Same old blog, same old me

I have never "blogged" in English before and this is a big step for me. I have this insane passion for writing for as long as I can remember, because reading has always been a part of my life. Library visits were a weekly trip during my childhood, and once I discovered all the worlds I could visit through the act of reading, I never looked back. I still remember how happy I was when my family let me have my own library card, so I didn't have to share the quota limit with my sister or anyone else. It was a big responsibility and felt like freedom.

Cooking is a different skill I developed very early in life, and I wish I could say I was inspired by someone specific, but truly, I just had to learn so I could help with the household chores. Cooking and spending time in the kitchen at such a young age also meant having more time with my teenage sister who I thought was the coolest girl ever, even though she clearly did not share the same thoughts about me, a 9-year-old that wanted to hang around with her and her friends while all they wanted to do was gossip about boys.

I love my older sister immensely, and she was the one that showed me how to wash dishes properly, make popcorn or brigadeiro in the microwave, put away leftovers and warm them up properly later on. I remember one New Years Eve when we were bored out of our minds and convinced my dad to bake our first chocolate cake with us. Needless to say, there was flour and cocoa powder in the ceiling, but we had so much fun. We went as far as making dulce de leche "icing" for the cake; it was probably one of the sweetest cakes I have ever eaten in my life; it was also my first and I will never forget it. 

My dad was the family's cook for some time, while my mom was getting her associates degree, working full time, and studying at night. This was before online degrees were a thing and she had to get public transportation straight from work, leaving the house at 7am and getting back at 11pm, 3 days a week. So my dad had to take on the cooking; he knew how to prepare a handful of dishes very well and prepared them repeatedly, sometimes trying something different or following my mother's recipes. Our best lunches were on the Saturdays he didn't have to work so he would be outside in the garden all day, going inside at 11am to listen to the priest radio program (I wonder if this is still a thing where I grew up) and cook. Our Saturday meal was usually galinhada or carreteiro, because those are easy enough to make, and I swear I can taste it as I write this. 

I cannot explain why these memories are so special for me. I just know I had such luck to grow up in family farms, having a huge garden at home and with an amazing connection with the soil, produce and plants - which I still do. Even now, living in a different continent and 20 years after, those days playing in the garden are fresh memories that could have happened yesterday.  

I was recently speaking with my sister, and she reminded me of how we used to climb up big, old orange trees until we found a comfortable-enough spot, sometimes even taking a pillow with us, to sit and read. Reading on top of a tree. Welcome to my world.