and a potluck of chromosomes The gene pool of my ancestors
drying up in my shallow end Distilled into hereditary faults
that I forgive them for because they resulted in me. I observe through my mother’s eyes They show me that inaction causes stagnation That stagnation causes resentment That resentment causes a paralyzing fear THAT fear festered rudely in my cradle
visited by vacationing cockroaches from upstairs Unlike my one-eyed father, blindness is not mine. My eyes are opened
when my mother reads me lies from a book of fairy tales
because I know that imaginary monsters aren’t real That the real monsters look like people
they tend not to hide under my bed instead, they sneak into my bed
a candy-colored catastrophic cruelty Thieving my innocence, Shackling me in guilt and shame reinforcing that there is nowhere to hide No closet is deep enough, no blanket is tightly wrapped enough No pillow will help my breath Swaddling complacency Nurturing tar black secrets
Forbidden by death To verbally vomit My truth abandoned in cobwebs
Chronological milestones
Amalgamated rubble
Duct taped together
Glued with lies, rejection,
Abandonment, and
A visceral faith that I was the broken one.
denunciation was not implanted
on those who blighted me.
Conversely, desperately
I believed.
I once had the courage to tell a student teacher
When I was 9 years old that I didn’t want to be a girl
I didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling anymore
I wanted to have the power of being something else
Because even then I knew that what I was,
WHO I was
Wasn’t like the other kids.
I had no lighthouse to guide my loose sailing
I had no anchor to throw over the side
To halt the rocking, storm-battered ship
That I’d been given to captain with no skills.
That teacher gently corrected me
to crash on the rocks instead
There was no safe harbor in which to moor
But…
There was something inside of me
A luminosity that crusaded for freedom
A light so obscured to me
by external destruction that I was blind to it
But I could feel it, warm in the darkness.
Growing exponentially with each fear abated
With each discovery excavated from shame
With each box opened, musty and dusty
The contents returned to owners
Who gave me their rejected anger,
shame and guilt disintegrated with antique fragility
Okay, so it’s not like I called God up and asked to meet for a cup of coffee, that is true, but what did happen felt like I could have been doing just that.
I went to orientation as a lay-chaplain today which included getting a spiffy new badge with my broken nose-tape picture on it. My name as well as VOLUNTEER prominently displayed. I spoke with the HR person while she assembled the necessary paperwork. She was far more stressed than I was because she felt like I needed to be out of her office ASAP. I didn’t feel the same way. I figured it would be done exactly when it needed to be. And, as it turned out, it was.
I met with the lead Chaplain SL who was training me. She took me up to the charting room where we gathered necessary supplies. She showed me how to keep the records which involves room numbers and a general description of the visit. She gave me cards that are to be left if the person is sleeping so they know where to call if they need spiritual support.
We then stopped at the nurse’s station, got information about the patients on the floor (which I wrote down), then we went to the first person’s door.
Praying hands
There sat the Spirit of God in a hospital gown too big to fit the slender body it was covering. A meal sat nearly untouched on the table in front of them. As they related the story of why they were in the hospital, my heart wrenched with compassion. I know it sounds a bit arrogant to tell the Spirit I understand, but I really do. I was able to meet God’s Spirit in such a way that I watched their shoulders visibly relax. To hear the laughter that I was able to coax from their lips was angelic. As my guide and I went to leave the room, I reminded the Spirit of God how loved they were. Thank you was returned with sincerity.
At each room we visited, we engaged with a different version of God’s Spirit. I was asked to lead a prayer, which frankly intimidated me because I’m rather private about my talks with my vision of God, but I did it. It wasn’t as smooth and flowing as SL, but it was sufficient enough for this face of God to Amen throughout my version of prayer. I reminded them of how loved they are and ended it in Jesus’ name which felt alien on my lips, but in this neck of the woods it is a Hallmark.
I hope you have felt this way at some point in your life; like you were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing exactly the way it was meant to be done by YOU. A feeling that leaves your soul fluffy with grace, compassion, and overwhelming kindness, almost like I feel when I go to church and feel the love there.
I had a meeting with God’s Spirit today in many different bodies. Some were awake, aware, and lively. Some were intubated, refused a visit, or were sedated heavily to help them through their crisis. One face was not in this world but was lost in the colors of flowers and what everyone’s favorite was so they could bring them the next time we visited.
To say that I felt broken open would be a bit of an understatement. I didn’t feel broken, I felt like I was finally rising to the task of my soul in an entirely different way. It was rich with experience, understanding, and a conscious bonding to injured spirits.
I may never experience those Spirits of God again, but today I did. May I never forget who I’m talking to when I serve as a lay-chaplain to those incarnations.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
I went to church on Sunday. I gave our interim minister a holy water hanging made of hand painted porcelain from Portugal. I gave an origional watercolor from a street artist depicting the city with the bridge, made by the same designer of the Golden Gate bridge to one of my clients. I gave a tile drawing kit to his wife. I gave the requested magnets and a bonus keychain with my tile design on it to another of my friends. I returned the book on Paris to my Auntie.
The speaking pastor was from the UUA and he was really good. I enjoyed his sermon immensely.
I got to hug and be hugged. I got to love and feel loved. Emotionally and spiritually I was doing great. There was a fundraising lunch after the service to benefit Fruit for Kids that makes sure children in our area schools get healthy choices. I enjoyed a soup (one of the few things I can eat right now) and had an Always Beautiful moment with the maker of that soup.
After everything was done, I wasn’t feeling too well so I went home to take a nap before I was supposed to head over to my Beastie Diane’s house. Then things went amiss.
I was in my shower enjoying the hot water when I started to feel ill. I turned my head and got sick into the water. I turned back and realized I was wet and that I wasn’t actually in the shower. I’d been sick all over my pillowcase and sweater. Dang it.
I texted Diane to see what time I could come over but she was having a bad day and asked to change it. Well crap. I called another friend who offered their washer and dryer. Excellent. I went over, watched a show called Reservation Dogs (It’s an FX show and is really funny and a good watch.) Laundry done, I headed home with my little dog in tow.
Later that night, Diane messaged me that she couldn’t find her bunny anywhere. She was more distraught and crying. I dropped what I was doing and headed to her house. I couldn’t find that bunny anywhere in the house. I searched high and low but to no avail. I went outside and checked under the first deck, no dice. I climbed as far as I could under the second deck and there he was just minding his bunny business.
After several attempts to corral him, offerings of apples, carrots, and celery, he still wouldn’t budge. A few pokes by a stick got him running the wrong way. As I crawled out from under the deck, I spotted him running up the hill towards the vast back yard. I hollered and pointed him out. Diane went after him trying to catch him, but he freaked out and took off running.
I climbed up the stairs on the other side of the yard and cooed to him, speaking gently in a quiet manner. He came over to where I was and waited for me to pick him up. Man, I snuggled the crap out of Bunbun. He seemed relieved.
Bunny safely inside his room (She has no idea how he got out of the house, I suspect he learned the doggie door), I hugged her goodbye and went home at about 11 and by 11:30 I was asleep.
I was standing on the edge of a southwestern canyon. I could see the blue skies above me and the red and gold earth below my feet. The sun was shining, inviting me to spread my wings and fly. The wind enticed me to the edge. I looked down and knew with all my heart I was going to experience a euphoria I’d never learned. I jumped…
I landed on my shoulder and hit my poor head on the floor of my closet. My bed showed no evidence of a struggle. It looked like I’d pulled back the blankets neat as you please. I must have yelled out because Matthew, my nephew/son was at my bedroom door pretty quickly asking if I was alright. After I caught my breath, I affirmed my being okay and embarrassed returned to bed.
Just before 9AM I woke up. I knew I was going to be late for the breakfast date I’d made, so I quickly texted and got dressed. I took care of my morning routine and headed out the door. By the time I got to where I was going, I was having a hard time lifting my arm very far and if I tried lifting anything, it was popping up to a 5. I ignored it, I mean, I was trying to fly for Pete’s sake.
Plans made to get with my doctor and decide further care, it occurred to me that I wasn’t feeling well…again. I kept my next appointment but confessed I wasn’t up to par. Another adjustment and I agreed to head to the ER.
I went home to lay down for a bit before going. I was tired and didn’t feel like moving. My bestie Jen came over and hounded me until I got out of bed. We headed to downtown Knoxville.
As I sat waiting for an x-ray, a man came and sat next to me while his wife was getting her x-ray done. She’d broken her spine, was clausterphobic and they had to put a brace on her. As he told me what she was going through, I asked him how he was doing. He seemed surprised. He was struggling with emotions. I asked if I could do anything to help ease his worries. He asked me to pray for his wife. I prayed for both of them. He reached over and squeezed my hand. He thanked me as he left with his wife. Pictures of my own were taken.
Off to the CT to get imaging done on my face. As I waited for my turn, a young man, late teens maybe, was sitting to my left. He was pleasant and chatty. He told me he had nothing to eat but ritz crackers for three days and he couldn’t keep those down for long. He was hooked up to saline and some other bag that I couldn’t read.
“I’m here with my mom and dad,” He told me. “I’m really scared it’s something bad.”
“What if it is?” I asked him.
“I just don’t want more needles and I don’t want to make my mom and dad worry.” he answered. “If it’s bad, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“My friend Miss Marge lived to be 101 years old. She said the secret to a long life was to keep moving, even if it’s a sidestep. If it’s bad, you can only move through it no matter the outcome. I can’t promise you you’ll be okay, but I can promise you that the fact your parents are out there waiting to hear word of you shows great devotion. You are clearly loved.”
He smiled at me. A look of accepted relief washed over his face. “Yeah, I am. Thanks. Are you okay?”
“You should see the other guy!” I quipped. We laughed at my foolishness. The attendant called his name.
“Thanks for talking with me.” He stated as he pulled the IV tree with him.
“Any time.”
The two conversations I had with these people felt so deep and real. Vulnerable in a bad situation but comforting in our company together. It was more satisfying than going to church (some Sundays) in my spirit. I felt like a conduit, not the one actually speaking.
HOURS LATER:
A doctor finally came in to see me, made a plan, then left quickly. In his defense, there were so many people there. A phone conversation I overheard was by a woman who had gone to the hospital in Oak Ridge (I absolutely refuse to go there because they tend to not take good care of people). That hospital told her she had a herniated disc but she didn’t think it was right. It turns out she fractured her spine in two places and was going in for surgery. Yeah, that’s why I was where I was an not in my hometown hospital.
A plastic surgeon came in to set my nose and remove my stitches from my lip. The lip was a cake walk. Snip and done. The nose, on the other hand, good Dude in a handbasket.
They had to inject numbing into my nose, the floor of my nasal cavity, and up the sides of my schnozz. “Be still,” He told me. “You’re going to feel a little pinch.” Pinch my ass!! He didn’t but JEEHOSEPHATS! I wish to Dude he’d had said: This is going to hurt quite a bit, but you need to stay as still as possible.
I nearly came up swinging when the first needle went into my face. By the time the third one was being placed in the floor of my left nostril, I was weeping and shaking as if I were in a Michigan winter with no coat on. How I kept my head still, I don’t know, but the rest of me looked like a beached fish flailing about while the doctor’s reassured me I was doing fine.
They put a metal tool up my nose and pushed until I heard a pop in my face. Although mostly numb, it was by far not my favorite moment since I first injured my face. They put a splint up my nose to hold the septum straight and put a brace on the outside of my nose. It could have been worse. I moved through it and abided the best I could considering.
My nose is now set and quite lovingly braced. (insert eyeroll here). They tidied up and left with instructions of a soft food diet, don’t lay on my back unless propped up, and to see the plastic surgeon in 7 days. I wish I felt more warmth towards them doing their job, but I could barely see through my tears.
The first doctor came back in and said although I had no breaks in the bones of my shoulder and hadn’t dislocated it, there was obviously some damage. He thinks I did some soft tissue damage and possibly messed up the rotator cuff again. Great.
I look like I was in a doozy of a fight, but despite all the shenanigans and the ungodly amount of time spent in the ER, I have referrals to the doctors I need to see, financial aid papers to fill out, and now the healing begins in earnest.
How can you thank someone who would sit with you while you endured the ups and downs of medical issues? How can I show my gratitude for being so loved? What can I give that will demonstrate the level of trust and devotion I have for someone who would do that for me?
Jen, if you’re reading this, know that you have my heart, my devotion, my love, and my loyalty because you have given it so willingly, openly, and honestly to me. I know you have my back no matter what. It’s surprising to be able to call you up and know that no matter what, you’re there. I hope I don’t have to ever watch you suffer as you have me, but if you ask (and probably even if you don’t), you have my truest devotion. Thank you for being you so well, so honestly, and so truly.
For the rest of you, may peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I’m a multiple trauma warrior. I’ve seen some shit. Because of that, I’m primarily hyper-independent which is, in fact, a trauma response. When you can’t trust the people around you, you become self-sufficient at a level most people don’t realize. It makes asking for and accepting help extremely difficult.
After yesterday’s horrors, my bestie Jen contacted the people I was supposed to go see today and let them know what happened. They didn’t hesitate. They said they’d be up to see me instead. When I found this out, I told them thanks, but you don’t have to do that. Nonsense!
They arrived early this afternoon, Lori and Dave. Bless their beautiful hearts.
I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. What it is, what it takes, what it gives, where do you find it, is it even real? It is.
They showed up, they brought me hugs, friendship, warmth, kindness, compassion, but most of all they showed me what love is. It’s about showing up. It’s about being available. It’s about sharing moments, stories, and time together. It’s about accepting one another just as they are. It’s a trust found in relationship. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for them making the trip up to make sure I was okay.
We walked together to the Coach museum, with a side-jaunt to get some ice cream (Poor Dave had motion sickness from being on the boat for 20 minutes), where I took assloads of pictures of some of the most ornate coaches I’ve ever seen. They practically carved statues onto these rolling monuments. I’m not even kidding. When I took the pictures, I took a picture of the name of each one. I took a picture of the description in English so I could remember what I was looking at. Then I took pictures of the many intricate details that were added to make sure that particular carriage/coach was the biggest and the best. I was surprised at the size of the wheels on those puppies. Many of them were taller than my 5’3″ tall height. Heck, some of the carvings on them were as big as me!
When I downloaded the pictures to my computer, none of them came up in order. I have no idea what is what. On top of that, many of the pictures I took before we got to the museum didn’t make it. They don’t exist according to my phone. BLAH!
One of the pictures I took was in Portuguese. It said, “Se isso custa a sua paz, e muito caro.” which means, “If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive.” Another said, “School kills artists.” Graffiti for the sake of tagging doesn’t seem helpful or add to the beauty of the world, imho. But, when you can make the world a bit better by reminding them of a message that needs to be remembered, that’s what I appreciate. Kindness spray painted on a wall decorates instead of desecrates.
I had planned to make this a picture heavy post. My intention was to show you what I’ve seen, but how can I show you kindness that was given to me? How can I exude the love that I feel and was given? What could I possibly display that would show you how broken open my heart is for the people I love so dearly? I can’t.
What I can do is offer you my blessing:
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You, yes you, are loved!
I have difficulties sleeping. The last few nights have, even without coffee, been a practice in very late nights very early mornings. The challenge of the realtor visits is that I don’t want to be here when they are. I can’t contribute anything to the conversation, the place is too small for multiple people, and I just know that the “perfect” me would notice things “Real Me” had not. Best to get out of dodge and go see the world.
This morning? Last night? It was around 6AM when I finally fell asleep. Although I’m exercising a lot more and drinking less coffee than I would at home, I’m struggling. I was in a deep, warm, comfortable sleep when loudspeaker’s loud chanting voices woke me up. The music was upbeat and sincere. The chanting voices were raised in protest against something. The only word I could make out was Pourquoi (Why).
I willed them to continue on their way, but they stopped right under my tiny window, played two songs, marched on with a trail of equally loud chanting. I’d been asleep for 4 1/2 hours. Ugh.
I checked the time and my messages. The realtor wanted to make a visit today and tomorrow according to the host. I really don’t like feeling displaced by something I wasn’t aware of when I booked this place. Meh. I asked if they could do both visits tomorrow instead. Nope. Both visits would be today but none for tomorrow. Hooray!
I looked up the department of tourism for Caen, Normandie, France. The website was in both English and French which was great, but one of the events I was interested in (A Science exhibition at the Universitie de Normandie) didn’t have an address. It had a great write up, which is why I became interested, but the address was the name of a road.
I attempted to call but the woman who answered the phone didn’t understand or speak English. She managed to request I call back in five minutes. I told her yes. I waited. At the appointed time, I made another call. Nope. Same woman. Two minutes more please. (What I actually understood was: Sorry, Two, Please.
I felt a bit deterred, but Dude’s I’m in their country, I should at least have a rudimentary grasp on the language. Baby words is how I describe the knowledge I have. It’s been a handicap but not a disability.
I was able to gleen that the Science Exhibition was taking place on Campus 2. Hey! I know that the tram goes there. I did a Twisto search and Voila! I got dressed, put on a sweater today (22 mph winds all day with spotty rain), and went to the tram station.
The tram was clean although a bit crowded. It was lunch time so there is a transitional period. As each stop was announced, I started to feel a bit anxious. Would what I’m looking to do be where I think it is? What if I got it wrong? What if it’s a different stop? The inner dialogue can get noisy.
Abide, Dude. You’re killing time anyway, what difference does it make when you get to somewhere you don’t know where? Eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re thirsty, rest when you need to, but keep abiding. That’s what I kept telling myself and it helped me slow my roll(s).
The end of the line, route termine’. I exited the tram in the rush of students. They were heading generally in the same direction. I can see how people end up in a crowd mentality. It felt like I could hear the collective saying, “We know where we’re going. Follow us.” Obediently, I cautiously followed.
AHA! On the ground in red spray-painted letters, Science Exhibition this way! My confidence leapt forward. I was really going to find it! As the crowd broke off in different directions, I found another sign on the sidewalk pointing me on the path. The wind was wickedly blowing, a might bit of a sprinkle, but not drenching. I reached a fork in the path. I took a guess and kept moving forward. I walked around a large bush and I saw the sign!
I took a picture of the map. I used Google’s translator lens to figure out what I was looking at, and moseyed towards the first building on the map. I have learned that Pousser (POO-say) means push and tirer means pull. Sortie is the exit. I was feeling quite proud and confident at this point. That is until I couldn’t understand anything.
Okay, it’s science. Not my forte as a rule although interesting enough to rabbit-hole me at times. But, I was lost. There were no visual clues to what was being discussed. There was a lecturer and a crowd of teenagers mostly listening. I tried to pick out words I know, but no dice. I exited feeling less confident but more curious.
The map said that the different departments were represented by color code but as I observed my surroundings, I came to understand that the map was upside down from my perspective. I went in search of the symbol I understood. Music. It was marked in teal on the map. I came to the courtyard where there was another map showing my changed location, but this one wasn’t upside down from my perspective.
There was an information booth in the center. I asked for directions to the music. Turns out that the concert isn’t until Sunday night. Although I was allowed to experience the exhibits, be aware they’re all in French and today (Friday the 13th) was primarily directed at school aged children. Lucky me! I speak baby word French, so no problem.
I found a cafe inside a building labeled simply SCIENCE. Sounds legit. My curiousity grew as the displays in this particular building were more tangible, more hands on, more engaging. I decided to try again.
I learned that the large black dome-like structure was actually an inflatable planetarium! How freaking cool! Then I found a sandbox display to demonstrate erosion. That turned into a conversation with a knowledgable young man with dark curly hair and brown eyes. I spent the most time with him learning about the ecological effects heavy agriculture does to the environment.
Then he showed me the display next to his which deals in exponential micro-plastics. I can’t remember the name of the effect he told me (a couple times actually), but it’s like…if a fish eats one piece of micro-plastic, it could be okay. But the heron that eats that and 9 other fish is going to have 10 micro-plastics. The bear loves herons and eats 10. That’s 100 micro-plastics. It just keeps getting more and more. This is an extremely simplified version of what I was told, but the more we talked, the more concerned I grew.
SIDENOTE: I read a short article today about how the ecology of the planet has declined with as much as 73% of wildlife being driven from their homes, or eradicated all together. Roadtrips when I was a kid meant we had to stop relatively often to clean the bug butts off the windshield. As I’ve grown into the world around me, it occurred to me that I haven’t had to clean my windshield very much at all. I mean, their bugs, who cares? But bugs are food for other useful species, a necessity to the world.
With what I learned and that trivial bit of knowledge, I was feeling guilty that I contribute so heavily (although not as bad as I used to be) to the decay of our precious planet. But, I did manage to download the DIY plans for a micro-plastics filter for washing machines. Basically, it acts like the lint screen in a dryer works, only it captures the offending plastics that come off our clothing without our knowledge. I’ll see if I can figure out how to give you the link since I got it from a QR code. Does it work on American washers? I don’t know. I’ll have to make one and see.
Okay, exit soapbox. Thank you for indulging me.
I found several other tangible activities that I could understand and follow. It became intriguing to understand. A challenge that I met to my satisfaction. My confidence returned.
As I left the exhibition, the rain was coming down at a pretty good clip, the wind was blowing the trees so hard, they were bending and bowing in protest. I found my way back to the tram and rode back to Rue Saint-Jean. It was a great afternoon and I’m glad I did it.
Peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!
I know! I’ve been sharing with you all these wonderful places. When I went to the Chateau de Caen, there was just so much to see and share. This will be the third and final installment of what I’ve already done.
The white building
is where they held banquets and meetings.
It smells like age, it felt hallowed, it had bird
poop everywhere as well as their feathers.
The meeting hall is where they gathered. The stained glass window faced towards the East. The broken picture with the walls showing could feel the age it held. Even though much of the buildings that I’ve been showing you were destroyed by the bombings that took place in 1944-ish, they’ve been lovingly restored.
Why all the pictures of the floor? Because they weren’t just stone floors. They were carefully crafted of 3″x3″ squares with the brown broken up by the blue/green/and white mosaic tiles. I was impressed with the technique and the style. In addition, I could sense the thousands of people who walked those very floors whether they be nobility or a janitor. It’s an inanimate building, but I imagined the stories the history could tell if it were explained by the people who lived, worked, met, and played there.
The building on the lower left is the Meeting Hall. This picture was taken as I stepped up onto the castle wall to walk about and see the “world” layed at my feet. I wondered, since this is one of the larger palaces, what it must have felt like to keep watch from here. Pacing back and forth, ever keen for noises or visual changes in the landscape.
Gratuitous flowers for you.Growing because they Caen.13th century courtyard
A bit of a confession. When I exited the Meeting Hall, I went to the right. I saw a path that led up a hill to the castle wall. I really got excited to walk about the place, but instead I ended up at the wall, not a place to walk it. As I wandered back down to find the right way to get where I wanted to go, I snapped these shots to give you a bit more observational points of view.
From this opening in the wall:I saw this…and this…and this…and this. Wow!
I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I couldn’t breathe at first. After having seen pictures at the Musee de Normandie several days ago, the destruction that was brought on this city was painful to witness. But like a true warrior champion, thriving despite the terrors it’s endured, I felt the resilience of the people throbbing with life. I didn’t expect to feel emotional. Curious, yes, but to feel the collective breath of humanity pulsing was phenomenal.
An archer’s window.The view from the archer’s window.
These pictures are of a keep being excavated. It dates back to the 11th century in some places. The round building is one of the corners. Around that is a freaking moat! I wonder if it were filled by the canal that used to run in front of the nearby church of Saint Peter.
Overlooking the recovered walls of the keep, I looked over and saw a gully like space. When I looked over the edge, to my delight there were sheep munching on grass, doing sheep things. SQUEE!As I was getting ready to leave, I saw this cannon lined up with a place from which it could possibly have fired from long ago. There had, at one time, been stairs allowing people to get closer, but I’m going to guess this had to be idiot-proofed.
All that and a bag of chips, eh? That concludes my visit to the Chateau de Caen, former palace of William the Conqueror. I’m glad that it’s taken me a few days to get through all the pictures I took because it’s allowed me to reflect instead of react.
Thursday, the twenty-ninth.
The place where I’ve set up shop until the 20th is for sale. They call it a condo, I would call it an efficiency apartment. For a person who travels a lot or who spends a lot of time at work/play, this is an ideal place for one person to crash. Live…I don’t know. It’s functional.
Because of the circumstances, a realtor has been bringing people by to view the place. Monday and today I’ve had to make myself scarce so they could show it uninterrupted. I’m totally okay with that. In a way, because the place is small and gets untidy if you turn around, it’s holding me responsible for maintaining a cleaner environment than I would back home.
My house in Tennessee is pretty much my studio so there are a variety of projects in various stages of progress in my organized mess. My cat is a furball so I vacuum more frequently that I like, but he’s a cute asshole of a furball.
ANYWAY!
I went in search of art supplies. I’m jonesing really bad for a fix of some paint on my hands. I tried looking up art stores and art supply stores but got housewares and home decorating shops. I thought a bit and tried looking for craft stores. TADA! I found one. Address in hand, I used my Twisto app to navigate. What do you know? Not only did Line 1 go where I wanted to be, BUT the stop was a half a block away! I did the tidy up of apartment and of myself, dressed (because nudity is not acceptable as a rule) and headed out to kill some time.
The ride was very city view. Twisto warned of protests in the city center of Caen that were possible disruptive of the bus service, although I didn’t notice delays. I rode to the end of the line.
Color me so very American because I was perplexed at what I was seeing. I even asked the conducteur if I was at the right place. He assured me I really was at the mall. I didn’t think to get a picture because I’ve never seen anything like it.
Think, strip mall made up of big name box stores (each with a separate entrance but not connected inside), surrounding a more American version of mall familiar? The mall was made up of a variety of shops and boutiques like what I’m used to. I visited a shop called “Normal” because…
Have you ever seen the videos of sheep being put through a chute to get sheered? That’s pretty much how this store was set up. A guided maze with products in white wooden sectionals towards the inside of the store, the walls holding shelves of products. The shop primarily sold toiletry items. Colognes, face masks, makeup, cleansers, bodywash, razors, lotions, etc. There were some things that didn’t seem quite right in the Normal store, but it wasn’t a bad experience.
Food courts weren’t a thing. It had casual dining places around the periphery of the mall proper. There wasn’t a central place where you could pick and choose from a variety of gluttonous gorging.
There are a LOT of hair salons in this town and in the mall. There are also a large number of lingerie stores. Side note relevance: Along Clinton Highway (25W) from inside Clinton (TN) all the way down to I-40 (near Knoxville) there are a ridiculous number of car dealerships both old and new. FINANCE HERE! is a common hawk. In comparison, there are as many hair salons here as car dealerships there.
Having walked the circle, returning to my entry point, I stepped back outside. I went to the left (East I think) where I found another store.
Context: I left my apartment at 1PM (7AM East Tennessee time). I didn’t get back until 7PM (1PM East Tennessee time).
I went into every freaking store they had. Turns out, I wasn’t at the right place for the craft stores. I popped (typoed and wrote that pooped) back on the bus which took me to a place called Mondevillage.
It was like a shopping community. An outdoor mall, per se. The middle of the complex had an island shopping area with a variety of restaurants, chocolate shops, toilets, and a security office. That island had a bus stop on each side of it, but each side was one-way. The next layer was parking lot broken up by color. Example: You parked in Rose 3 or in Aqua 4. It’s a much better system than the parking lot marking in American malls. You parked in…G7? H6?
There it was. The craft store. It had a list of things it contained. I could pick out beaux art, musical instruments, books, and a couple of other things. I felt proud of myself that I could recognize the names of things even though they were spelled out in French.
I entered the store and felt a bit confused because it was similar in style to say…Books-A-Million or a single story Barnes and Noble. Undaunted by the books I couldn’t read, I checked out a few things, browsing about.
Next I found the musical instruments section. It wasn’t as flashy as Guitar World, but there was enough to do basic instrumentation. I plugged on.
Need a planner? Agenda books lined shelf after shelf. I like the idea of making an agenda better than a day planner. It sounds more like you’ll get something done instead of writing it down hoping to cross things off a list you planned to do.
Next came a beginning art section. I didn’t realize it was beginner. Dude, I can’t read French as well as I’d like! But, I found a small set of paints, a small set of brushes, some graphite pencils, a small sharpener, and a gum eraser. The paper they had was in envelopes, not books or pads. I searched through, looking at the pictures that showed what the paper could be used for. I couldn’t find any that would work with gouche. I asked and was shown the correct paper to purchase. Hot diggety!
CHRISTMAS doesn’t come just once a year. It shows its ridiculous face in October here too. Meh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with the holiday season. But, it should not be bleeding this far into early autumn.
I turned the corner and found a painter’s dream. I looked at what I’d selected, thought about what I already have back in Tennessee and what I would need bare minimum to get my “fix.” After checking out some of the pricing, I can honestly say, I was much happier with what I’d already selected. Less than 20 Euros too!
Okay, let me confess one more thing. The checkout line was rather crowded. Off to the side was a self-checkout. I thought, what the heck. It means I don’t have to use the translator to communicate. I can just ring up my stuff and go. I’ve done it reluctantly before, how hard could it be?
There was a security guard standing watch over this particular section. A good looking fellow with dark skin and a bright smile. I went to the one he directed me to, looked at the screen, and froze. A big red button on the touch screen had words I didn’t recognize on it. I looked around the area but didn’t see anything else. I pushed the red button.
I understood that it was ready for me to begin ringing up my items. I scanned each item and set it on the loading shelf to the right. When I’d done that, I wasn’t sure how to tell the machine I had completed my transaction and was ready to pay. I stared at the screen willing myself to understand. The security guard came over and showed me how to push the red button again. OY! I gave him a tiny yellow duck as a thank you.
My Twisto app kept crashing so I couldn’t figure out how to navigate back home. I deleted it, redownloaded it, signed in again and I wasn’t at the right stop. Are you seeing a pattern here? I sure as heck am!
I got on Line 21 which would take me to someplace around the halfway point where I would transfer busses and get on a different bus to get back. BUT! As I was following the location finder, the correct bus I was on, was NOT going on the route shown on the map. Crap!
Luckily, as the bus was turning, I saw the stop with the bus that I KNEW went in front of my house and back to the stop I’d first got on from. Thank the stars someone had already dinged for the stop. I got off, made it to the correct Line 1, waited briefly, and made an uneventful trip back.
What a glorious day. Tomorrow I’m going to do laundry, wash the sheets and towels, and relax. Saturday morning, I have to find something to do again. I’m thinking of taking the bus out to the airport to see what’s shaking. Or I’ll head to the Twisto bike stand and pick up a bicycle to ride around for a bit.
May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!
Yesterday I went rip-tearing about town on my happy feet. I shared a bit of my experience as well as promising to share more of what I saw and enjoyed. I have not forgotten, but I wanted to share a couple of things that happened today before we dive into nostalgia.
That’s the white horse from the place near my client’s home. She ran over to where we were and posed the question of our existence. I told her she was a lovely horse and she posed in the second picture. Bored because we gave her nothing but praise, she munched on the grass.
The stand in the tree is too small to be a treehouse and has blotchy type camoflauge on it. I’m guessing it’s a hunting stand. The people who own the house behind that stand have a large fenced in yard with a solid black gate to their driveway. It was open enough today to see a little dog, about the same size as my Porkie (Pomeranian/Yorkie mix). It was mostly white with brown on the ears and boy did it have a voice!
The last pictures are what I had for dinner. It was kind of set up like a Salsarita’s or a Moe’s in that you started with the dish size, then added sauce of your choice, then meat (or not), then you could add a side. I chose plantains. (They also offered vegetarian and vegan options as well). The man spoke a little English, but we mostly laughed and pointed. Laughing was because of my atrocious pronunciation of the menu words. I’m getting better though!
Now let’s do some timey-whimey stuff and go back to the yesterday.
Eglise Saint-Pierre de Caen
The construction took placebetween the 13 and 16th century.
Until around the mid-19th century, the eastern end of the church faced onto a canal that was then covered and replaced by a road. It’s spire is seen in several pictures that I took from the Chateau de Caen which is practically across the road from this ornate tribute to Saint Peter.
This is what I saw as I approached the Chateau de Caen. I wasn’t really aware that’s what it was. These sights are what grabbed my attention and pushed me to explore.
As I approached the former palace of William the Conqueror, I was filled with wonder. I breathed in the fresh air, observed the many textures of plantlife around me, and allowed my curiousity to lead me forward. The castle is being renovated and excavated. A garden is being put in the courtyard. The paths are lined with fencing which guides you to the places you’re allowed to visit. This next video is what I came to first.
For 3Euro50 you can explore the permanent exhibits of fine art. I’m not particularly fond of the period that used black as the predominant color. I find them to be off-putting, but I did find some I like as well as a little joke.
That painting! It was practically hyper-realistic.
Saint George’s chapel was a bit surreal. The tombs that are in the video are more than likely out of order since I couldn’t read the thumbnails. But, they’re all there and accounted for as best as I could do. The tombs were covered over in plexi-glass which I thought a might bit odd. But, that’s what they do for the famously rich, I suppose.
There is so much more to show you, but I’m late in posting. I forgot how much I love the hyper-focus of production. I’m still learning how to use the tools I have, so bear with me. For a newbie, I don’t think I’m doing so bad at it.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
I spent six hours walking around today looking at various places in Caen. I started out with no particular place to go, but found the Caen Castle. It was the palace of William the Conqueror. I have a lot of pictures to sort through for that one, so I’ll share those tomorrow since I have to work and most likely won’t get out much to explore.
As I ride the bus to work, there is a place called Moon and Sons. I thought it a clever name. I notice it quite frequently making a mental note to visit, but I didn’t until today. OMG!
20 Avenue De La Libération, Caen, FR 14000 It was simply magnificent. It’s an British restaurant in Caen. A mix of magical and muggle alike. You won’t be sorry for stopping in for an espresso, a meal, or a pastry.
But this…The bartender played a few pieces while I drank my espresso and ate a cinnamon roll. When I asked him if he was okay with me posting, “Yes!” he said. When I asked if he wanted his name on the video or did he want to be some random Dude, he laughed, “I’m okay with random Dude.” I think his name was Justin. I gave the staff each a little yellow duck.
The absolute enchantment of the place was gushing over my senses. I messaged my friend Jen and told her, we would hang out here. When I showed her several pictures via text, she enthusiastically agreed.
Sidenote: I’ve been working through Going With Grace’s The Living Practice. There are a few that I didn’t do because they’re not as important to me. But there have been a couple that have really put me in a stuck position.
Who/What was your most impactful death?
Who are you? (You can’t use: job, body, relationships, characteristics, accomplishments, possessions, or anything external to you).
I don’t know how to answer those questions. I could give knee jerk answers but these are deep questions. I want to answer them to my personal satisfaction. Quality vs. Quantity I suppose. As I ponder these two, I encourage you to consider them as well. AND, if you’re of the mind to try the course: The Living Practice (The link will open in a new tab).
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Mare Martell 