She told me tonight that she remembers when she was five years old and there was a neighbor that used to come over and bring her family some food. My mother grew up very poor.
She knows that it was in 1940 because it was the second house that they lived in. She doesn't remember the first house. But she knows that my Tia Mariazinha cut my Mom's hair in that first house - and threw all the curls out the window. As you can imagine, it didn't leave my grandmother very happy.
Anyways, she remembers the food being delivered though. And that there was other neighbors that would help with cultivating the land. That her and my aunts would go and watch them work.
She's amazed that she remembers something from so long ago. I amazed that she came from so little and that my Mom and Dad were able to give us such a great life.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
That'll show them!
As you know, my mother lives with me and my husband in our little 3 bedroom dormer cape. She basically takes care of everything around the house - including - and possibly most importantly - our garden. We have a small flower garden in the front of the house with beautiful gerber daisies. Recently, the daisies' flowers get "chewed off" somehow. My mother insisted that they were snipped with scissors. I told her that no one would do that. So, she set out to find the source of the snipped flowers.
Setting up shop at the front window, my mom saw a wretched little squirrel clinging on to the daisy and furiously ripping the flower off. Never one to sit by the sidelines, she opened the front door, grabbed one of her stash of rocks, and flung it at the squirrel, effectively scaring it away for the time being.
Later on that night while I'm outside stretching after a run, my Mom recounts the tale of catching the squirrel red-handed.
"If only I could get a hold of one of those creatures, I'd tear it apart limb-to-limb."
"Mom, that's kind of drastic - you wouldn't do that."
"Of course I would! Just like a man that lived in our village. The birds were always eating the grapes right off the grape vine. One day he caught one. Ripped it apart. And left it there. When asked why he left the mangled bird there, he answered 'to show the other birds what could happen to them if they eat the grapes'."
"MOM!! That's so gross!!"
"Well, it would definitely show them."
Haha - so I guess now I have to be on the lookout for mutilated squirrels in the garden.
Setting up shop at the front window, my mom saw a wretched little squirrel clinging on to the daisy and furiously ripping the flower off. Never one to sit by the sidelines, she opened the front door, grabbed one of her stash of rocks, and flung it at the squirrel, effectively scaring it away for the time being.
Later on that night while I'm outside stretching after a run, my Mom recounts the tale of catching the squirrel red-handed.
"If only I could get a hold of one of those creatures, I'd tear it apart limb-to-limb."
"Mom, that's kind of drastic - you wouldn't do that."
"Of course I would! Just like a man that lived in our village. The birds were always eating the grapes right off the grape vine. One day he caught one. Ripped it apart. And left it there. When asked why he left the mangled bird there, he answered 'to show the other birds what could happen to them if they eat the grapes'."
"MOM!! That's so gross!!"
"Well, it would definitely show them."
Haha - so I guess now I have to be on the lookout for mutilated squirrels in the garden.
Friday, August 6, 2010
"La Isla Bonita"
I know this post is not technically a story FROM my mother, but it's about my parents' home land ... so it counts :p
My thirteenth birthday was spent in Terceira with my parents, my brother and my uncle's family who lived there. I think that for everyone there is something magical about finally turning thirteen and becoming an official teenager. For me, this magic was amplified surrounded by spending it with my family in the place where they were raised.
Because my father, my brother and I all danced in a Portuguese folklore group, we were presented with the unique opportunity to travel as a group to Terceira to perform. I am forever grateful that my parents decided we should all take advantage of this - and it turned out to be instrumental in shaping my future. So it was in June of 1997 that my brother, my parents and I made the trip to their homeland.
Here is where I witnessed my father really truly happy. He was vibrant and full of energy. He and my uncle literally ran around like teenagers in an attempt to show my brother and I all that their little island had to offer. From the time my uncle randomly dug up a potato from someone's garden on the side of the road to the moment we stepped into the house which was built by my parents for their marriage, I was overcome with a sense of belonging. Although I was not raised on that small island in the middle of the Atlantic, here is where I really felt the strength of my roots. Surrounded by bullfights, feasts and family, I was home.
Appropriately enough, Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" happened to be a popular song during this time - even then I found it so fitting that I was lucky to be spending time at this beautiful island. I will forever remember riding in the backseat of my uncle's blue punch-buggy singing "La Isla Bonita" at the top of my lungs, windows down, wind blowing .. the whole nine. I had the feeling that life would last forever. That we would all be together for the rest of time. If there was a moment in my life that I could revist, time and time again, that one would definitely take the cake.
In the song, she sings "..it all seems like yesterday, not far away.." And she couldn't be more right.
Missing you.
My thirteenth birthday was spent in Terceira with my parents, my brother and my uncle's family who lived there. I think that for everyone there is something magical about finally turning thirteen and becoming an official teenager. For me, this magic was amplified surrounded by spending it with my family in the place where they were raised.
Because my father, my brother and I all danced in a Portuguese folklore group, we were presented with the unique opportunity to travel as a group to Terceira to perform. I am forever grateful that my parents decided we should all take advantage of this - and it turned out to be instrumental in shaping my future. So it was in June of 1997 that my brother, my parents and I made the trip to their homeland.
Here is where I witnessed my father really truly happy. He was vibrant and full of energy. He and my uncle literally ran around like teenagers in an attempt to show my brother and I all that their little island had to offer. From the time my uncle randomly dug up a potato from someone's garden on the side of the road to the moment we stepped into the house which was built by my parents for their marriage, I was overcome with a sense of belonging. Although I was not raised on that small island in the middle of the Atlantic, here is where I really felt the strength of my roots. Surrounded by bullfights, feasts and family, I was home.
Appropriately enough, Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" happened to be a popular song during this time - even then I found it so fitting that I was lucky to be spending time at this beautiful island. I will forever remember riding in the backseat of my uncle's blue punch-buggy singing "La Isla Bonita" at the top of my lungs, windows down, wind blowing .. the whole nine. I had the feeling that life would last forever. That we would all be together for the rest of time. If there was a moment in my life that I could revist, time and time again, that one would definitely take the cake.
In the song, she sings "..it all seems like yesterday, not far away.." And she couldn't be more right.
Missing you.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
making your own mayo
Last night, my brother and I were hanging out for a little in my Mom's room. We were talking about what my Mom did that day. She said tht she worked in the garden and remarked on how we have tons of tomatoes. I told her that I need to learn how to make sauce. My Mom then said "when I lived in Brazil, I even made my own mayonaise." You made your own MAYO?? Like with eggs???
It's not often that both of us are in the room when she starts a story, so, here is my recollection of it.
When my Mom, Dad and older sister lived in Brazil, they lived next door to Sr. Nunes and his wife and son. They were well-off in the sense that they had a TV and they helped employ my father. My Mom went on about how generous they were and they helped out my parents.
One time, my father cut his fingers on his hand and was unable to work. Sr. Nunes put him to work painting since he would only have to use his right hand. My father would paint, with his left hand across his chest resting on his right shoulder. The son, who grows up to study to be a doctor, found himself a little stick and would use this stick to hide behind my father and hit him on his left hand. My Mom started laughing at this point. Guess it was all in fun.
Here's where she started to jump around in the stories about Sr. Nunes and their time in Brazil.
The street in front of their house would periodically get flooded. On his way to and from work, my Dad used to carry his shoes (which were more like sneakers according to my Mom) in his hands to cross the stream so they wouldn't get ruined. My mom would also carry her shoes - and my sister - to cross the stream to run errands.
They faced many difficulties in Brazil. Sr. Nunes and his family though were so helpful and generous. My Mom mentioned she had a lot of toothaches while there and the Nunes family would bring her medicine, invite them over to watch TV.
That seems to have been the theme with my parents - they spent their lives surrounded by those that care and love them - and they offered their care and love in return.
It's not often that both of us are in the room when she starts a story, so, here is my recollection of it.
When my Mom, Dad and older sister lived in Brazil, they lived next door to Sr. Nunes and his wife and son. They were well-off in the sense that they had a TV and they helped employ my father. My Mom went on about how generous they were and they helped out my parents.
One time, my father cut his fingers on his hand and was unable to work. Sr. Nunes put him to work painting since he would only have to use his right hand. My father would paint, with his left hand across his chest resting on his right shoulder. The son, who grows up to study to be a doctor, found himself a little stick and would use this stick to hide behind my father and hit him on his left hand. My Mom started laughing at this point. Guess it was all in fun.
Here's where she started to jump around in the stories about Sr. Nunes and their time in Brazil.
The street in front of their house would periodically get flooded. On his way to and from work, my Dad used to carry his shoes (which were more like sneakers according to my Mom) in his hands to cross the stream so they wouldn't get ruined. My mom would also carry her shoes - and my sister - to cross the stream to run errands.
They faced many difficulties in Brazil. Sr. Nunes and his family though were so helpful and generous. My Mom mentioned she had a lot of toothaches while there and the Nunes family would bring her medicine, invite them over to watch TV.
That seems to have been the theme with my parents - they spent their lives surrounded by those that care and love them - and they offered their care and love in return.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
one and 1/2 escudos a day
A few weeks ago, my mother told me this story about my father's insistence on keeping in touch with her while they were dating. Back in the days that they were dating, all the men in Portugal/Azores had to go to the army for awhile. I'm not sure of the length of stay, but I know they all had to go to "become men". They all went to the "Castelo" in Terceira which is where my family is from. The "Castelo" was in the city and I can imagine that it was sort of a coming of age to head in to the city.
Anyways, my Mom was telling me that my Dad would always visit her and her family on Sundays even when he was in the Castelo. Every Sunday, like clock-work, he would be there. Then one Sunday, he didn't make it. She knew that something was wrong. And was of course worried about him. In those days, she couldn't just pick up the phone or check his Facebook status to find out what was going on. She said that her entire family was sending word out through the village to find out with happened with "O Numero Treze" (that will lead into another blog post).
When finally she got word that he was in the first-aid area, sort of like a hospital, because my father had a bloody nose that was not healing. Which, he continued to randomly get a bloody nose all throughout our childhood. Well, as you can imagine, she was relieved to hear that he was OK.
Flashforward to the next Sunday when he was able to make it to my mother's family's house. He asked if they did not read the letter that he sent. Of course, they did not know what he was talking about.
For being in the army, my Father recieved 1 1/2 escudos a day, which, in 2002 when the Euro came out, 1 1/2 escudos were about 75 cents. When he came down with a bloody nose and went to the hospital, he wrote out a letter to my Mom and gave it to a fellow soldier. He also gave this soldier his entire day's wages to deliver the letter. The soldier pocketed the money, and threw the letter away.
Guess my Dad was really upset. He wasn't ever good at being taken for a fool. From what I gather, he gave that soldier a piece of his mind.
At this point in the story, my Mom kind of drifted off in the way she usually does when talking about my Dad.
Anyways, my Mom was telling me that my Dad would always visit her and her family on Sundays even when he was in the Castelo. Every Sunday, like clock-work, he would be there. Then one Sunday, he didn't make it. She knew that something was wrong. And was of course worried about him. In those days, she couldn't just pick up the phone or check his Facebook status to find out what was going on. She said that her entire family was sending word out through the village to find out with happened with "O Numero Treze" (that will lead into another blog post).
When finally she got word that he was in the first-aid area, sort of like a hospital, because my father had a bloody nose that was not healing. Which, he continued to randomly get a bloody nose all throughout our childhood. Well, as you can imagine, she was relieved to hear that he was OK.
Flashforward to the next Sunday when he was able to make it to my mother's family's house. He asked if they did not read the letter that he sent. Of course, they did not know what he was talking about.
For being in the army, my Father recieved 1 1/2 escudos a day, which, in 2002 when the Euro came out, 1 1/2 escudos were about 75 cents. When he came down with a bloody nose and went to the hospital, he wrote out a letter to my Mom and gave it to a fellow soldier. He also gave this soldier his entire day's wages to deliver the letter. The soldier pocketed the money, and threw the letter away.
Guess my Dad was really upset. He wasn't ever good at being taken for a fool. From what I gather, he gave that soldier a piece of his mind.
At this point in the story, my Mom kind of drifted off in the way she usually does when talking about my Dad.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
"if you like it, just buy it"
This is a small little story that my Mom just shared with me. I was explaining to her that we are taking my step-son, Tyler, to his first Boston Red Sox game tomorrow night. (He's nine .. he is going to explode when he finds out!!). I do not own a single shirt/hat/apron that has any Red Sox logo or even anything that LOOKS like the logo on it. Made a quick pit stop at Target and picked up a shirt for myself and my hubby (yes, I dress him too).
After telling my Mom my tale of buying two shirts at $15 a piece for one silly game, she explained to me: Tyler is only 9 once, soon enough, he will go on his own. Splurge a little.
That's when she told me that my father always said "if you love it, or need it, just buy it". She went on to say that he would never look at the price tags (which I find hard to imagine .. I mean - never? ever?). My Mom would say something to the effect of it being "too expensive" or something. My Dad would always be there telling her that money isn't worth worrying about. "Gostas? Entao compra!"
After telling my Mom my tale of buying two shirts at $15 a piece for one silly game, she explained to me: Tyler is only 9 once, soon enough, he will go on his own. Splurge a little.
That's when she told me that my father always said "if you love it, or need it, just buy it". She went on to say that he would never look at the price tags (which I find hard to imagine .. I mean - never? ever?). My Mom would say something to the effect of it being "too expensive" or something. My Dad would always be there telling her that money isn't worth worrying about. "Gostas? Entao compra!"
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
First post...MINE!!!
This story breaks the rules a little bit but I think it’s a great way to start this blog. My mom recently got a lot of money from when she sold our childhood home so she took our Tia out to go buy her a new chair for her living room. My mom told me that our aunt did a lot to help her when my family first came to America and she wanted to pay her back. She’s being doing that a lot lately but, anyways, on the way back from the store, we stopped at the food store, like we do every Saturday, and I think it my Tia who brought it up first.
“Do you know your sister was born with her eyes wide open?”
I had to look up from my smart phone because I was in shock how this came out of the blue and this was way more interesting than what was going on at my FaceBook page. I looked at my mom because I was confused.
“Yeah, she was born with her eyes wide open.”
In the back of my mind, I knew this was true. We had our newborn pictures proudly displayed in my parent’s room while I was growing up and, in fact, they’re still proudly displayed in my mom’s new room. My eyes are shut and I look borderline comatose but my sister’s eyes are wide open. I never thought of it until my Tia and my mom started talking about it in the grocery store.
“I never seen a baby born with her eyes open like that,” my Tia continued to tell me, “She looked like a demon.”
I not exactly sure the word she used was “demon.” Portuguese is not exactly my first language. Well, it was but my skills in it have gone way downhill since the 1st grade. She could’ve been calling my sister a “diamond” but, for some reason, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t.
Of course, my mom came to my sister’s defense because she always does when my sister isn’t around. She said how my sister was “muito pronto” to be born, as if she could not wait to “para viver.” The she said something like my sister had a “febre” to be out in the world. I know that I translated it wrong in my head because fever isn’t the word that she meant to say but fever is a word that fits.
I come from a family of homebodies. There’s nothing wrong with that. I rather sit on the couch, reading a book while listening to the television than just about anything else. Sure, I get the urge to explore but that urging hits me rarely while in my sister it seems to be part of her natural being. She’s always the first one to strike out and go, go, go. It’s like she has a fever, a certain wanderlust to see the world with eyes wide open.
Then my mom sped away because my Tia shops too slowly for her tastes. I thought that was funny. For some reason, a certain saying of pots and kettles popped in head.
“Do you know your sister was born with her eyes wide open?”
I had to look up from my smart phone because I was in shock how this came out of the blue and this was way more interesting than what was going on at my FaceBook page. I looked at my mom because I was confused.
“Yeah, she was born with her eyes wide open.”
In the back of my mind, I knew this was true. We had our newborn pictures proudly displayed in my parent’s room while I was growing up and, in fact, they’re still proudly displayed in my mom’s new room. My eyes are shut and I look borderline comatose but my sister’s eyes are wide open. I never thought of it until my Tia and my mom started talking about it in the grocery store.
“I never seen a baby born with her eyes open like that,” my Tia continued to tell me, “She looked like a demon.”
I not exactly sure the word she used was “demon.” Portuguese is not exactly my first language. Well, it was but my skills in it have gone way downhill since the 1st grade. She could’ve been calling my sister a “diamond” but, for some reason, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t.
Of course, my mom came to my sister’s defense because she always does when my sister isn’t around. She said how my sister was “muito pronto” to be born, as if she could not wait to “para viver.” The she said something like my sister had a “febre” to be out in the world. I know that I translated it wrong in my head because fever isn’t the word that she meant to say but fever is a word that fits.
I come from a family of homebodies. There’s nothing wrong with that. I rather sit on the couch, reading a book while listening to the television than just about anything else. Sure, I get the urge to explore but that urging hits me rarely while in my sister it seems to be part of her natural being. She’s always the first one to strike out and go, go, go. It’s like she has a fever, a certain wanderlust to see the world with eyes wide open.
Then my mom sped away because my Tia shops too slowly for her tastes. I thought that was funny. For some reason, a certain saying of pots and kettles popped in head.
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