Can There Be A Perfect Christmas?

by Connie Hand                                                   

When I lit the Christmas tree this evening, I sat down and gazed dreamily at its ribbons, lights, and decorations. Christmas is a magical season and the tree is part of that magic.

All of a sudden, I started to chuckle as I thought of our first Christmas  many years ago and the disaster of putting up our first fresh-cut tree.

That December 23rd, I knew putting up our tree in the evening would be perfect with a little planning. I got out the glistening new ornaments and ribbons. There were about eight strings of tiny white lights. The tree was on the porch cut just so that it would fit in the waiting tree stand. We were excited and looking forward to a lovely evening trimming our tree while listening to Christmas music and toasting our first Christmas together. It would be the beginning of making our own holiday traditions.

I got out two crystal flutes, an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne, a splurge of caviar, some crackers, and deluxe mixed nuts while my husband, Jeff carried in our perfect tree. He put the tree in the red stand and screwed the fasteners tightly. He stood back proudly and looked at me expectantly. As the smile on his face turned into a look of panic, I managed to squeak out “It’s crooked”. He insisted it was straight and then stood back to admire his handiwork. As he sheepishly turned to me, he admitted that it was very crooked. The tree came down but  recutting the trunk proved impossible so I suggested putting some paper coasters under a leg of the stand. We finally had a straight tree.

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Searching For A Hidden Western Algarve Beach

by Connie Hand

Admittedly, the beaches in the Portuguese Algarve are famous for their beauty, but they are also very crowded.

Having been to the Algarve several times, I always wondered where the quiet, uncrowded beaches were. There had to be many since the coast was about 60 miles long. But how to find them?

My research always came to a dead end. I used a current Michelin map of Portugal. I went online. Not many beaches were noted except the usual—mostly eastern Algarve four and five star resorts.

I imagined beach after beach, cove after cove nestled under huge rocks and boulders. With so many coastal miles, especially on the Atlantic Coast, I was sure that the Portuguese and the German and British tourists or expats knew about dozens of these paradises, even if Americans hadn’t yet found them.

Praia do Castelejo. Photo by Portuguesa72/flickr.com

A couple of years ago, I decided to find some people to speak with on the subject during my visit. But about a week before my trip, while reading a Rick Steves’ Portugal guide, I came across a small paragraph that mentioned Castelejo Beach on the Atlantic Coast of Algarve, Portugal. In his guidebook under “The Algarve: Cape Sagres” section, he listed “Beaches”. He stated that there were many little beaches from Salema to Sagres. And then...he mentioned Praia do Castelejo which is north of Sagres past Vila do Bispo. Rick wrote “If you have a car and didn’t grow up in Fiji, this is really worth the drive”. He said it was “the best secluded beach in the region”. 

At last, someone was as interested as I in the tucked away and little heard of western Algarve beaches! 

So my husband and I decided to go for it.

When we arrived at Lagos, we checked into the Romantik Hotel Vivenda Miranda. This boutique hotel is situated up on a cliff overlooking the Praia do Mos. (The hotel is beautiful and lovingly cared for by owners Vera and Urs Wild, and their friendly, helpful staff. I highly recommend it).

After lunch, we made our plans to drive out to Castelejo beach the next day. We would follow Rick Steve’s directions.

The next morning, after a delicious buffet breakfast on the hotel patio with its ocean view, we left on our adventure. 

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Here Comes Sandy

by Connie Hand

Living in southern Florida, on a barrier island, I thought “Here we go again” when I heard in late October that tropical depression Sandy was heading to Florida and might be a major hurricane. I was worried.  

I remembered how all of us had weathered the devastation and emotional trauma we suffered after hurricanes Frances on September 5 , 2004 and Jeanne on September 26, 2004. These events were almost unprecedented as they struck the same spot of Martin County, Florida, just weeks apart. I felt overwhelmed and fearful. My nerves were raw. I wondered if  I would have a home to return to.

When we were  allowed back on the island, we all pulled together and plowed through each day. We had no power, it was hot and humid, there were  no food supplies, except what you had stocked, and people got around in canoes for several days because of the flooding. 

Then the following year, in October, we were warned of another event called Wilma. I prayed it wouldn’t be as severe as the last two. We were evacuated and waited. Nerves were stretched thin. I remember it felt like days of waiting and holding my breath. 

Wilma came barreling our way on October 19, 2005. She caused extensive damage. There was flooding, roads were washed out, we had no power,  and homes and condos destroyed. After a period of total disbelief, I picked myself up and we all helped each other  again as best we could,  even though we felt vulnerable and fragile. We volunteered for clean-up. I felt more empowered each time I helped someone. There were many with much bigger problems than I. I knew that I was fortunate. We rebuilt and moved on.

So here it was October 22nd, 2012.  We started to hear reports of a possible hurricane. I cried as I watched the news about islands that Sandy crashed into and devastated. I readied my condo and brought in supplies. Everyone I spoke to was anxious and worn out after several days of listening to the weather channel.       

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In My Father's Footsteps

by Connie Hand

The sun was bright under a clear azure sky. The birds were merrily singing on that beautiful Summer morning. As I stood by the country road and stared at the house in front of me, my heart was pounding. I was in Nariz, Portugal standing in front of a house that was typical of the area. But this house was special to me because it was the one in which my father was born. Immediately I thought of the stories he used to tell about his childhood in Portugal and his journey to America.

I always loved to hear about far away places and thought that one day I would travel to Portugal to visit those little towns and big cities that Dad talked about in such a vivid way.

The story of my father, Augusto Silva began on June 8, 1911 in Nariz in the district of Aveiro. He was the second of five children born to Maria and Luis Silva, and it was not an easy life. The family farmed their lands  and tried to make ends meet. In 1927, Dad decided to emigrate to the United States, and it was a life-altering decision. He researched what was necessary for his journey. It must have been very hard on both of them when his widowed mother gave him her approval to leave. He told me he vowed to go back to visit this sweet woman, and he did keep that vow. He described that visit with tears in his eyes.

He traveled to Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, and worked there for several months until he discovered that Portugal’s emigration quotas were filled for the next several years. He was advised to travel to France to take up residency in Paris. He told me that he worked in Paris doing odd jobs. I remember Dad telling me that Paris was a huge, beautiful city. He said he saw as many sights as he could, but he really couldn’t wait to get to America.

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