birthday party

We went to a birthday party in our condominium today, at the house of our neighbors who Dete used to work for. Their son turned eleven.

It was a small affair, seventy people or so, a feijoada, a hundred homemade geladinhas (popsicles in little sacks), two enormous cakes, a rented trampoline (with attendant).


(One advantage to attending a party that's in our own condominium is that you can always slip away for a quick nap in the middle of the festivities.)

The feijoada was prepared by none other than our own Dete.

I think she kind of got roped into it. The boy's mother began calling her from Ecuador (where they now live) weeks ago, before they arrived, with instructions and shopping lists.

And Dete...well, to say she's a hard worker would be an understatement. She brought her twelve-year old daughter, Lorena, and her baby, Enzo, and they all slept here last night.


Dete woke up at five to start the beans for the feijoada. It's seven-thirty p.m. now, and she still hasn't stopped moving. She made a brief appearance at our house in the morning to wash some dishes, and again around an hour ago, to put cuscús on the stove for the boys.

Do you ever stop working? I asked her.

She shrugged. I'm used to it. I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not working.

Dan finished up the dishes. I sat on the floor of the kitchen with Ju, who was playing with an avocado. After she put on the cuscús, Dete sat down next to me with Enzo and handed him his own avocado to explore. Lorena leaned in the doorway. E. and R. clamored for cuscús.

That's a lot of people in one tiny kitchen.

But what a sweet moment, at the end of a long day.