você acredite em mim. Gostaria mesmo que você me visse e assistisse minha vida sem eu saber. Isso seria uma lição para mim. Ver o que pode suceder quando se pactua com a comodidade de alma.

Tua Clarice”

“Vai passar, tu sabes que vai passar. Talvez não amanhã, mas dentro de uma semana, um mês ou dois, quem sabe? O verão está ai, haverá sol quase todos os dias, e sempre resta essa coisa chamada “impulso vital”. Pois esse impulso às vezes cruel, porque não permite que nenhuma dor insista por muito tempo, te empurrará quem sabe para o sol, para o mar, para uma nova estrada qualquer e, de repente, no meio de uma frase ou de um movimento te supreenderás pensando algo como “estou contente outra vez”. Ou simplesmente “continuo”, porque já não temos mais idade para, dramaticamente, usarmos palavras grandiloqüentes como “sempre” ou “nunca”. Ninguém sabe como, mas aos poucos fomos aprendendo sobre a continuidade da vida, das pessoas e das coisas. Já não tentamos o suicidio nem cometemos gestos tresloucados. Alguns, sim – nós, não. Contidamente, continuamos. E substituimos expressões fatais como “não resistirei” por outras mais mansas, como “sei que vai passar”. Esse o nosso jeito de continuar, o mais eficiente e também o mais cômodo, porque não implica em decisões, apenas em paciência.
Claro que no começo não terás sono ou dormirás demais. Fumarás muito, também, e talvez até mesmo te permitas tomar alguns desses comprimidos para disfarçar a dor. Claro que no começo, pouco depois de acordar, olhando à tua volta a paisagem de todo dia, sentirás atravessada não sabes se na garganta ou no peito ou na mente – e não importa – essa coisa que chamarás com cuidado, de “uma ausência”. E haverá momentos em que esse osso duro se transformará numa espécie de coroa de arame farpado sobre tua cabeça, em garras, ratoeira e tenazes no teu coração. Atravessarás o dia fazendo coisas como tirar a poeira de livros antigos e velhos discos, como se não houvesse nada mais importante a fazer. E caminharás devagar pela casa, molhando as plantas e abrindo janelas para que sopre esse vento que deve levar embora memórias e cansaços.
Contarás nos dedos os dias que faltam para que termine o ano, não são muitos, pensarás com alívio. E morbidamente talvez enumeres todas as vezes que a loucura, a morte, a fome, a doença, a violência e o desespero roçaram teus ombros e os de teus amigos. Serão tantas que desistirás de contar. Então fingirás – aplicadamente, fingirás acreditar que no próximo ano tudo será diferente, que as coisas sempre se renovam. Embora saibas que há perdas realmente irreparáveis e que um braço amputado jamais se reconstituirá sozinho. Achando graça, pensarás com inveja na largatixa, regenerando sua própria cauda cortada. Mas no espelho cru, os teus olhos já não acham graça.
Tão longe ficou o tempo, esse, e pensarás, no tempo, naquele, e sentirás uma vontade absurda de tomar atitudes como voltar para a casa de teus avós ou teus pais ou tomar um trem para um lugar desconhecido ou telefonar para um número qualquer (e contar, contar, contar) ou escrever uma carta tão desesperada que alguém se compadeça de ti e corra a te socorrer com chás e bolos, ajeitando as cobertas à tua volta e limpando o suor frio de tua testa.
Já não é tempo de desesperos. Refreias quase seguro as vontades impossíveis. Depois repetes, muitas vezes, como quem masca, ruminas uma frase escrita faz algum tempo. Qualquer coisa assim:
- … mastiga a ameixa frouxa. Mastiga , mastiga, mastiga: inventa o gosto insípido na boca seca… “

                                          Caio F. Abreu.