OT marriage lessons, trip, poem

[Guest guest]

Hi.

Two things I want to say rather off-topically, first about marriage

and then about an event during my trip.

When I married my present wife (this is my second, and I'm her

second, too, but I don't think we'll both marry a third spouse, you

be reassured), I found that we had quite different eating styles. She

ate almost anything, and at any time at all, whereas I was following

every conceivable rule, you know. A crash was unavoidable, but

strange to say, the outcome was quite good to both of us.

After some time, coming from a vegan/vegetarian background, I

realized that I was being too restrictive and from my wife I learned

that I could at least touch almost everything. This has led me to a

very comprehensive diet. On the other hand, she gradually became very

food-conscious, to the point that nowadays she can be even more rigid

than me, and sometimes even stricter with the children. We have an

expression in Portuguese for that: we'd say that she became *more of

a papist than the Pope himself* (with all due respect to the Pope –

this being just an expression, you know).

I'm glad that we've so to say found a balance between ourselves, for

I know of couples who can split because of very different lifestyles

that each spouse is unable to let go.

Now the event: One morning while we strolling in the steep old

streets of Ouro Preto (that's where we went for our holiday), we went

past a hotel by the name of Toffolo. Hotel Toffolo was the title of a

famous short poem by Drummond de Andrade, who is often thought

of as the greatest Brazilian poet. I knew the story around that one

particular poem, which was written in the fifties. Drummond and maybe

a friend arrived at a certain hotel Toffolo very late at night and

were told there was no dinner for them. He was rather disappointed,

and that was the origin of the ironical little poem.

So I was curious to know if that was the same hotel of the poem. I

told my wife and we decided to check to see. I rang the bell three

times before an old lady, about seventy, came downstairs to open the

heavy wooden door. Well, she didn't look very pleased to see us,

though it was rather late in the morning already. I greeted her and

asked her the question. She said: " Yes, that's the same hotel of the

poem. " Then I made that blunder (I'm always making blunders, by the

way). I meant to ask if she was there in the hotel when the poet came

on that special night, but my question turned out to be this

one: " Were you still alive when he came? " As if I were talking to a

dead person, you know. And, mind you, the lady looked all right, not

at all sickly. (My wife laughed at me for days on end whenever she

was reminded of that silly question.) Apparently, the old lady didn't

realize how absurd my question sounded, because she answered

promptly: " Yes, I was. " But, looking back, I think she was amused,

because then her expression changed a little and she almost smiled as

she added: " Come back in the evening when we open the restaurant, and

we will be able to read the poem written on the wall. "

I made a few additional questions about the hotel (I learned it was

crowded on that very morning), thanked her and then we went our way.

That was when my wife began to make fun of me because of my blunder.

Indeed I had to laugh together with her. (When emotions get hold of

me, I can really do silly things, you know.) In any case, we didn't

come back in the evening, but I've promised myself to book a room in

that hotel next time we come to Ouro Preto just to sense the

atmosphere and maybe try to get to be served dinner.

And here's the poem if you're curious about it. The subject is

perhaps quite relevant to the discussions being held on the list. I

hope my translation into English is readable enough to make sense to

you.

Hotel Toffolo

And wasn't he quick to say

that no meal was to be served

- at an hour so late!

As if one weren't entitled to feel other kinds of hunger,

crave for other kinds of food.

As if the town proper

wouldn't share with us its bread

made of clouds.

" No, Mr innkeeper,

our meal is inner life,

and we aim just to be given a table.

" We'd swallow the table,

if the Scriptures ordered us to do so.

" Anything can be taken,

anything can be imparted.

" Whatever fills the heart

realizes supper. "

José

[Guest guest]

That was a pleasure to read. Thank you for sharing.

Ron

> Two things I want to say rather off-topically, first about marriage

> and then about an event during my trip.

>

> When I married my present wife (this is my second, and I'm her

> second, too, but I don't think we'll both marry a third spouse, you

> be reassured), I found that we had quite different eating styles. She

> ate almost anything, and at any time at all, whereas I was following

> every conceivable rule, you know. A crash was unavoidable, but

> strange to say, the outcome was quite good to both of us.

>

> After some time, coming from a vegan/vegetarian background, I

> realized that I was being too restrictive and from my wife I learned

> that I could at least touch almost everything. This has led me to a

> very comprehensive diet. On the other hand, she gradually became very

> food-conscious, to the point that nowadays she can be even more rigid

> than me, and sometimes even stricter with the children. We have an

> expression in Portuguese for that: we'd say that she became *more of

> a papist than the Pope himself* (with all due respect to the Pope -

> this being just an expression, you know).

[snip]