Tongue in Cheek

Family History

My Grandmother left the Azores when she was fourteen. She traveled to America with her Aunt and Uncle, arriving at Ellis Island. Then she took a train to Wisconsin and worked as a servant in someone's home. Months later, when she had enough money, she ventured towards California to meet her older brothers who were already living there.

When I was in the Azores I went to the small port where my Grandparent's, one by one had left as young teenagers towards their big adventure.

I cannot imagine as a parent saying good bye to my fourteen year old daughter, nor son.  My Grandmother never saw her Mother again.

When I asked her what was that like, she said she had to do it, her future was calling her.

The main reason I went to Terceria was to know more about my family's history.  I went to the library, and by chance meet a man who was documenting Terceria's ancestors. Meeting him was a miracle that still gives me goosebumps.

This is the library that held some of my families documents dating back to the 16th century.

The man brought out this leather bound book, with its soft worn pages. He read to me the names of my family. I asked him if I could hold it, somehow just holding it I felt I was holding the hands of my past, that I was the link taking them to the future.

The path is long, the journey unending, the heart has no bounds if you let it go free.

Photos: Taken in the Azores 2003.

Lava Stone....Terceira, Azores

The Azores. Volcanic islands. My son Sacha standing on a road lined with lava stone.

Thank you for the gazillion wonderful responses! Many of you guessed pumice stone, or bed warmer, or fishing weight, or candle stick holder, maybe somewhere those answers are true. But my lava stone is a tool, and not a romantic one at that.

The Azores island of Terceira is a pearl of simple beauty.

Your creative guesses I especially liked, it isn't easy to add colorful interpretation to a lava stone. Dee thought it a tool to gaze stars, how I wish that were true. 

Patti had a similar idea: "What you do is hold it out at arms length, aligning the bottom edge with the horizon, when the sun can be clearly seen through the hole, it is officially time to start happy hour."

Lisa guessed it could be used to remove the cork from a wine bottle. My Uncle Frank needs to get some of them for his Port-a-gee diesel! Happy hour.

Pumice stone was the answer most of you gave, and I am sure many a pumice stone has been made from lava. MisBooshay and My Melange made me laugh with guessing it was the first Brillo pad. Mais non, it is not that.

The farms are in the center of the island, the homes are along the coastline. Each farm's property is lined with high lava stone walls or with....

Well manicured hedges. Dairy farming is the type of work my family did on the island and in California.

The century old  homes are made with lava stones.

Pink Pomegranate guessed the lava stone was a door weight, nope. Julie Holvick guessed that the lava stone was heated and place into the honeymoon bed to keep tootsies warm...Who's toes are cold during their honeymoon? Comtesse , Julie needs to go read your comment! Talk about hot potato!

Against a blue sky the white washed homes of the Azores stand proudly.

Pasture along the lava rock coastline of Terceira.

Natural lava swimming holes dot the coastline in Terceria.

Beachy had her entire Portuguese family guessing. Though the roads are made with lava and decorated charmingly, the lava stone I have is not a cobblestone.

There were many delicious romantic guesses that pleased me, but the two ( I couldn't decide and trust me it is tough to pick a winner out of 95 responses among friends!!) creative winners are:

Julie for claiming the lava stone an IMAGINATION SPARKER.

Ariane her response reads: "When the Solar System was forming, Mother Earth gave birth to her daughter, Luna. But has her daughter grew, it became time for Luna to go off on her own. So she separated from her mother. Every time lava flows from the Mother Earth, she mourns the separation from her daughter, and these lava rocks are her solidified tears."

Aren't those wonderful ideas!

Portuguese Sopas is one of the typical meals made in the Azores. Especially during the Holy Ghost Portuguese Fiesta.

My lava stone, I was told was used to skin the pigs and cattle when they were butchered. Stljoie guessed correctly with her response: "Well I'm going to guess it was used to scrape hides during the tanning process."

Thank you for playing along with the guessing game. I enjoyed the great humor, thoughtfulness and friendship that I read between the lines.

Thank you or as they say in Portuguese: Muito Obrigado!

Photos: Taken during my trip to the Azores.

Guessing Game # 6

               

A few years ago I went to the Azores to the island of Terceira.  My family has its roots there, in fact our ancestry can be traced back to the 13th century.

I was lucky enough to visit the home of my Grandfathers and Grandmothers. As children they lived on the island, then in their early teens one by one they left Terceira to venture to America, traveling across the States to settle in California.

When I was in Terceira visiting the house of my Father's dad, the owner of the house gave me this lava stone. She told me that it was handmade by my Great Grandfather in the 1890s.

               

Do you know what it was used for?

A little treat for the first person who gives the right answer, and another for the most original answer too. (Sorry girls it is not pink nor romantic, but if you can whip up something romantic with this stone you know I am gonna love it.)

Flea Market Style

               

A peek into my home. Flea market style. The run down. Pair of armchairs found on the street, recovered with an old green bed cover. The picture frames are new, the engravings inside are not. The lamp base is old, the lamp shades are not. A linen bed sheet becomes a curtain, a table used in someone's garage becomes an end table and the mirror reflects its surroundings as not to have you focus on its broken crown.

Mix and match pieces, texture and elements. What is your home decorating style?

Photo: A corner of my home this morning. A guessing game is coming Friday. I found something that you will never never guess what it is.  It is a dandy of a thing.

Some of my favorite places:

Old Plank Road

Bountiful

Trove

Found Now

Atmosphere

The Journey

When I saw him, I knew I had to talk to him, to meet him. Have you ever felt that when seeing someone you don't know? As if you know the person somehow, that you feel connected but you don't know how or why?

I went up and asked him for directions.

He explained the path,

as I looked into his eyes, his words went over me and all I could here was:

Take time to listen to your heart,

to listen to your foot steps,

to be present to where you are and not where you are going.

photos: An older man walking in a village in Provence.

The Best Macarons in France

               

My friend Carol came to visit me last weekend.  She loves macaron, I mean loves them. In her small suitcase she brought about a hundred of them, I am not kidding. Carol cleaned out the best macaron places in Paris, in her suitcase she packed macarons from:  Laduree,  Jean Paul Hevin, Lenotre, Pierre Hermes, La maison du Chocolat, Paul, and Gerard Mulot.

               

Of course she wanted my opinion, which macaron did I think was the best?  I had to taste them.  One of each, then another and another. Notice the plates are empty.  It was a very hard task to do; To taste the array of macarons she brought and give honest feedback.

               

I told Carol (her blog is called: PARIS BREAKFASTS ) I thought they were all good.  Pistachio, Rose, Violet, Chocolate, Raspberry, Lemon... but she insisted I name which one was the best.  I had to taste them again, and change into a moo-moo dress.

               

Which macaron was my favorite... Paul Hevin.

When you come to France let your heart feast out in the most enchanting tea rooms in Paris... Macarons will not disappoint you. Or you can go to Carol's blog and lick the screen. Both are worth the visit.

photos: Vintage teacups after tea chez moi in Provence.

Love Bites

               

If you have loved or not,

whether you believe in it,

or had it believe in you-

If love has ripped you apart, are sewn you together,

there is no denying the pulsating power it has.

Love seldom taking us where we think we are going.

As the Monkees sang...

"Love was out to get me,"

and it got me good.

Photo: Just me showing you the face behind this blog, and yes I do not like to have my picture taken. And that the thought above and this photo have little in common.

Wear your Desire

                     

                    Photo: An oil painting in an antique shop in Venice, with a reflection of another painting behind it.

Some of us feel, at one time or another... a desire to fully express the inner tide of who we are. To be able to live abundantly our deepest longings, and yet during these moments the reality of our lives holds us back. The day-to-day life of commitments and expectations, time restraints and budget, the constant call of choice....

                     

                    Photo: Holy cards montage.

The tender ache of holding back, or worse the waiting to the point of forgetting that which is at the core of our desire. Maybe the inner desire can be expressed, lived and shared, wherever we are to some extent...instead of an all or nothing approach.

                  

                  Photo: A small detail of a colored engraving 1800 c.

Honor your desire by planting a seed of it somewhere. Let it take root in a small gesture, a simple act, by writing our desire on a stone and tossing it in a river... write a word a day to yourself and put it in a jar by your bedside...follow your heart by dancing at midnight under the moon... or give yourself permission to not be perfect... draw an ink tattoo on yourself of the image of your desire... create a collage on your bathroom mirror...make vegetable monsters to conquer your fear...put love letters to yourself under your pillow...every-time you see that which you long for, say your name out loud. If you long for it to be true then plant your longing in your heart's garden and water it regularly with symbolic gesture.

Trumpet Song Early in the Morning

               

My Mother and Aunt Marie use to go to the antique auctions when I was little.

After dinner dishes done, my Mom would race off with a smile, and high hopes written all over her face.

A 1920s blue glass beaded evening bag-

An oak dresser with a swivel mirror for $35-

Grey freckled tin ware-

And a trumpet

were some of the won bids I can recall.

Especially the trumpet.

My Mother used it as our alarm clock...

"da da ta a ta dum da ta da da ta dum!"

She would play the trumpet to wake-up my four brothers and I.

The sound was too raw for the morning light- sleep was out of the question.

It was not the blast of the trumpet that struck my heart for loving to find old things. It was the joy I saw on my Mother's face, as she would come home late at night, with her arms carrying her latest acquisition.

Happy Birthday Mom.

photo: 18th century engraving aiming at you with love.

Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder

            

It wasn't a real cameo.

It wasn't lace made from the nuns in some faraway place.

The book wasn't leather bond, in fact pages were missing.

The pearls...fake and the diamonds rhinestones.

It was just ordinary trinkets from the flea market.

Yet it was real, it was there, it was moments of life, gathered, claimed worthy and blossomed anew..

The little day to day things, the words that pass between, the gestures unseen, the heart on the sleeve, the bits and pieces that make up life.

Hold that which is dear near you, and that which is hard hold closer.

photo: A gathering of flea market finds for a friend.