Summary: An unlikely meeting forms a new international friendship
Forty years ago I spent one summer in Finland as an exchange student. It was in a small, beautiful town of about 30,000 called Savonlinna. Located in the Saimaa Lakeland area of Finland, the town is a series of interconnected islands with a beautiful 15th century fortress, Olavinlinna.
I have been back only once, way back in 1989, and I have never met anyone from this town since.
Olavinlinna Castle in 1989, the last time I was in Savonlinna
Finnish is an unusual language, related to no Slavic, Germanic, or Romance language, it’s distantly related to Hungarian. Finns and Estonians can sort of understand each other.
Finns, like most Scandinavians learn English (often speaking it better than some native English speakers). So their language is rarely heard and even more rarely recognized and understood.
During my summer in Finland, I learned a few basic phrases, how to count, and how to swear (swearing in Finnish is really handy — I’ve only been busted once in 40 years).
So, what has Finnish or Savonlinna to do with Madeira? Nothing. Or so I thought.
While on Madeira, we enjoyed a lovely private tour of the north and western portions of the Island. We viewed the rugged sheer cliffs on the north side of the island, felt the mist and spray of a waterfall, and visited several quaint towns on the north coast.
Machico, Madeira; note the edge of the elevated tarmac of the airportCascata da Aguage waterfall near SantanaFaial, MadeiraBird of Paradise flowers grow freely around Madeira
Finally, our driver delivered us to the beautiful Quinta do Barbusano winery in Sao Vicente, Madeira. Sao Vicente has under 6000 inhabitants and at the northwest corner of Madeira is at the opposite side from Funchal.
Tables in the tasting room. Note the bars for hanging espetada.
The tasting room of the winery enjoys a gorgeous panoramic view of the valley and the steep hills covered with rows of grapevines.
I often listen to hear what languages I can recognize. On our trip, the most common non-Portuguese languages I heard were mainly English, German, and Spanish. On occasion I’d hear French, Swedish, Norwegian, and Italian.
As we waited for the group to assemble for a tour of the hillside vineyards, I heard an unusual, yet vaguely familiar tongue. Could it be Finnish? The more I listened, the more certain I was.
I approached one fellow in a group of four and asked, “Suomalainen?” (“Finnish?” — maybe not the most polite or proper wording, but it was the best I could muster).
When they nodded yes, I explained that I had spent a summer in Savonlinna, Finland, when I was in high school
“We’re from Savonlinna!” his wife exclaimed, and we both laughed and marveled at the unlikelihood of our meeting. As we chatted, more Finnish words and phrases came back from the recesses of my memory, and I recognized ruefully that I knew more Finnish than Portuguese.
We hiked through and under the grapevines together. On such a steep and uneven terrain punctuated with stone walls, the grapes can only be tended to and harvested by hand. I had to duck constantly; this workplace definitely favors a shorter stature.
We returned to the tasting room to escape the sun and heat.
Couvert: bread, cheese, meat, and jamEspetada!Lovely Madeira wine
During a lovely lunch we were served several wines, both white and red. Our espetada was delivered on bay laurel skewers. With dessert we were served 5-year-old Madeira wine.
Toasting with our new Finnish friends. “Sisu!”
I went over and chatted with the four Finns at the next table. The wife of the Savonlinna couple came to meet and chat with Annie. They are retired and spend their summers in Finland and winters in Valencia, Spain.
We delighted getting acquainted, and truly hope to meet them again.
Summary: Alcoholic beverages are plentiful, varied, and tasty in Portugal
On average, Portuguese alcohol consumption is slightly higher than Americans, though less than their European neighbors.
Neither of us usually consumes more than maybe a single glass of wine per week. While in Portugal, we had at least 2 drinks every day including wine, port and other spirits and cocktails.
Beer
Neither of us drinks much beer, but we took a liking to a Portuguese Beer called “Super Bock.” You could order a “mini,” which was just 20cl (a little under 7 oz.). Bottles and beer glasses in this diminutive size were readily available, and we enjoyed several during our trip.
Super Bock Mini bottle and glass
Liquor, Cocktails, and Other Fun Drinks
I developed a taste for Licor Beirão, which is the most consumed spirit in Portugal. It is made from a double distillation of seeds and herbs, including mint, cinnamon, cardamom and lavender.
It has a colorful history going back to the 19th century when it was originally sold as a medicinal cure for stomach aches. I consumed Beirão at least once as a digestif and found it satisfying and effective.
Licor Beirão or simply “Beirão”Enjoying a Beirão at sunset
I was greatly dismayed to find that Beirão has only a couple of distributors on the east coast of the U.S. So, I will have to carefully ration the one duty-free bottle I carried home until I can find a way to obtain more.
Ginja(or Ginjinha) is another popular liquor in Portugal. Often made from sour cherries and served in tiny, edible chocolate shot cups, you can see ginja bars and windows on the sidewalks of busy Lisbon and other Portuguese cities.
Ponchais a popular traditional drink on Madeira. It is mixture of liquor made from sugar cane, honey, white sugar, and usually a citrus juice, although we also tried some that had passionfruit juice. Beware this tasty drink as the alcoholic content is much higher than it tastes!
Enjoying a poncha break in the midday sun
Another cocktail popular on Madeira is the Nikita. This blended, frozen drink is made from fresh pineapple and/or pineapple juice, vanilla ice cream, and either beer or white wine. It tastes somewhere between a Piña Colada and a Pineapple Julius.
A delicious and refreshing Nikita
At one cafe we ordered a “white wine sangria,” which we’d never seen or tasted before. It was so delicious that we asked for the recipe, which the server readily wrote down:
The white wine sangria recipe we couldn’t read
Unfortunately, we could not read her writing, so we had to have our hotel concierge rewrite it for us.
Wine
We are not knowledgeable about Portuguese wine. We did enjoy sampling wine and port in city tasting rooms as well as at a couple vineyards. We visited one Douro Valley vineyard that has been owned by the same family going back at least 300 years!
View of the Douro Valley from their tasting roomTiles showing the winemaking processSome of these barrels are well over 100 years oldA fabulous wine and port tasting at Quinta de Santa Eufemia
This winery still crushes the grapes by pouring them into a large stone basin and having people crush them underfoot. They know that mechanical crushing is popular, but they believe physically trampling better exposes and mixes the grape skins, pulp, and juices and releases more flavor. I would love to be present to watch this centuries-old tradition!
After finding out there are over 250 wine varietals grown in Portugal, we realized we’d have little chance, even after three weeks, of getting to the point where we could recognize and choose a suitable Portuguese wine to go with our meal. We simply asked our servers for recommendations, and they always delivered.
Port Wine (vinho do Porto)
Port is the only Portuguese wine I had ever seen in U.S. markets.
I knew a little about port before this trip. I knew it was a “fortified wine” and that the two main types were tawny and ruby. The ruby ports I had tasted were sweeter. The few tawny ports I had tasted before this trip hadn’t really appealed. That was to change.
Like Champagne, authentic port may only be produced in a specific region — in the case of port, it must come from the Douro Valley of Portugal. Although Wikipedia claims, “In the European Union as well as in the United States, only wines from Portugal are allowed to be labelled ‘port,'” I know for a fact that there are U.S. winemakers selling fortified wine called “port.”
Basically, port wine is made by adding a neutral, high-alcoholic content grape spirit (something like 70% alcohol) to the wine to halt fermentation. Some call the spirit “brandy,” but since it has no flavor, I find this misleading. The wine is often aged in barrels, and the result has both a higher alcoholic and sugar content than typical wines.
Over 100 varieties of grapes may be used to make port wine, and the difference between ports depends on whether they aged in stainless steel, concrete, or wooden barrels, whether they are allowed to oxidize before bottling, the type of grapes, etc.
White and Rosé Port
Before this trip, we were completely unaware of the existence of white and rosé ports.
White ports are made from white grapes and are not made every year. The growing season has to be ideal (colder winter and hotter summer) for the winemaker to choose to make white port. We tasted several and fell in love with them.
White port tasting in Porto
Rosé Port was invented recently in 2008. It starts out like a ruby port, but the amount of time the wine is exposed to the grape skins is limited (I think I recall in one case it was just 24 hours). This gives the port its lovely rose hue.
Madeira Wine is a fortified wine made on the island of Madeira and predates Port wine by a couple centuries.
Madeira has a winemaking history going back to the 1400s, and was a major port of call for ships travelling to and from the New World. Wine barrels were exposed to heat and movement on voyages, and so merchants started adding grape spirits to help keep the wine from spoiling en route. When an unsold shipment of wine returned to Madeira, it was discovered the wine, fortified with spirits and exposed to the heat and movement actually improved the taste of the wine.
In the modern production of Madeira wine, I have learned that younger blends (3-5 years old) are produced using artificial heat to accelerate the aging process. Older blends, because of how they are made, may last years or decades, and will still be good even after opening.
Madeira wine was popular in colonial America, and it was a favorite among America’s founding fathers. We were reminded several times by proud Madeirans that Madeira wine was used to toast the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
The fruit stands in Madeira were especially impressive (all the fruit you see in this picture was grown on the island of Madeira):
Fresh fruit at the Mercado dos Lavradores (farmers’ market) in Funchal
Seafood
The Portuguese also consume a lot of seafood, and we ate some seafood almost every day, which included some items we’d never seen before. Here are just a few dishes we were served and readily consumed:
Garlic ShrimpCocklesGrilled ScallopsMusselsPrawns with PastaSea Bream
Cheese
We ate beautiful cheese every day in Portugal. Cheese is made on the mainland and on the Azores, but not on Madeira. Cow’s, goat’s, and sheep’s milk cheeses were served nearly every breakfast. Every dinner started with a couvert, typically a basket of bread and butter, sometimes including olives, olive oil, and/or cheese. Cheese was also offered as dessert after several dinners.
Toasted Azorean cheese Cheese fridge in a supermarketTasting cheese in Queijaria da Avó, a shop selling only products from the AzoresCheese for sale in Porto’s Mercado do BolhãoBreakfast in Ponto do SolBreakfast buffet in Lisbon
Pastel de nata
Of the many desserts we had, we of course ate many Pastéis de nata (plural form of Pastel de nata). These miniature egg custard tarts are best dusted with cinnamon and maybe a little sugar. There are friendly debates over who makes the best Pastéis de nata. We ate many and even hand carried a dozen home with us. Sadly, I just consumed the last of them last night.
The good news is that my wife purchased a stack of Pastéis de nata tins, and a pastry cookbook, so with luck, I may get to enjoy good Portuguese egg tarts without having to wait until I’m back in Portugal.
Meat
The meat we had was delicious and well-prepared.
One special dish we enjoyed a couple times was espetada, which is meat cooked on skewers. On Madeira, it is common to use bay laurel branches instead of metal for the skewers. The laurel branch imparts flavor into the meat.
Tables with skewer hooksPreparing for my first biteCloseup of the bay laurel skewerRoasting the Espetada at Restaurante Santo António
Each table was equipped with tall bars with hangers on which each skewer could be secured. One must use a knife and fork to slide the meat vertically off the hanging skewer.
One thing I noticed, when ordering meat dishes, we rarely were asked how we wanted the meat prepared. In those cases, it was usually served medium-rare (which happens to be our preference).
At restaurants that catered to tourists, we were asked. Their assumption was we would want it medium or medium-well and they were a bit surprised when we asked for “medium-rare.” I don’t know, but do our British compatriots prefer their meat cooked a bit longer?
The francesinha(pronounced approximately “fra-nsi-sinh-uh“) is a special sandwich originally from Porto. A stack of many different kinds of hot meats is sandwiched between toasted bread, topped with slices of cheese. Hot tomato and beer sauce is poured over the tower, melting the cheese.
A square about a block from our hotel in Porto had at least 4 restaurants all advertising Francesinhas. Our first one was so big we had to split it in half to share between the two of us.
Tip #1: Ask for restaurant recommendations
We received suggestions for restaurants from our drivers, tour guides, and shop keepers, and they were all excellent! People are happy to give you suggestions and you are well advised to heed them.
Be sure to have them write down the names for you. Unless you familiar with Portuguese, hearing the name doesn’t mean you will come anywhere close to spelling the name correctly on your own.
Tip #2: Ask your server for suggestions
Consistently, whenever we asked our server for a recommendation, they offered it without hesitation, and they never steered us wrong.
At one restaurant, Annie asked whether she should get the roasted chicken or the BBQ chicken. The answer was immediate: “roasted chicken,” without explanation or elaboration.
At another restaurant I couldn’t decide between any of the meat entrées. The server indicated that “Granny’s Roasted Veal” (slow roasted and sweetened with wild chestnuts) was the chef’s actual grandmother’s recipe. It was excellent!
We were advised on more that one occasion when they thought we were ordering too much food.
Tip #3: Let your server choose your wine
Having little hope of becoming sufficiently knowledgeable to select a Portuguese wine from a wine list, we simply asked our servers to choose our wines for us. We were always offered a taste, and our servers consistently made satisfactory selections for us.
I photographed the labels of many wines I tasted and enjoyed. But given how little Portuguese wine we see in stores at home, I doubt I will see them again until I return to Portugal.
In another blog post I will list our favorite restaurants including one in Lisbon so good we had to go back a second time!
In the past when preparing to travel, I’d make a concerted effort to learn some basic words and phrases as well as basic pronunciation. Often, I’d pick up a phrase book and practice learning the basics.
For this trip, I went so far as to purchase a stack of Pimsleur European Portuguese conversational language CDs as well as a deck of Lingo Portuguese language playing cards.
My wife did some online language lessons only to realize too late that she was learning Brazilian Portuguese.
Alas, work, life, sloth, whatever — I found myself flying across the Atlantic with vocabulary limited pretty much to “hello” and “thank you.” (“olá” and “obrigado,” respectively).
Fortunately for us, the vast majority of people we met in Portugal knew at least some English. There were only a couple rideshare drivers and a shopkeeper here or there that could not speak English. A quick usage of a translating app on my phone got us through those infrequent situations.
Beautiful street art in Lisbon
I felt bad about arriving so linguistically ill-prepared, but I decided the least I could do was to improve my pronunciation as best as I could for what little I did know and later would learn.
I had heard from someone that any word ending with “o” should be pronounced “oo.” So the city of Porto should be pronounced (“Por-Too”) and thank you (“obrigado” if you are a male) should be pronounced “oh-bri-ga-doo.”
An additional challenge with European Portuguese is that many of the written letters are not voiced. In contrast, I heard that Brazilian Portuguese has simplified its spelling to be phonetic like Spanish and German.
Learning One Phrase
I decided to look up one phrase using the Deepl app on my phone (I prefer Deepl to Google Translate). I wanted to know how to say, “we our on our honeymoon.” Deepl reported the translation as “estamos em lua de mel.”
Listening to the audio pronunciation, the dropped/skipped letters made it sound like:
“SHTAH-moes eh-LOO-a d’MELL.”
I first drilled it into my head using this mnemonic device:
“(John) Stamos (K)ahlua (Cecil B.) DeMille”
I shared this memory device with my wife, who later tried to recall it, but hilariously came up with “Tony Danza….???”
People we met were already friendly and welcoming, but whenever my wife or I would utter this phrase, their eyes would light up and the enthusiasm bubble over. Several restaurants gave us complimentary flutes of sparkling wine with our dinner, and twice we found chilled bottles of sparkling wine awaiting us in our hotel rooms.
Simply saying “olá,” (hello), “bom dia” (good morning), or “boa noite” (“boy noit” – good evening) was enough to stop locals from immediately pegging us as English speakers.
If we said “estamos em lua de mel,” however, they assumed we were fluent and often barreled forward in Portuguese. I’d have to sheepishly admit that this phrase constituted about 50% of my Portuguese vocabulary, but it made me feel proud every time they told us our pronunciation was really good.
On one of the last days of our trip, we were in a baking supply store buying little cups needed to make pastéis de nata, the famous Portuguese egg cream tarts.
I spoke the phrase to the lady at the counter, and she launched into Portuguese. I had to stop her and admit the severe limits of my language proficiency. She responded that my wife and I were speaking better Portuguese than immigrants from the UK, Ukraine, or Russia who had been in Portugal for three years. That was sobering and disappointing to hear.
The Portuguese are warm and welcoming, and they have a great history of exploration (and yes, colonization). I want to return to Portugal, and when I do, I will prepare much more to show my appreciation and respect through their language.
Summary: Chance timing leads to an amazing, unforgettable moment of music and email.
The weather the last week we were in Portugal was especially rainy and windy.
Duoro River rising uncomfortably close to the level of the banks
In fact, the Duoro River separating Porto from Gaia flooded its banks the last day we were there. We saw the rising river the night before. But on our last day the winds and driving rain kept us close to our hotel, so we didn’t see the flooding firsthand.
Annie wanted to brave the elements to visit the Santa Clara Church (Igreja de Santa Clara) which was just a 6-minute walk from our hotel. It was supposed to be a spectacular Baroque style cathedral.
The wind blew hard and turned my sturdy umbrella inside out at one point, but we made it.
Upon entering we were told that visiting hours were just now closing due to a concert. Well, could we attend the concert? Yes, for €5 each. We paid and entered a cathedral entirely gilded from floor to ceiling. It was breathtaking.
Interior of the spectacular Santa Clara Cathedral in Porto, Portugal
The organ was playing and an unseen ethereal soprano voice was heard singing a lamentation. The sound emanated from the choir loft.
After the song was finished, a woman invited us up the stairs to a room where nuns had gathered and sung, unseen, during prior centuries. The front of the room had a large window into the cathedral. A gilded wooden grid prevented those in the cathedral below to see into the room.
Nun’s sanctuary above and behind the main cathedral; organ case visible to the right
A wooden box the size of a large wardrobe housed the organ keyboard, and our guide, who turned out to be the organist/choir director told us about the music (composed by an 18th century Portuguese composer) the organ, etc. She addressed the assembled audience in three languages: English, Portuguese, and Spanish.
Organist/Choir director speaking. The main cathedral is visible through the gilded grid behind her.
Two young woman stood by, and after the organist finished talking, she sat down and they performed a couple more pieces by the same composer.
After the concert, the organist answered questions, then invited people up to play the organ. A few visitors poked a single key here or there. I couldn’t resist.
I quickly pulled up a simplified arrangement of Allegri’s incomparable Miserere mei, Deus on my cell phone. I stumbled slowly through it, squinting at the score on the tiny screen balanced on a rickety, 300-year-old wooden music rack. The sound of the organ was subdued and warm as the prior performance had just been for just the small room we were in.
The choir director, apparently pleased either that someone was playing an actual piece or with my musical choice (or both) leaned in close and said, “don’t be scared” — and literally pulled out the stops.
Suddenly, the sound of the great organ boomed forth filling not just our room but the entire church below. The sound felt like it was resonating in and through my body. I struggled to keep playing, self-conscious of my many mistakes and emotionally and physically shaken by the aural bombast.
I played only a page of the music before stopping. That was enough — and an actual church service was about to begin.
We thanked the organist profusely for the opportunity (how often does one get to play an 18th century organ?). When she found out it was our honeymoon, she was effusive in wishing us happiness and was glad to have made this memorable experience part of our celebratory vacation.
Descending the stairs and exiting out into the driving rain, my hands and body continued to tremble for several minutes in the aftermath of such a physical and aural musical sensation.
What were the chances?
Had we visited just an hour earlier, we’d have seen the spectacular church interior, taken photos, read some plaques, then left. Annie laughed when she noted that the regular admission was €4. By mere chance of timing (and €1 extra) we got this amazing and unforgettable experience.
I would have to say this experience was, in the accurate use of the word…awesome.
As I recover from jetlag, I am collecting and organizing scores and scores of pictures and videos along with many thoughts and memories which I plan to share here.
A. Where We Went
We spent a week in each of three locations: Lisbon, Madeira, and Porto. From each location, we toured locally and made day trips exploring the area and nearby cities.
B. When We Went
It was winter in Portugal, which meant cooler and more gray and rainy days. Being from the Pacific Northwest, the weather didn’t bother us, and we were glad to avoid the hotter temperatures of summer. Also, we were glad to go during the low season and avoid many of the crowds of tourists that come during the warmer months.
The exception was Madeira. At the same latitude as Marrakesh, Morocco, Madeira enjoys springlike weather 12 months a year. There is no “low” season as tourists flock to the “Hawaii of Portugal” to escape cold and dark winters or escape the heat of summer.
Ponta de São Lourenço, Madeira, Portugal – location of the recent Star Wars series, “The Acolyte”
One to four massive cruise ships docked every day during our week. We were told cruise ships mostly come during the winter, bringing visitors mostly from north and central Europe.
During New Year’s sometimes ten cruise ships will arrive. Most anchor offshore. The visitors watch the fireworks show, and at midnight all the cruise ships blast their mighty horns.
This year was an especially wet winter for Portugal, with consecutive storms bringing heavy rains and causing severe flooding in areas. We saw flooding on the news but didn’t experience anything worse than driving wind and rains a couple days.
Flood level Duoro River, which separates Porto from Gaia, Portugal
We witnessed the waters of the Duoro River getting uncomfortably high during our last few days. The river apparently flooded its banks the last day we were in Porto, but we didn’t venture out much due to the wind and rains so we didn’t see it ourselves.
C. Why We Went
We have both traveled quite a bit. But neither of us had been to Portugal. We’d heard great things from friends who had been, saw mouthwatering dishes on travel shows, and wanted to learn about Portuguese wine and port. We didn’t travel abroad at all last year, and so we chose Portugal for our delayed honeymoon. We were not disappointed. We loved our trip and already are thinking about what we’d like to do and see the next time.
Over the next month I expect to post a number of articles about our trip including travel tips, recommended food and restaurants, places to see, and more. Check back, share, and comment – especially if you have any questions.
Many may remember being taught the concept of our society being a great “melting pot” made up of people from all over the world, bringing different languages, foods, and cultures to the enrichment of us all.
Sadly, this country (like many) is going through another dark cycle during which immigrants are being unjustly targeted, persecuted, and denied their rights and due process.
I could cite statistics that directly contradict the claim that immigrants cause crime rates to rise, that they are an overall “burden” to our social services, and that they “steal jobs” from whatever your concept of a “real American” might be.
But those who believe negative claims about immigrants are rarely swayed by facts and figures.
Instead, I want to share a couple of personal stories on the topic.
1. Immigrants Picking Fruit
My family has owned fruit orchards in Hood River for over a century.
Standing behind a fruit bin at a family orchard
Here is a picture of me standing behind a fruit bin with my mom’s family name, “Asai” stamped on it.
One fruit bin holds between 1,000 and 1,100 pounds (450-500 kg) of pears or apples. A good picker can pick about six bins of pears in one day (roughly 2.5 tons/2270 kg) or about 10,000 pears. A top picker can pick up to 4 tons/3600kg (about 16,000 pears) in a day.
It is tough work! You have to carry a fruit bag up to 50 pounds (23kg), climb and balance on a tall ladder, all while picking fruit. A typical workday lasts 6 hours.
One of my cousins owns a fruit orchard. He hires workers, 99% of whom are Hispanic, either US citizens of Mexican ancestry or immigrant laborers.
I asked my cousin how many non-Hispanic workers ever tried to pick for him. He answered that in over 30 years, just one — and he had to fire him after just one day of work.
After two hours’ of work, my cousin found this worker asleep at the base of a pear tree. By day’s end, he had barely filled half a fruit bin.
2. Immigrants Preparing Food
A friend of mine used to own a restaurant. The majority of employees working in the kitchen were Hispanic.
Stock photo of a kitchen in an Asian restaurant
Working in the kitchen is hard and stressful. Kitchen temperatures run high heated by the stove, ovens, and dishwasher. There is a constant pressure to deliver dishes on a strict time schedule.
What my friend found was that the immigrant workers worked hard and policed themselves. If one was slacking off, the others would reprimand them to shape up. They understood that one of them looking bad could reflect poorly on the whole group.
In contrast, a white kitchen worker could be a mediocre performer, joke or be rude to others, waste time, etc., and nothing would happen to him or her. The others would merely exchange quiet disgusted looks and carry on. A manager or owner would have take precious time out and intervene to discipline or fire the subpar white worker.
My friend decided to only hire members of the immigrant community via word-of-mouth and personal recommendations. Good workers would only recommend those who they knew were reliable, would do a good job, and with whom they would want to work.
You might think these issues regarding immigrant labor is unique to the United States. It is not.
3. Immigrants Workers In Japan
I have a friend who owns a large factory in Japan where steel tanks are fabricated.
Japan has an unusual law requiring employers to pay the same scale for immigrants and citizens alike.
This law lowers the likelihood immigrants will be paid less and/or exploited. It also bolsters a meritocracy where the best workers are hired, not simply the cheapest ones.
Concerns about “immigrants stealing jobs” would likely be allayed if the U.S. adopted a similar law.
Despite this law, my friend hires mostly immigrant workers from the Philippines. Although Japan’s laws make it very difficult to become permanent residents or citizens, immigrants are eager to work in Japan. They come and work hard for the number of years they are allowed in Japan. They earn good money and then return home.
My friend has trouble finding good Japanese workers.
He related a story to me where he received a phone call from the mother of one of his Japanese workers. She called on his behalf saying he was too tired to come into work and could he please be excused?
Conclusion
Immigrants do the hardest jobs here and elsewhere. They work in construction building homes and offices, they prepare meals, they provide healthcare services, they clean everything, they care for the elderly and infirm, they look after and raise others’ children, they plant and pick crops, they manufacture goods, they teach, they work in IT and high tech, they serve in our armed forces here and abroad, they fill the seasonal positions and assist in professions experiencing worker shortages, and much, much more.
From the Chinese (and some Japanese, like my grandfather) who built the railroads in the 19th and early 20th centuries, the Mohawk ironworkers that helped build the Empire State Building, World Trade Center, and countless bridges all over the country, the Native Americans who helped build the Hoover Dam, and so many countless unnamed individuals speaking a myriad of different languages, this country was built by immigrants and continues to run today because of the hard work of immigrants.
If you believe immigrants are a drain on social services, if you believe immigrants steal jobs from citizens, if you believe immigrants contribute to crime more than citizens, I respectfully and firmly entreat you ask yourself why you believe the way you do — and to study evidence beyond social media and whatever are your normal and familiar sources.
My mom is known far and wide for, and because of, keeping in touch with friends and acquaintances from around the world spanning many decades. At 93 years of age, she happily exchanges emails and messages via social media with countless numbers of people. Despite this, she still frequently sends letters and cards through the post office.
I am aware of pen pals with whom she has maintained communication for 60 years and even longer.
Only this last weekend did I get a clearer understanding of just how many people she’s corresponded with, for how long, and the detailed records she’s maintained documenting those exchanges.
I asked mom how and when she began corresponding with people she had not yet met in person. She replied it began when she was a teenager.
Her eldest brother purchased a subscription for her in the late 1940s to American Girl magazine (published by the Girl Scouts from 1917-1979), although mom was actually in the Camp Fire Girls.
Cover of the August, 1949 edition of American Girl
The August, 1949 issue published an excerpt from the upcoming novel by Ruth Adams McKnight, It Might Be You which told the story of a Japanese American girl returning home from the incarceration camps. The magazine excerpt was titled Girl Without A Country. The girl in the story, named Rosebud, faced racism and abuse very similar to what my mom suffered.
Girl Without A Country in the August, 1949 edition of American Girl
As a 17 y.o., mom saw herself in the story and wrote a letter to American Girl sharing the similarities between the girl in the story and herself. She bemoaned the fact that the story did not have a happy ending. Her letter was published in the November edition.
Mom’s letter to American Girl, published in November, 1949
She received a handwritten letter from the author, Ruth Adams McKnight. She and the author exchanged cards and letters for several years. She has saved these letters. Here was the first one she received from the author:
Mom received several letters from other subscribers to American Girl from around the country (and at least one from overseas) in response.
One girl, Phyllis from Virginia, responded to mom’s letter, and mom and she began corresponding. Mom finally met Phyllis face to face after exchanging letters for 20 years. In 1969, when my family was on its way to Europe, we stopped to meet her. Although they never met in person again, they kept writing letters for at least 50 years until Phyllis’ death.
Ever the archivist, mom has kept photographs, letters, greeting cards, and newspaper clippings for decades. As I asked her about her collected trove of correspondence, she pulled out three binders. One was for births and graduations, the second was for weddings, and the third was for deaths.
I thumbed through the third and memories washed over me as I saw newspaper obituaries, memorial programs, letters, and photographs of people whose lives intersected our family’s journey from before I was born. I saw names of people I had not thought of in 40-50 years. Vague memories and images reappeared in my mind’s eye from when I was in grade school.
Then mom showed me her card file.
A single drawer was crammed full of index cards carefully sorted by name. Each card contained a single name and the date of every letter sent to or received from them. My wife and I marveled at the diligence and discipline it took for mom to maintain these records for over 80 years. I remember as a little boy seeing this metal card drawer on mom’s desk at home and I recognized it immediately. I had no idea what the contents were until this last weekend.
Today it is so easy to contact someone. It is relatively easy to look people up and reconnect online. You can hold a video chat with multiple people internationally for free. Some of us can remember when overseas phone calls were costly and the sound quality iffy. Pictures and stories are shared and reshared instantly across social media platforms. Remember how long it took to receive an answer in the mail?
Despite the ease, speed, and low-cost means of communication technology offers us, many people still feel isolated and disconnected. We are constantly bombarded and interrupted by updates from family, friends and acquaintances online via our phones in our pockets and sometimes even from watches on our wrists.
Receiving an actual letter or card in the mail, an ever rarer event these days, is such a treat! You can hold something physically in your hands that was handled by the sender. You observe a unique font — found on no computer — in the hand of the writer.
Few of us send or receive letters or cards in the mail. But my mom diligently sends out cards and letters to friends and family around the world remembering birthdays or simply letting people know she is thinking of them. I truly think her efforts to reach and stay connected are one of several of her secrets to remaining a healthy and vibrant nonagenarian.
Although I heavily rely on email, I still occasionally will type a letter on a manual typewriter — my handwriting is so difficult to read, something typewritten makes it all the better for the recipient to see and decipher. Each typewritten letter compresses the paper or cardstock allowing one to tactilely feel the words by running a fingertip across the text.
My manual typewriter (I’m proud to say I own two manual typewriters)
Some say I have inherited my mom’s unique knack for staying in touch. I think my efforts to maintain connections across time and space are dwarfed by hers, but they nonetheless bring me joy. Whenever I think of someone, I try to contact them – usually through email, text, or a phone call. But sometimes I am moved to pull out the typewriter.
It takes effort to pull out stationery, write something, address and stamp the item, and send it. But I believe the rewards for both sender and receiver far outweigh the exertion.
Summary: Mom’s surgery and miraculous recovery (shared with her permission)
Mom, 9 months ago, age 92 at the time.
It has been an unusual and challenging year so far with many family members experiencing health issues. My mother in law passed away unexpectedly, and several others have experienced health issues and diagnoses : a “triple A” (abdominal aortic aneurysm), appendicitis with perforation followed by an appendectomy, an as-yet undetermined cause for shortness of breath, a combination fractured knee and fractured wrist, and finally, a resolution to my mom’s longstanding hip pain.
Mom’s been suffering pain in her hip for at least 5 years.
After I learned she was sleeping in a recliner instead of her bed, a few years ago I conspired with my brother to get her a new Swedish foam mattress which gave her some relief.
On a typical morning, mom would have to get up painfully and walk around a bit before the pain subsided. It grew worse over the years, but became unbearable a couple of months ago.
Mom, who has been loath to take any pain medication, was in so much discomfort she started taking ibuprofen and Tylenol daily a couple months ago. She was convinced she was going to have to have a hip replacement.
Finally going in to get medical imaging, an 11cm (4 inch) dermoid cyst was discovered on her left ovary. A small, 2cm cyst was found on her right ovary. Laparoscopic surgery was scheduled for August 11.
I flew down to help care for her.
Another family member had undergone laparoscopic surgery earlier in the year, so I expected mom to be in a fair amount of pain the first couple days after her surgery.
I woke early the morning after her surgery, and she was up. I helped her down the stairs, although she reported “zero pain.” I kept trying to be near her whenever she was on her feet, but it became quickly clear she was doing really well. She went about fixing me breakfast over my protestations.
I instructed her not to take the stairs without my assistance, but she was off and running, climbing and descending the stairs before I could jump up and assist her. Clearly, she didn’t need my help, although I tried to keep an eye on her while I did my remote work.
Patients who undergo laparoscopic surgery are instructed to walk and take deep breaths after surgery to boost blood flow and to help dissipate carbon dioxide used in the procedure.
Walking, doing errands with mom approximately 18 hours after surgery!
Mom was raring to go, so we went for an 8 block walk to the bank, drug store, and other errands a mere 18 hours after her surgery. Still no pain.
She commented that this was the first time she had no hip pain in 5 years!
Visiting the audiologist the day after surgery
Even without any pain, it was recommended she continue to take ibuprofen to help reduce/prevent swelling.
I kept observing her, waiting for the pain to arrive, but it never did. She was moving like she had no surgery – except now without pain. She prepared lunch for me. That evening we enjoyed a big family meal, and I brought her home. She was tired and went to sleep early. She slept 10 hours.
The second morning she fixed me breakfast, and I took her to the Senior Center for lunch. The whole crew there gave her a rousing welcome and marveled that she’d undergone surgery less than 48 hours earlier.
Although she had no hip pain, what was uncomfortable was constipation. She had a healthy appetite and enjoyed large meals the first and second day after her surgery. But nothing was exiting. The afternoon of the second day post-surgery she experienced the most discomfort she’d felt since the surgery – not hip pain, but bloating from constipation.
I obtained some magnesium chews and Colace® for her, and finally the second evening after surgery things started to move again.
Today she woke up, pain free and comfortable. I can hardly believe it. At 93 she continues to amaze us.
Wishing you all good health and good humor.
Update 1: Mom wanted to walk to Safeway for a few things. She didn’t wait for me and I had to scurry to catch up.
Mom waits for no one
Update 2: Three days post-surgery, mom is back at the senior center, wining at Spades.
Tom Lehrer passed away yesterday at age 97. Harvard alum and professor of mathematics, Lehrer generated thousands of fans worldwide despite having a short performance career and limited discography. Here is a thoughtful obituary just published by the New York Times.
We owned all three of his original vinyl records, “Songs By Tom Lehrer” (1955), “An Evening Wasted with Tom Lehrer” (1959), and “That Was The Year That Was” (!965). I remember listening to them from an age way too young to understand the black and biting satire they contained.
Despite stating his website would be shut down, Tom Lehrer’s site happily remains live. It contains all his song lyrics, sheet music, and recordings.
Those who knew his songs loved the witty lyrics often containing hilarious rhymes:
“These are the only ones of which the news has come to Ha’vard, And there may be many others but they haven’t been discavard.” – closing lyrics to “The Elements“
The dark, sometimes bordering on gruesome images his songs sometimes conjured often were carried by lovely melodies. My father and I performed dinner music when I was in junior high and high school, including “The Wiener Schnitzel Waltz,” “When You Are Old and Gray,” and “I Hold Your Hand In Mine.” The first two, upbeat and lively Viennese waltzes speak of the transience and superficiality of youthful beauty and lust. The last, a sweet, romantic melody delivers a shudder-inducing love letter from a necrophiliac.
Performing dinner music with my father back in the 1980’s
His song, “Pollution” was undoubtedly the first environmentalist song I learned. His “We Will All Go Together When We Go” resonated for me and my generation, growing up in the looming shadow of mutually assured destruction. I was a big fan of “The Masochism Tango” for probably a decade before I had a clue what that word meant (later after I took up ballroom dancing, I couldn’t ignore what a great tango the song really is!).
In my teens, I was enjoyed hearing Lehrer’s songs on the syndicated radio show, “Dr Demento.” I was delighted when I got to college and found many kindred Lehrer fans with and for whom to sing.
The Tom Lehrer songbook from which my father and I performed
I wrote a letter to Lehrer in November, 2009, requesting permission to arrange, perform, and sell an arrangement of “The Masochism Tango.” People love his music, I wrote, although “I daresay some would have blanched had they heard the lyrics.”
He graciously wrote me back a hand-signed letter granting me permission to all of the above. We exchanged a couple more letters. The last letter he wrote me, in July, 2010, he closed with:
“Again, no payment will be required. If, however, you ever make a lot of money from it, please feel free to send me some.”
Those two hand-signed letters will remain treasures in my collection.
Click here if you are interested in the sheet music to my string quartet arrangement of “The Masochism Tango.”
In October, 2020, Lehrer announced he was relinquishing the rights to of his songs and lyrics. “[P]ermission is hereby granted to anyone to set any of these lyrics to their own music, or to set any of this music to their own lyrics, and to publish or perform their parodies or distortions of these songs without payment or fear of legal action.”
Long before Tim Minchin, far more biting than Steve Allen, Tom Lehrer will remain a giant in my parody song repertoire.
The word, “Lehrer,” means “teacher” in German. You taught us a lot through humor and music.
Blatant Calm 