A Visit From A British Soldier; Vila Nova, Terceira

This entry is dedicated to my aunt, Aida Adelaide, my mother's sister who happens to celebrate a birthday this month.  This evening at dinner, my mother told me the following story about when the British military was stationed on the island.  The story was brought on about the real butter I had on the table, and the invention of margarine of all things.  The history of margarine, sparked a memory in my mother, and although I've heard the story may be once or twice before, tonight I listened a little more carefully.  It is a touching story, I hope you enjoy it.  Happy Birthday Tia Aidinha!!


During WW II, in 1943 the Royal Air Force was stationed on the island of Terceira, Azores.

My mother who was a child back then, still remembers their presence on the island.  She remembers that although it was a scary time, the British military brought a positive presence, and she felt safe knowing that some of them were stationed in her village.  She had heard stories of Hitler and the war, the rationing, and the military war planes noisily flying overhead her island.  Her father had even instructed her and her sister where to hide if Hitler and the Germans were to come to the island.  It was a scary and uncertain time, but every now and then, there would be a British solider who would walk down the street, or drive by in a military vehicle.  The vehicle would stop and  soldiers come out and would often say hello to the children.  They would greet my mother and her friends with lollipops and candy bars.  Their little faces had no doubt reminded them of possibly their own children, or younger brothers and sisters who were waiting for their return back home.  

On one occasion, as my mother made her way to her uncle's home, a large military vehicle carrying a cannon came driving towards her.  My mother remembers being so frightened she stopped frozen on the street in fear.  The driver must have noticed her reaction.  The vehicle stopped, and out of the vehicle stood a tall young man, with light blue eyes and a broad smile on his face.  He  presented my mother with the biggest chocolate bar out of his front pocket.  It was the biggest candy bar she had ever seen in her life!  She joyfully took the candy bar, and ran home to show her parents.  Unfortunately to her dismay, she had to share it with her younger sister.

There were a number of soldiers that were stationed up the street from her uncle's home in Vila Nova, Terceira, and they would often come down the street in the early evenings to socialize at a small cafe/cantina near her uncle's home.   They would gather there to drink and to play cards and converse among themselves, and try to communicate with the other men from the village.  As the evenings progressed, their voices and  laughter would progress to get louder, and sometimes, on occasion, a few proved to drink a little too much.  At those times, the soldiers' laughter would soon turn into tears as their conversations turned to their loved ones waiting in England, fellow soldiers, and the stories and struggles of the war.  Although most of the people who lived in the village did not understand their words, their emotions and expressions of sorrow and "saudade"needed no translation.

On one particular day, my grandfather was out and about carrying my aunt in his arms.  My grandfather noticed a soldier stopping on the street to admire the little toddler.  She may have been only 3 or 4 years old at the time.  My aunt had light hair, with blue eyes and the vision of her apparently touched him deeply.  My grandfather felt a little weary with his stares, but after a short time the soldier came up to him, with tears in his eyes, explaining to my grandfather how much his daughter reminded him of his own.  A few days later, the soldier came up to my grandfather, and asked if there was any possibly way he could see my aunt one night as she lay sleeping.

My grandfather was so touched by the soldier's sincere words, he felt he had an obligation as a father to  help.  That evening he came  home and told my grandmother what had happened.  Although my grandmother was hesitant about it, she soon found herself  touched by the story of the soldier and she readily agreed to help.  The next evening, my grandmother purposely put the best crocheted linens on the bed, and dressed her youngest daughter in her best night gown.  My aunt Aida had no idea what was going on, and quickly fell asleep.  While she lay there sleeping, my grandmother carefully combed her light hair to the side, and pinned a pretty pink ribbon.

My mother remembers this day like it was yesterday, and recalled how confused she felt.  She did not understand why a British soldier was coming by to see her sister.  Would he bring her more chocolate?  Did he want to steal her baby sister away?  Nervously she waited until the soldier finally arrived at the door.  My grandfather opened the door, and quietly led him into the house, to where my mom and her mother stood,  near the bed where my aunt lay peacefully sleeping.  He carried no chocolates in his pockets, but the expression on his face, brought tears to my grandmother's eyes.

The soldier stood there above the bed for a little while.  He smiled at the little girl, as he mumbled a few words in English to himself.  He knelt down, and stroked her check carefully with his finger, and then arose from the bed, smiled again, and mumbled a few words in English once more, wiping a tear off of his own cheek.  The soldier then quietly left the house in silence and a few muffled words, perhaps trying to communicate to my grandparents his thank you.  My grandparents followed him out the door, and watched him make his way on the road, sympathetically.  The soldier then turned around to them,  and waved a goodbye to my mother at the window.

My mother wondered if the British soldier would ever return to visit them again, but he never did.  Years later another soldier would come, during another war, and from a different country.  That American soldier would later be my father.

Below you can see a movie on You Tube from 1943, when England set military base in Terceira.  The video does not say which island they were occupied on--just "The Azores".

I Don't Miss It

It's been about 3 months since I resigned from working at my former place of employment, and I must say, I'm finally adjusting to it.  Frankly, I can't believe it's been already over 3 months!  It seems like a month at  most!  I've been keeping myself so busy, and time is just flying by.

The first month out of work was strange.  I felt like I was just taking a long vacation from the office.  I was still getting questions from work via email.  I still had email access to my former employment.  People were actually requesting me to run CII reports, or change cases, and I would respond telling them I no longer worked there.  Yes, I didn't work there anymore!  Why are you asking me this?  Because of this, it all seemed unreal to me.  I still felt "connected" to the office in a weird, ghostly way.  Of course I had mixed feelings about it.  I wanted to be there for the person I had trained before I left, but at the same time, I felt angry.  I felt like I was still being taken advantage of by my employer, and I wasn't being paid for my time regardless.

When the second month came around, I asked to be taken off the email, and I requested not to be contacted again.  I felt a little badly for the new person, but the cord had to be broken.  This was all too ridiculous.  At this point this had to end!  I confess that I missed checking the email.  The connection I had to a place I had invested over 26+ years of employment was now gone.  It was bittersweet, but, it was finally over.

By the end of the 2nd month, I finally met up with a friend from work.  I've worked with this particular friend since she first starting working for the county, about 24 years.  She is one of the very few friends from work that has not yet retired since I started working there.  Naturally, I do miss not seeing her every day at work.  We would share our frustrations of the work place during the week, while walking around the office by the river.  I missed our walks and friendship.  We decided to meet up for another walk.

I purposefully suggested that we have a walk near the ocean.  It was a beautiful September day, and it was a perfect excuse not to walk around the river, near the office.  I have no desire to "bump" into any supervisor or any member of management on a walk.  I guess I'm still angry, and I believe I do have a reason for feeling that way.  I was not in the mood for nice, fake small talk to anyone of those idiots.  She luckily agreed to a walk near the ocean, which I was very grateful, especially when I drove into the office parking lot I felt a knot in my stomach.  Ugg.  I was very grateful that she was already waiting outside.

We had a nice, informative walk.  The sky was beautiful, and the surfers were out in the ocean, and people were walking their dogs and enjoying the day.  My friend told me of all the happenings and going ons around the office since I had made my "surprise" departure.  Apparently, the office hasn't fallen apart yet since, but they are weeks and weeks behind in work.  The girl I had trained my position was moved to a different office and doing other work.  She in turn trained a new person, whom apparently was a transfer from another department, who was taking a lot of vacation time off, so the work was even more behind, and she really didn't know what the hell she was doing, but she was slowly accomplishing it.  Other parts of "my former job duties" had been reimbursed to aids, and other people who were none to happy.  My former supervisor asked my friend, to ask me if I was willing to come in a few days to "catch up".  I laughed.  I guess my former supervisor was too embarrassed to call me personally.  I hope she doesn't call.  I relayed to my friend to tell her I thought that was very funny.

We walked back to my car, and I dropped off my friend at the parking lot at my former work place.  I cannot tell you how happy I felt to actually drive out of there one more time.  I probably will go back again because of my friend, but the thought of walking inside that building makes my stomach ache.  I like my "new work place" a lot better.  It's home.

Just putting it out there...

Although I publish most of what I write on here, there have been some recent entries that I have chosen not to share on social media, namely, Facebook.

I'm not sure of who actually subscribes to this blog, if any.  (I've noticed that most of the people that I have followed in the past, have not been submitting entries.  For some bloggers it has been literally years.)  So this may be seen by only a few or a dozen people.  It really doesn't matter.  Because of the sensitive and personal material, I'm not sharing publicly for a number of reasons, that I will not disclose, but at the same time, I'm not going to make any excuses for not expressing myself on my blog.

The last thing I want to do is humiliate or offend anyone.  I'm writing entries for myself; no one else.

Take it or leave it…

Flat Tire

On some days, I just feel flat.  I feel deflated, and light-headed.  It as if someone just let out all the air out of me, and I'm just beyond tired.  I've been feeling this way for the past few days, and I think my body is really just trying to fight off a cold.

I think my car is too.

There is nothing more aggravating than driving around town, doing errands when you see that signal on your dashboard telling you that you have a tire that is losing air pressure.  Lovely.  The first thing I immediately picture in my mind is being stuck on the side of the road, unable to go to all the places I need to be.  Luckily I made it home, and had enough air pressure to finish what I was doing and safely park my car in my garage.  I know how you feel, dear Bleu.  (Yes, I named my car Bleu, because it's the color blue.)

Poor Bleu has been working overtime.  Sure he isn't driving over Hwy 17 as much as he was now that I'm not working, but boy, he has been busy.  I've taken him to San Francisco, and a not very pleasant trip to Oakland quite recently.  I don't know my way around the city very well, and poor Bleu has been honked at a few times, and been scared trying to follow instructions around the scary streets of Oakland.  So, fortunately, Bleu lost tire pressure a mile from home, and not on Telegraph Hill Rd---for this I'm very grateful indeed.

I've only have had experienced that scenario once before, years and years ago, (knock on wood) with two young children in a car full of groceries, on the side of the road with a flat, with no cell phone.  A nice woman on the road stopped in front of me, on the side of  the highway, and let me use her phone.  I was so grateful, but embarrassed.  I tried to quietly explain to the husband (ex) at home my unfortunate dilemma.  He was none too happy he had to leave and come to my rescue.  He was having far too much fun in front of the computer screen, chatting with some woman on Portuguese Chat.

It was on that day, driving back home, I realized (again-I had been in denial for years) that I had a much bigger problem than just a flat tire.  Sure, the husband (ex) eventually showed up, changed the tire, and put on the spare, (cursing under his breath the whole entire time) but that was just a band aid to a much bigger problem.  After a tearful drive home, the groceries were put away.  The kids were fed, and I watched them hoping they would be too young to remember what a terrible afternoon it had been. I could overhear him laughing again in front of the computer screen.  Things were back to "normal".  Normally dysfunctional.

Sometimes the best way to take off a band aid is to do it quickly.  It is so much worse than pulling it off slowly.  It had to happen eventually.  I was losing air and I was suffocating.

Voices Unheard

one bruised arm
one black eye
one more walk into the door
broken dishes on the floor
i tried to hide
and i lied
but honey there isn't enough Cover Girl in the world
that can cover
this or shut the voices
inside

another bruised arm
another black eye
another excuse
not to run
push it away that glass of red wine
cleaning off the stain
from my face
broken pieces strewn across
leave without a trace
hide the evidence

one loud shrill
one loud crash
one little girl holding a suitcase
i'm shouting down the hall
loading up the car
and my soul
with what is left
what was always there
left unkept and silent
far too many years

open up the box
open up the book
let the moths fly out
I lost the ring
I buried it
I burnt it
with the letters and denial
let the voices attest
My Lady you have heard me
how I prayed and cried
I tried until
the door finally swung open
and the lights inside
sang with loud voices
I could not deny

Things That Chirp In The Night...

Awhile ago, my mother called me at work with a problem.

"Julie, I have a problem.  There is a sound in my house, and I haven't been able to sleep the last two days."

"What kind of sound?"

My mother went on to explain that it sounded like a cricket, but she wasn't sure, because the "grilos (crickets) in Terceira (Azores) sounded different."  I joked with her and pointed out, that all crickets "spoke" the same language of course, but my mother didn't think it was funny at least.  She wasn't able to sleep and she was exhausted.

She tried everything.  She looked all over the house looking for this "bicho" (bug) but was not successful.  She checked the windows, the door ways, the vents in the heater, and the attic.  She turned on the vacuum cleaner some nights hoping to scare off the little critter, but with little success.  According to her, it would stop for a few minutes, and as soon as she put the vacuum away, it would start again.  The sound proceeded to taunt her throughout the evening.  Even with the pillow over her head, did not prevent the sound from keeping her awake.  She was always afraid that she would awake with a cricket next to her pillow.  It was driving her crazy, and praying on her rosary was the only thing she could do to help her sleep a few hours.

I went over to her house that day to check it out, and honestly, I heard nothing.  She told me, "It only comes out at night, right when I fall asleep.  It knows."

Lovely.  Was my mother going completely crazy?  "It knows."  I questioned my mother's sanity for a moment, and wondered if I should just spend the night to hear this "cricket" for myself.  I continued to reassure her that it was probably just a cricket, and it couldn't hurt her, but that really didn't ease her concern.  She was afraid it was something else, perhaps "something more dangerous." She went on to say that she would ask my older brother to check it out, because in her words, it was more of a job for "a man" and I let go the responsibility cheerfully.  In the meantime, she would continue to sleep with a flashlight and her "nervous pills" close by along with her white crackers, and 7UP.

A few nights later, my dog, Max started to bark for no known reason.  It was then I heard a sound coming from the hallway.  It was a small little beep sound.  Hmm..I wondered, what could that be?  I thought it might be one of the older kids who just got home, or my youngest was still awake and playing  a video game.  I got up from bed to investigate.

At first, I didn't know what it was or where it was coming from.  I checked the bedrooms, and all the kids were home and asleep.  I just happened to look up, when I heard the sound, and saw a green light coming from the the fire alarm detector.  Of course, Max was following me through the house and helping with my "investigation" barking nonstop each time the thing beeped, which alerted my husband, who proceeded to take it down  from the ceiling.

My husband reassured me that it was probably a dying battery that was setting it off, but of course we checked the house for smoke, and fortunately didn't find any.  It was after we went back to bed I realized that the beeping sound could be the same chirping sound that was keeping my mother up all night for the last week.

The next day I called my mother and asked her how she slept last night.  She told me that my brother did not find where the sound was coming from and she had another sleepless night.  I told her about what happened to us the night before, and she didn't seem to believe, it was coming from her fire alarm, but was hopeful that it was.

"Ah Julie, nao e possivel….mas vem ca e ver!"

 In other words, Julie it's not possible, but come and see!

I drove over to investigate.  The last thing I wanted was my mother climbing on a chair and trying to take the alarm down by herself, and break a hip.  When I arrived, my mother followed me into the hallway near the kitchen where her alarm was on the ceiling.  She already had the chair sitting directly underneath the alarm.  I got there just in time.

"It's not making any noise now!"  my mother explained.  "It only comes out at night!"

I got on the chair and twisted the alarm off and pressed the button.

"BEEP"

I looked down at my mother.

"Is that the sound you have been hearing?"

My mother crossed herself and smiled.  I proceeded to pop in a new battery in the alarm, and twisted it back into the ceiling.

It was kind of strange that the batteries in my own fire alarm happened to get weak the same time my mother's, but somethings in life are just unexplainable.  Operation "cricket" was successful and my mother finally enjoyed a restful sleep, and was able to put away the vacuum cleaner and flashlight, and that is all that mattered.

Bye, Bye…..

I took the link of my former employer's email off my computer.  It was book marked, but I deleted it.  It's gone.  Now I won't be tempted to check the email to answer more questions.

The questions haven't stopped, but they are getting less involved, so I think it's going to be okay. (Why should I care---I'm angry with myself for caring so much.)  Hopefully now they will get the hint and know I'm not available.  They will probably resort to calling me on the phone.   I have vowed to myself not to answer their calls.  (Thank God for call screening.)  I haven't been an employee for the last 2 weeks, and I'm not getting paid for this.  It's really not suitable for me to be available to them now.  I wrote a fricken manual people…read it!

You can ring my bell, but I'm not picking up.

I also quit selling Avon.

I'm on a quitting spree.  Avon is robbing me blind, and I'm their best customer.  After announcing my termination from being an Avon lady, I've gotten two calls.  One from Avon in Pasadena--from a very annoying person who was being very overly concerned with my welfare, and wanted to know "why I was quitting, because I was doing so well.."  I was doing so well?  Really?  In what way?  Paying for all the mistakes and overcharges for the products I bought?  Oh please. They wouldn't let me return products, nor did they do price adjustments for me.  I was making no money whatsoever-Avon was---so of course they are "sorry to see me go". Then I got a very annoying call from a woman named Jennifer who works from the local office.  I've never met Jennifer,  and I'm sure she is a very nice person, but I will not miss her annoying emails.  She would send an email almost every day, and if I was late for a campaign, I would get phone calls.  She called me this time with a not so very chirpy voice, wondering who I was going to refer my customers.  Gee, lady, I can count all my customers in one hand.  No one is going to die because they can't order their mascara from me this month.

Ding Dong…this Avon lady is done.