Of Ma Bell…

In a world of telephones, we often take for granted the ability to pick up a phone and get ahold of someone anytime and anywhere. 

In the Southern part of Brazil we were able to have a phone in our house, but after our move north, that was no longer an option.  Telephone wires, you see, did not generally run through the middle of the jungle.

We were able to drive into town to access the internet and communicate that way.  At one time we got a GlobalStar which was supposed to be able to use satellites and make it possible to call from anywhere in the world.  Except, apparently, the exact spot where we lived.  Add on the astronomical price per minute and it would be cheaper to send word via courier.

After a while with no phone at all, we got a regular cell phone and an antenna.  We put the antenna at the top of a pole on a hill near our house.  Making a phone call wasn’t to be taken lightly.

After hiking for five minutes or more, you reached the pole.  Since there were cows around and they thought the cable that ran down from the antenna was good for snacking, we had to hide the cable in a bag and hang it out of reach.  We had a stick at the bottom with a fork and would reach up with it to hook the bag and bring down the cable.

Even after the cable was hooked into the side of the phone, there was no guarantee that you would get a signal.  If you did, no matter what odd position your neck might be in, you didn’t move.  To move was to risk losing the signal and having the call fall.

There was no comfortable place to sit either.  My sister during conversations with her fiancé would perch on top of a fence pole.  Other times, we stood in the back of a pickup.  At all times there was the heat and the bugs to add some spice to an already interesting situation.

In the end, though, the ability to talk to loved ones made it more than worthwhile.

I remember jaca...

Of all the fruits I tried in Brazil, there is a special place reserved for jaca or jackfruit.  Covered with spikes, you dig your fingers into the skin to break it open, and reveal the slime covered seeds.  I wish I could say it was worth the effort, but, unfortunately, I cannot.

I like to describe jaca as rotten-banana-flavored-slime-covered-seeds.  If that makes you anxious to try the fruit, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

We had a deacon and a pastor come down to visit, and had been given a jaca as a gift.  We opened it up so our guests could try it.  The deacon was adventurous and tried a bite, although, admittedly, the sight of the fruit on the plate was almost enough to make him lose his courage.

The pastor refused to let the smallest particle cross his lips.

I had made a special chocolate cookie torte I reserved for special occasions, since it required hours of work.  It was then my sisters and I hit upon a fun idea.  Everyone else would be served chocolate cookie torte, but for the pastor we carefully arranged some rotten-banana-flavored-slime-covered-seeds on his plate.

I carried out the plates and set his before him.  After a promised bribe of torte if he managed to try some jaca, he did manage to force what could only be described as the essence of jaca past his lips, since I don’t believe there was any really substance to the “bite” he took.

In a book, it might be expected, he jumped to his feet an ardent convert to the love of jaca.  Real life wasn’t nearly so dramatic since he remained an ardent opponent of all things jaca.

Not, of course, that I blamed him.