Visiting Sao Miguel

My Mother will head to the Azores soon, a reunion with some of the family and friends. I'm still amazed at how much time she spends on the phone with everyone.  She still keeps in touch.

I'll miss her, but I know she'll be in good hands.  The one place in the world where I can trust that she'll be safe and treated with respect, other than home.

But then again, which side of the Atlantic is home?  Both, I think.

Pancada, Fralda and Contabilidade

Some random words.

Pancada=A kid who is a little zangada all the time, looking for attention

who needs a

Fralda="blankie", comfort object, to keep the kid from crying

and the opposite, philosophically.

Contabilidade=Accounting.  A grownup method for keeping track of finances, by reporting everything dispassionately and making sure that everything is in balance.

A short story if I ever heard one....

Visiting Portugal Again, CLARO!!

My mother, my poor dear mother. But when I think of how old my grandmother was when she was my mother's age, I think my mother is doing very well.

But every time we have made the trip, she thinks it is the last time she will muster up the energy.

Until I asked her recently. And she lit up.

"Do I want to go? Of COURSE! CLARO!!

I take that as a VERY good sign. ;)

Nicknames

There is a Portuguese word for a nickname that people have, a name they never learn themselves.

A name that is only a reference when they are out of earshot, not something that they would respond to.  An affectionate name (one hopes), yet also something that identifies a characteristic about them, which they may or may not recognize.

What do people around you know about you that you don't know yourself?

Who Am I? (Indeed)

Wondering who I am, who I am alone, in relation to my family, in relation to the distance I travel from my childhood home, the family who loves me.

The distance I feel I have traveled in this world.

I feel like Pessoa, all the different Personas he hid behind, or brought forth.

I am everyone, I have grown beyond my boundaries.

Sabes quem eu sou? Mi-Carena and Quaresma

Mom told me tonight about the 4 Thursdays before Lent.

The celebrations of Girlfriends, Boyfriends, then Godfathers and Godmothers.  And then just before Lent begins, like the Brazilians celebrate Carnivale, the children in the Azores wrap themselves in a white sheet like a ghost and go to their neighbors.  "Do you know who I am?"

During Lent, there was NO dancing, whatsoever.  She remembers at school, kids dancing and the teacher came over and STOPPED them.

But there was a repreive, during Micarena, the mid point of Quaresma (Lent).  Only in the middle, like relief from holding your breath, could you take a break and gain the strength to go another 20 days without dancing.

A Dream of Escape

A dream of escape.

Here in the Northeast in America, we are under a cold snap.

Since Christmas, we have been suffering with below zero temperatures and into the predictable future (according to the iPhone).

And then, with or without a cold (which I have), we are essentially trapped indoors.

I've been lucky to have a writing project to take me out of myself.

The BEST vacation I can ever have.

(But in Santa Maria, the weather is LOVELY right now!!)

A Non American Tradition

I met a new friend recently, and have been trying to understand what it IS about him that seems strange and familiar all at the same time.

He was NOT born in this country. He's an immigrant, with a strong sense of his own culture(s) and yet aware of the ones here, as well as lots of the peripheral cultures.  He is funny and quick to observe the absurdities that I blindly take for granted.

I wish I could be funny in Portuguese.  That is a certain kind of fluency I still struggle for.  And when i see it in another person-I think of their GENIUS.  And how odd it is that Americans don't value people who have multiple fluencies; as if the whole country has an inferiority complex. (As least I know that I do and why)

No Tradition of Halloween In Portugal

It is difficult to get my mother to celebrate, or play dress up, or to be silly as part of a holiday in this country.

There is a notion of All Saints Day, which I feel she takes more seriously.  As if everything is somber, and she is closer to not laughing than laughing. She is comfortable in cemeteries, and even more so at church.  As if she invests in all the superstitions of church, she can be making payments towards a painless death.

On the other hand, I like Edwin Gorey, his macabre drawings of skeletons and hauntings.  I laugh at ghosts, while honoring them at the same time.  I expect it will all come about in its own time.  Dying at my father's age or at twice that has allowed me to not be afraid of the passing over, but to include everything I can while I am on this side.

I have no deep understanding of the subtleties of the spirits of the Islands, the Azores.  The shipwrecked ghosts, the people driven mad by the isolation or their own internal madness.  But I want to learn, not just about what happens after death to my ancestors, but how the long traditions of keeping the bad spirits at bay.

Saudades

Saudades for Portugal and the Azores.  I miss being there, i miss being there in person to talk to my family & be there for them.  To see things with my own eyes and to hugs with my own arms.

Never does the ocean seem so vast as when you are missing people across the waters.

Even the devastation in Puerto Rico from the hurricanes, I cannot imagine knowing that my family was suffering and I was stuck and unable to help.  I worry that it is always a matter of time, until our own number comes up, until we are each hit by our own earthquakes and fires.

Portugal, my family and friends, I miss you. 

My heart aches.

Orange Cake or Caramel Cake

When I was young, all great Portuguese gatherings were attended by a great spread.

Every event included either or both an Orange Cake and a Caramel Cake.

My cousin is having a baptism for her much beloved baby.

The cakes will show up.

Portuguese Consulate in Boston: Cartao de Cidadao

Now, if you are like me, you might have a parent or grandparent who was born in Portugal.

Which makes you eligible for citizenship, the right to work in the EU, etc.

TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THIS!!

(The grandparent clause was added in 2016, I think, not enough descendants are going back)

The only problem is, you need a LOT of patience with the paperwork.  And it certianly HELPS if you have that parent/grandparent or someone who speaks the language to help you.

I had my mother, who is fluent, is a kindly old lady, and is naturally patient.

We have had SEVERAL appointments and every time, I leave puzzled.

There is no "process" that I can see. No CONFIRMATION system.

Our last visit 3 months ago, was me bringing ALL of my paperwork to fill out a Cartao de Cidadao.  (Online, i had selected a "Passport" appointment, which NEVER asked or told me what I needed).

3 months later, I emailed a week ago to see if the paperwork had gone through.  No answer.
My mother picked up her renewed Cartao and was able to process her NEW passport.  She's 77, but I keep convincing her to keep everything current, she's my translator and FRANKLY, if I must take care of her, I'd rather do it in Portugal.  Where I can write, hopefully!!  My fantasy is to "retire" there, or at least write and make enough money to survive, when this Tech thing dries up. (Always have another career in your back pocket, my generation will NEVER retire!)

The lovely lady-who we are getting to know-flitted in and out because the system was down in Lisbon.  She had called and sent an email for my mother's passport.  I was never sure if she checked about my paperwork.  We were there from 10:15 until 12:50.  Never fully dismissed, we had appointments at 10:40 and 11:05, although we were never called for them.  We were still there as the whole room emptied out. It was crowded when we arrived, full of people who were there for the first time.

Later that day, she sent me an email that it had gone through. All I needed to do was to pick it up. And make another appointment.

National Days of Mourning for the Fire

A few days ago, a bolt of lightning struck a dry patch of land and ignited a giant fire.

If you want to send a message to the Portuguese Consulate in Boston, reach out to:

consulado dot boston AT mne dot pt

Below is what I sent:

My dearest Portugal,

May you never fully be consumed by flames.  

The flood and the earthquakes couldn't defeat you.  

Always, may you explore the rest of the planet, always sending out roots, like a giant-strong-inflammable-tree to ground yourself in the earth.

May the earth receive you and your people, in beauty, in gentleness. 

The smoke will dissipate, the skies will be clear once more.

May your future be clean with oxygen and green

and may the waters quench the thirst of the heat

and float your roots and tendrils

across

to connect the rest of the world.

Love, 

Your daughter and granddaughter and great grand-daughter and more,

Me

Portugal Day & Poetry!!

I'm experiencing many saudades over all the pictures of SOPAS on my Facebook feed.  So to remedy that, I try to take a quick tour of Portuguese poetry on the internet.

Here is an article about Feminist Poets, written by someone from UMass Dartmouth (one of MANY of my alma maters!!) :
Back into the Future : Feminism in Portuguese Women's Poetry since the 1970s

From Canada, an interview with Vamberto Freitas (are we related??)

And if you want to know about Portugal Day here in NY, well-you have to go to Newark, NJ.

Drink to Luís de Camões and read Os Lusiadas, if you get the chance to be inspired!!

Nesperas on the Tree

I know these leaves very well. I grew up with a plant in our New England house. One long skinny trunk and a few of these leaves on the ends. No fruit.  

I always wondered why my mother was so loyal to this plant.  Hoping someday it would look like the pictures below. 

From my uncle's farm/orchard/backyard trees.

So many!!

Again, if you want to try these fruits, save this link for next near.  They accepted requests as of April 15 and were sold out by May 18.

http://www.loquatworld.com/LoquatFruit.html

Paposeco-Proper Spelling

After many moons of imagining that nobody ever reads my blog, my uncle sent me the following correction on a past post, where I admit I had no idea how to spell the word for the common sandwich bun. 

My uncle:

Let me try to teach you how to spell “Papo-seco”:

Papo: “a” as the “a” in “father”; “o” as the “oo” in “roof”;

Seco: “e” as the “e” in “rent”; “o” as the “oo” in “roof”.

 

PAPO-SECO

Os primeiros papos-secos surgiram no século XX sendo destinados aos mais abastados. É um alimento tradicionalmente Português de pequeno formato e de carater rústico. Composto por uma crosta crocante e um interior de miolo fofo. É entre os pães pequenos, o mais comum e o mais vendido em Portugal. O nosso papo-seco é confecionado com água, farinha de trigo, fermento e sal

---

 And he also put the above through a translation machine. See below about "chat-dry";

From no won, is computer translation:

CHAT-DRY (?)

The first chat-dry appeared in the 20th century being destined for the more affluent. Is a traditionally Portuguese food of small format and rustic character. Composed of a crispy crust and an interior fluffy kernels. Is between the small breads, the most common and the most sold in Portugal. Our chat-dry (?) is made with water, flour, yeast and salt.

 And when I wrote back, I called him "Tiu" instead of "Tio", because that is how my child-Portuguese mind spells.

Nesperas in Bloom

My mother is so in love with Nesperas/Loquats that they put her on the website.

LoquatWorld.com

Have one today, if you can!! ;)

Immigration is like Cold Leftovers

My Mom and I have just come from a long American-Portuguese day.

First, we had an appointment at the Consulate. I thought it was to apply for a Portuguese Passport, but it was to register for a Card (like a Green Card).

Seriously. I've been ASKING for the steps of the process for forever. I have all the paperwork. I brought a translator (Mom). But the bureaucracy is not transparent. 

They told me I that I couldn't do anything. They asked if I was Portuguese. But I could not tell what they meant.

"My Mom was born there and I was born here"

Yes, but are you PORTUGUESE?", they asked again.

After finding a nice Brazilian lady to help translate for the younger bilingual kid, I've started on my process of "Applying" for the Citizenship card. Now I wait 4 months, and then bug them again. To make sure I get the Card. And then, I still don't understand what the requirements are to get a Passport.

Then we went to Fernandes Fish Market on Cambridge St in Cambridge, MA. A real treat.  It reminds me of old timey grocery stores with products on dark wooden shelves against the wall.  All kinds of herbal teas in plain white cardboard boxes, sold not for the fragrances, but for the illnesses they cure.  Popciques (which I still don't know how to spell!) fresh from the oven, simple rolls to be served with cheese. Ready made pasteis de bacalau & cebolada de peixe, for those of you who do not cook at home.  And Quiejo Sao Jorge, cheese-very piquante and heavy. My Mom indulged and bought the last slice off the wheel. $20 of pure cheese gold.

Finally, we went to Filomena's Hair Salon.  She is from Flores (!!) and all we talked about was the scary boat to Corvo. And how beautiful the islands are. The American customers started feeling left out, so we showed them pictures of Pico on our Facebook pages. Sigh.  It's not this cold over there ("ova dere"!)

And so, we came home.  Opened our packages of food and ate them. Like cold leftovers, they can only give a hint of the original flavor.

Muito saudades!!

 

Vovo's Journal

I've started to photocopy some of my grandmother's (Vovo's) journal. She filled a 5 subject notebook (8 times-one for each of her kids!)

All in Portuguese.  My goal is to transcribe it all, in Portuguese AND in English.   A huge undertaking. I've been trying to do it bit by bit for years.

If I keep it up, it just might happen.

She has an entire index of events.  It's a lot of straightforward narrative, but I'd love to explore the details.  Especially while my Mom is still alive!!

Obstacle Course

Every so often, a word bubbles up in my mother's brain.

Our street was being repaved, but the construction was taking a long time to be completed. The manhole covers were several inches above the road; you never realize how many there are until you have to drive around to avoid them. 

"Gincana", she said. 

"Obstacle course" I said.

Exactly!

Xmas Present: A Visit

I spent Xmas with an older Portuguese lady.

She has spent years in the US.

She discovered a box of books in the basement, left by the previous owners.  She gave me a book with gold leaf edging from 1895.  Because it was in good condition.  Literally judging a book by the cover.  She had not even read the title.

We had a discussion on how I should ask for a raise.  And how, since I'm eating vegetables, I should try that diet that Marie Osmand went on.  On tv.  It worked for her!  This was not so much a discussion as free advice.  From her.

What we did get into a heated discussion about was facts.  And how something she had heard was something she understood to be true.  For instance, she had heard there was 7 women of every man.  And if it was not true now-although you must admit there are more women in government and in colleges now!!  If it's not still true, it was true once.  When she heard it.  I asked her if it might have been true about just the senior population.  She seemed puzzled by a confusion of the facts.  And why more words would make a statement more true.

I remember having a difficult discussion with her son when I was 14.  I said that I was in the middle of literally 100 books.  He said, "Literally?"  and fought me like all teenage boys do, with forceful logic.  (Think Hendrik in Little Night Music)

She said that he called her, so that she could speak to her grandkids for Xmas.  All she told us was how mad she was about her daughter in law.  She was on the phone with her for half and hour and the girl didn't even introduce herself!

Massa Souvada

I wanted to bring a fresh baked loaf of Massa Souvada for Thanksgivibg to a new set of American friends. 

My mom got increasingly more anxious, until she had to encourage me not to.   "The kitchen isn't ready" which meant that SHE wasn't. 

A clean kitchen is one of her pride & joys. And something she was taught by her 5 sisters and mother. She praises me for being fearless in the kitchen, but I am now afraid of her and the ghosts of all the women in my family who hate anyone else entering their kitchen.

Ironically, my mom doesn't cook at all. Nor does she eat what I make. She lives on cold roast chicken from the supermarket and potatoes in the microwave.

 Everytime I enter with my food, I mess it up for her. I cannot clean it (because she doesn't approve of the dishwasher).  She insists on keeping a bowl in the empty (?) sink to catch any grey water from anything. Which makes everything less appetizing and ergonomic.

I like to make vegetables, and by that I mean chopping them or stir frying. Anything more and it drives her crazy. I've become a vegetarian chef because it's less messy for her.

"It would be better if you didn't", finally. 

Minneola, Long Island

Another Portuguese community, near NYC, which I've never heard of.

Because it is not Azorean!

A friend brought back pasteis de Nata.

Which tastes amazing, no matter which region they come from!! 

Swimming A Secret

I plan to swim a certain stretch of water.

It is about 5 miles long.  I am good in the water, for at least an hour at a time.  Maybe 2.

Not sure if I can make it yet.

But I am training.

"Nadando um segredo!"

SATA becomes Azores Airlines

With the name change, comes an entirely new rebranding:

Compare the new site

https://www.azoresairlines.pt/

With the older one:
https://www.sata.pt/en/content/home-page

Visually, you can easily ID a more advanced UI. Luckily, they have also preserved the best thing about the site.  If you want the cheapest flight and have the flexibility around your dates, you can view a few days ahead and a few days afterwards.

My last trip was designed around exactly this feature.

EXCEPT the previous site allowed you to view ALL the prices of your trip within the span of a month.  I had randomly chosen one date and could easily find the cheapest time to travel.  Now it's a little harder.

Speaking from personal experience, it's worth the effort.  Use the money you've saved to travel back more often!! ;)

A Far Azore

I am a playwright and artist.

I can say this because not only do I write and paint, but I also bring my work into the world of audiences.  (Which is sometimes harder or easier than you or i might think)

Lately, I have been working on a play about an African American woman, who was a contemporary of Thoreau.  She has a lot of amazing letters and the foundation which adores her wants to make her a hero.  I'm in full support of this.

One problem I keep hitting my head against is my strong Portuguese heritage.

Knowing that the Portuguese transported slaves.  Somehow, i feel not directly responsible because of the Azores.  Far enough out of the way to be guiltless, and never benefitting directly from the Slave Trade.  The farmers and fishermen were generally forgotten after Columbus.

Henry David Thoreau wrote the above line, "A Far Azore", far from everything indeed....

(I think it should be the name of a book in my future....)

Hudson Holy Ghost Festival (that I didn't attend)

Sometimes it's just not worth driving 40 minutes to stand in the hot sun (90 degrees) waiting for the hot soup.

Traditional Holy Ghost Soup which burns you from the inside out.

I was in Sao Miguel last year. Such Saudades!!

Festa

Never enough festivals & craziness.

A tourist knocked over a treasured statue while taking a selfie.

Hundreds of years in Lisbon, smashed in seconds. By technology.

"Culturally" Portuguese?

Here's a fun article about the tiny details of being "culturally" Portuguese.
http://matadornetwork.com/abroad/15-signs-youve-become-culturally-portuguese/

I grew up with a lot of these little quirks & ideas, in addition to LOTS more habits & norms which I could never quite keep separate from my own Mom/family's personal traditions.

Good luck with your own attempts to fit in!!

ALSO,
If you'd like to hear about some of the other stuff I've been working on as an Artist/Playwright, check out the link below.
http://artofmousetraps.blogspot.com/

And mostly, pay attention to the opening of a new arts space on Santa Maria, which now has one of my paintings on display!
http://atelierfreitasleandres.blogspot.com/2016/04/espaco-em-cena-in-santa-maria-azores.html

Poetry Read in NYC, 3/20/16:Parallel Ippipedos!!!

Lost in translation

I dreamt I swam the waves, a few days ago

Somewhere between my bed sheets and the Atlantic

I was gently rocked

I saw a picture of Luis’ new piano, an upright with history

my paintings on his walls,

the ones that can be seen from the streets

Of cobblestones

My new favorite Portuguese word

Parallel ippipedos!!!

Through the giant picture windows

I spent the summer painting views, flowers & people

Such simple subjects

Which cause such longing in me

I'm still there

(I imagine living in his house as an old lady,

Or running the museum of my past loves

Building a cushion of work and community

And finding a room where nobody asks me to do chores

I suspect they love me

In any language,

Especially the words spoken by the ocean

Translations lost to the waves

And every flavor of food

Eaten at the round table in the kitchen

My gay cousin that my mom wants me to marry

My divorced cousin who thinks he's James Bond,

But who needs his mom to keep him fed.

Miguel& I played modern American hits

Which I would hate in America

on the radio in the cheap euro car

The yellow dragon

Gliding past glorious fields in the haze of sunset

Awkward conversation yielding to jokes

Everything ending with a dip in the ocean,

If the waves cooperate

We can swim

And only once was it calm enough

And we were brave enough to touch the white buoys

Which look yellow when you squint from the shore

Too much beauty to turn into art

They don't need my alchemy

I have confusing dreams today

Where you can go back to the starting point

Start the scene over again

And play out both choices

In whatever language you want

And I love the idea of the modern “SHARING” economy

Which implies all the benefits of socialism

And all the drawbacks of capitalism

We will share everything and have nothing.

I know I should FIGHT for a house of my own

For my own physical things

But I believe the fewer things I have

And the more art that I can give away

Or SELL on a good day

Strengthens my value in this world.

And then I wake up, and like a big girl, I pay my bills

And cry.

Fun Video Review about Portugal!

I love this girl!  So fun!

Victoria Flamel, she does a LOT of videos about countries & has a great style.

This is a great history in a nutshell with fun factoids for tourists.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS79lYBa7I4

Jews in The Azores

I visited a newly discovered & restored synagogue in Ponta Delgada. 

My cousin Sara brought me there, we were waiting to be picked up and we wandered in.

http://www.the-jewish-story.org/azores.html

Accent from Sao Miguel in written form

My cousin posted this on Facebook, he was raised on Santa Maria and then moved to mainland.  He goes back & forth nowaday.

Com carinho constato que o sotaque micaelense (não dizer açoriano, há um sotaque em cada ilha!) está patente neste recibo!
"Houtel Lençe" (Hotel Lince)
"Pogo" (Pago)
"Dez Euiros" (Dez euros)
...
Ser açoriano:
Há lá nada melhó?
wink emoticonwink emoticon

With affection I note that the accent Micaelense (not to say an azorean, there's an accent in each island!) Is reflected in this receipt!
"houtel lençe" (Hotel Lynx)
"Pogo" (paid)
"ten euiros" (ten euros)
...
Be an azorean:
There's nothing there melhó?
wink emoticon

Translated from Portuguese

In Love in Portuguese

I found this link interesting,

http://matadornetwork.com/nights/15-things-portuguese-love/

especially the word DESENRASCA=find a practical solution!!

My Mom has been teaching me this her whole life!!

Would you put Grosella Jam in a Tijolo or a Tigela?

Tijolo=Brick, like the pizza stone you would use for Bolo De Tijolo.

Tigela=Bowl, could be made of ANY material, glass, ceramic, porcelain, wood.

Mom: "I put the leftover cranberry sauce in the jam jar.  And I put the Grosella jam in the tigela."

Me: "Tigela?? A female tijolo??"

She thought that was funny.  You can speak a language for years and never hear the similarities in 2 words.  I love puns.  (There's a reason I'm bad at learning languages in school. I think I'd rather identify puns than conjugate verbs, but that's just me)

Grosellas are also known as Autumn Berries or Autumn Olives. VERY TART.  A single seed in the center, red berries with distinctive spots.  Also, the leaves are green on one side and silver on the other.  In Asia, they are revered for their health properties. In America, they are known to have 17 times the amount of lycopene as found in tomatoes, also found in prevention of breast, prostate & skin cancers.

We find them by the side of the road, growing on trees by the millions.  Easy to harvest and completely underappreciated.

http://www.autumnberryinspired.com/about-autumn-berry

http://www.autumnberryinspired.com/about-autumn-berry/health-benefits

Bermuda

There is an issue in Bermuda about the Portuguese population being invisible. 

Interesting to think of all the outposts of Portuguese. 

http://mobile.royalgazette.com/article/20151127/NEWS/151129719

Also, had a conversation about Columbus with a cousin. He was on his way back from his "Discovery of India/Indians" and people on the island (Santa Maria) thought he was a pirate. Which he was.

The difference between Portuguese & other explorers: Portuguese were not seeking to conquer new empires, they were just exploring. The slave trades & violence came later (Portuguese joined but were also the first to stop).

Columbus was on a mission from Isabella with greedy thoughts in his head. 

20 Phrases about being Obsessed with The Sea

This is a great list of expressions. Some of which I've heard credited to Ben Franklin (Fish & Guests sink after 3 days), maybe he got some European phrases from his trip to Paris?

http://matadornetwork.com/pulse/20-expressions-prove-portuguese-obsessed-sea/

Basic Info of the Azores (from Port-American Journal)

This paragraph is included at the end of every article mentioning the Azores in the P-A Journal.

The Azores (population 250,000) is a region of Portugal composed of nine islands. The archipelago discovered by Portuguese explorers in the 15th century, became an Autonomous Region of Portugal in 1976. The government of the Autonomous Region of the Azores includes the Legislative Assembly, composed of 57 elected deputies, elected by universal suffrage for a four-year term; the Regional Government and Presidency, with parliamentary legitimacy, composed of a President, a Vice-President and seven Regional Secretaries responsible for the Regional Government executive operations. The Autonomous Region of the Azores is represented in the Council of Ministers of the Central Government by a representative appointed by the President of Portugal. According to the latest US census over 1.3 million individuals of Portuguese descent live in the United States, the majority with roots in the Azores. It is estimated that over 20,000 US citizens live in Portugal.

The above was retrieved/quoted from a page which, in retrospect, is a little odd.  It describes a "promotion" happening during November and December.  It's a write up of a press release, not an "offer" to the general public.  Like "there is Portuguese stuff on sale in America", but no links, specifics or any other mention of how to take advantage of the offers, or to even recommend it. 

http://portuguese-american-journal.com/community-goodies-from-home-coming-to-a-supermarket-near-you-azores/?ref=newsletter

(NB I still hope to contribute to this paper someday, but I have yet to get a handle on how I could fit in??)

Are we different people in different languages?

Yes.  Yes we are.

This article says it very eloquently.

And in different languages.

http://lithub.com/are-we-different-people-in-different-languages/

Luanda

80 Great Azorean Expressions!!

If only I could understand them all!  (i.e. life's work)

Go here:
http://www.vortexmag.net/80-expressoes-que-so-um-acoriano-entende/

And start with:

Asno=Burro

 ;)

"Boa, Boa, Nao E Isto"

“Good, good.  It’s not this.”
(Healthy, healthy-not me at this moment)

My Mom is sniffling & coughing.  Not the dread & what you feel as sudden vulnerability that happens when you feel a cold coming on.  That was earlier in the week.  There was a day when she was in bed, I called, and she only wanted to go back to sleep.  But today, she was talking (and I kept holding my phone at arm’s length, whenever she’s hacking or blowing her nose).

She had just erased a bunch of pictures off her phone because she kept getting a message that there was no storage available. She has 40 pictures. Or had. She erased a bunch. Her phone is crazy and I am resentful of dealing with her Android (i.e. cheap) phone because it has so many crappy apps, and just when I think I've cleaned it up, there's more that appears. And somehow, it was making regular $1.99 purchases which she denies. I am suspicious of that phone (and annoyed that she doesn't know how to use it and refuses to learn. A little like some American/English things, a little like just being an older lady who doesn't want to deal with technology.

(I have 24.789 pictures and I'm still adding, I'd rather delete apps off my iPhone than sacrifice pics. And yes, I have them backed up. On the Cloud, on a thumbdrive, etc. I'm hoarding the ones on my phone because I want to go back to Praia Formosa or Sao Laurenco. Or that day when I first moved back to Manhattan and saw that oil slick that looks like a dog. But I digress)

She had lots of fun and beautiful pictures from our trip (And some accidental shots of an arm). We/She/I tried to record the clock tower of the chapel a block away from Luis' house, right at 12 noon. I had to drive up the hill because she refused to walk. She had tried to get the sound before, but had pointed the phone at the ground. (UGH).

I love the sound of high noon in Santa Maria. So peaceful. It's the same sound as 1965, when my Mom was young and happy there.

"Mom, next time, post your pictures to Facebook before you delete them! You didn't delete the clock video, did you?"

My mom coughs right into the phone as she answers.

"Did you see the picture I posted? Of my friend who is trying to find his sister. The family was in Lajes, Terceira-you know, the army base? She got adopted by someone from Canada when she was 6. He is trying so hard to find her!"

I saw that. I couldn't imagine the rest of the story. People were not so poor that they would just give away children because they couldn't be fed. Maybe if there was a "promise of a better life" thing, or an American couple who couldn't bear children. Or an aunt/uncle/cousin deal who could take the kid. But, no, kids were not just GIVEN to strangers.

The picture is a hand holding a faded photograph of a young girl. She could be anyone from the island. Dark eyebrows, dark eyes, bright smile. That is all he had of a sister.

A Portuguese Professor at UMass Dartmouth said that coming from the islands to America in the 1950's was like time traveling from the Middle Ages into the Space Age.

People could write, but seldom did. Everything existed within conversation. Names existed as acunhas/nicknames, not as formal legalities on a birth certificate. You were know by a birth defect, or a place you were from, or where your family had come from 2 generations ago. Or that you were the son of a guy who went crazy and rode roller skates on the tarmac while playing fiddle. He was generously called "Cuecas/Underwear", but I can't imagine him wearing anything other than the roller skates.

There is just a hand, holding a photo of a girl. That girl came to a land of the printed word, of documents and crowds. She left behind the islands, as if they were a dream. And maybe that is all they were to her during her life.

North America promised a better life, but what did she find?

Are you a Lubrega? Or a Califona?

The definition of lubrega is essentially a hick.  A country bumpkin, someone who is uninformed, uneducated and essentially, stupid. And even better, a Califona is someone from the islands who lives in America.  And comes back to the Azores, completely ignorant of what they actually are.  I'd like to imagine that these are the day-trippers, the ones who come for only a week and aren't still in touch with family. The ones who do only superficial tourism.  But I suspect that I will always be a Califona, no matter how long I spend there. Maybe that's my goal, to overcome this idea, at least for myself.

So, I'm fascinated by the fascination about the upcoming election.  The one that is STILL more than a year away.  I'm amazed that so much of the discussion from one party tries to simplify everything.  To appeal to people's lizard brain.  Don't let strangers steal my stuff.

Do Americans not realize how they are seen by the rest of the world? Do they not understand that EVERYONE was an immigrant at one point? The combover guy and the blond woman who are afraid of immigrants are a piece of performance art.  They realize they need to play on people's fears, the ugliest things possible. And worse, it influences and encourages hate.

Alberto Moreno posted this yesterday on Facebook.  It gets into the Mexican perspective and lots of other issues. IT IS IMPORTANT TO READ IT!! So I am sharing it here:

Potlandia

The Mexican me. The Mexican me hates your pot. Hates the smell of it as I am driving behind your recycled cooking oil powered hipster mobile. Here in Potlandia.

This Mexican who has never smoked it. Not ever. Not once. Just not part of our values. Yes, yes, I know, you carry a different narrative about Mexican us. But true. It is not.

I hate the smell of it spilling, spewing out. Your pot which smells like white privilege. The stink of it reminds me of our black and brown. Our black and brown boys who still rot in jail for delivering it, for delivering it to your protected suburbs. .

The smell of your pot reminds me of my white room mates at the University of Illinois who sold it with impunity while our young men of color were being arrested on city corners for the same offense. Persecuted while white America toked, toked up in your suburbs, behind lily white fences while our brown muled brothers payed for your embargoed sins.

If injustice had a smell. This would be it.

Every time I am assaulted by it I am reminded that it is more important to white Potlandia to legalize your weed, than the tender flesh of our immigrant children, mothers or fathers. Reminds me that the brown of our skins, criminalized is acceptable to you. Is palatable to you. Your indifference condones it. The smell of your pot makes it clear that your apathy is conditional. That it is possible to vacate your hipster armchair ennui when it is self serving. The stink of your pot reminds me that you care. Just not about us.

I resent that our ancestral cornfields in Latin AMERICA have been turned into marijuana fields for you. To feed your insatiable habit. That your ‘innocent’ habit gave birth to and has funded the cartels’ violence against our brothers and sisters. Transformed our sacred maíz agronomy in service to the base profanity of your addictions.

So while our jails are filled to the brim with our young men, white Portlandia smokes up in the comfort of your gentrified homes. Potlandia saunters to the nearest pot dispensary without fear of persecution or prosecution. And now hoards of young hipsters are racing each other to become drug dealers to profit from the same activity that indentures still, our men and their fatherless families. The frayed fabric of our communities stretched beyond repair. For generations to come.

But soon Potlandia’s habit will be minting green millionaires who will again rewrite the narrative of displacement to describe themselves as healers and pioneers! And like Dawson Park on North Williams, our children will never get to benefit from the post displacement improvements and investments made upon spaces, which we have occupied for so long. And White Potlandia will once again reap the benefits of our communities suffering.

And while we can be grateful that no more of our young men shall be arbitrarily prosecuted and used as prison fodder to feed a for-profit prison industry; while we can only hope that this tide will turn, who will bring our young brown and black men back? Who will restore them to their daughters and sons. Their mothers and grandmothers?

Even now a kind of erasure is happening. You can see it across this city. Recently, as I drove by the Oregon Convention Center I was surprised to find that Anzen, a small Japanese grocery store and community resource, which had stood there for a generation, is gone. Replaced, by of all things, a pot dispensary. And Mr. Anzen, a survivor of the Internment Camps (another attempt at human erasure) and his life work are gone now. Erased by this new ‘industry.’

This may be what is now. But I for one, am not sure, it is the best of us. And it makes me think that the ultimate sin of privilege is to come to it without cost or consequence. And to be fully and thoroughly unaware of its exacting cost on the back of others.

The rank smell of pot then is the smell of privilege, unearned. The rotting smell of injustice. And it lingers still in the Potlandia air.

Today's pictures to work with

One tree on my cousin's land. He is digging behind the cliff on the right.

A view of the land his family used to own.

An imposing view of church

A statue in an altar.

Cactuses/cacti everywhere!  This one is called an "abobra".

Ying and yang cats!