Category Archives: Observations

Day four continues…

After over a two hour delay and having arrived at the stop unwittingly four hours in advance, I’m on my way to Caen, Normandie, France.

It kind of looks like a very green version of Arkansas that I’ve driven through a few times.

There is a bathroom on the bus but it is full and can’t be used. The wi-fi works but doesn’t connect to the internet. 🙄

If you asked me if I’ve been upset at the ridiculous amount of delays so far on this trip, I’d have to be honest and tell you no. Each step of the way, I’ve found reasons to be joyful, comfortable in my uncertainty.

Lost? No problem. How can I solve this issue? Google maps has been a lifesaver. Language barrier? No sweat. Pull out Google translate. Uncertain of what to do for activities? Airbnb has excellent suggestions. Not sure what’s nearby to eat? UberEats was surprisingly easy to use in Paris.

Although I have questioned my navigation skills, I’m still arriving exactly when I need to be somewhere. I’m okay. This is an extraordinary experience. I’m just as glad for the bumpy bits as well as the smooth sailing.

This was the sight I got to look at for several hours while waiting for the 4:55pm bus which didn’t show up until 7:15pm.
This was looking up the street where I waited with good company.
After the bus made it to Caen, I waited for the local tram to collect me and my newfound friend.

Call me foolish, or call me an idiot, but the woman on the left is my new friend Marie France. I saw her ID, no kidding. She and I, along with several other people waited for the same bus to arrive. Each time we’d see a bus, we’d collectively get excited then collectively disappointed.

We talked about what we do for a living and what our passions are, which as you can well guess, death and dying came up. It was a great discussion. Marie bought us all water and refused to accept anything in return. When the bus arrived, we sat in our assigned seats which was sadly not near each other.

However, when we got off the bus in Caen, she asked how I was going to get where I was going. I explained about the tram and the walk from the stop to where I’m staying. She pish-poshed me and told me nonsense. She would drive me home.

Without even thinking about it, I accepted. The picture I took of her is after I told her to give me her beautiful. She laughed out loud and got bashful. She works as a greeter at the hospital in the second picture, but there is rumor they’re going to eliminate the position. She’s not worried though. She said she’ll find something else in the office environment.

Her gray car had suicide doors! She hustled about clearing the front seat for me to ride since my luggage and hers took up the back seat. I practically live in my car too. I reassured her, she was not alone.

At that moment, I thought about human trafficking and freaking A if I didn’t scare myself a bit with that, but it was all okay. She not only made sure I got where I was going and that I was able to get in. The Farside had a cartoon:

This has been me since I got here.

I got the keys, no problem. I got the code right, no problem. The door has a handle which looks like a pull, so that is what I kept doing. Marie, on the other hand, pushed the door open while I, you guessed it, FACEPALM.

She made sure I got into the first floor (second floor in America) apartment. We hugged and she left to go to her own well deserved bed.

I’m sorry I forgot to include this in the original post. It was an invaluable time with a very special person I feel fortunate to have met. She was impressive with her speaking of several languages as natural as a native born. Wherever you are, Bless you for being you, Marie France.

Day Four so far…

I took a bus/train combo according to Google maps. I arrived too late to catch the morning bus to Caen. Surprisingly the trains and the bus were clean although a bit crowded with my luggage in tow. The evening bus leaves at 4:55pm Paris time.
L’arcouest is a quiet neighborhood bar near the bus stop. The bartender didn’t speak a lick of English but I was able to order a double espresso.
This was deeply good. Served with water which I drank separately. People watching glory!

The wheel on my brand new luggage suffered the same fate as my first bag. And man do the French love their steps! I walked down two flights of about 30 steps each to access the correct train. What goes down must go up which made me lift my 50lb suitcase and my 20lb carryon up about 40 steps. Many people helped me with them which was surprising and helpful.

Traveling lesson learned, make sure you have sturdy all-terrain wheels on your luggage. You don’t need everything you think you will. Pack lighter than you think.

More to come…

Day Three

I’m having a hard time believing this is real. I’m really in Paris!

The Weekend has served me The Nectar of the Gods each day. I left them a tiny yellow duck, an Always Beautiful card and a Euro.
Each one of these locks have messages of love on them. Some of them are engraved, some are painted, others have been written on with markers. It was across the river from the Eiffel Tower. There were houseboats moored there.
One of the locks.
It’s a lot taller than I thought it would be.
The Jardin de Troubadour is filled with tourists, myself included.
A small garden had a butterfly enjoying the sunshine and flowers.
This was a sight to behold.
And finally for this part of the day, I took a stroll with a Parisian Pigeon.
Arch de le Triumph was massive. I got lost and ended up taking a taxi to the Eiffel Tower.

Navigating the public transportation has proven to be a challenge, but I found my way back to where I’m staying and most of the way to my meet-up.

The trains are clean and mostly not too crowded. The stops are lit in LEDs so you know where you are. Although I couldn’t figure out how to get on the train at first, I was helped by a tall security guard.

When I got lost, I lost trust in my navigation skills a bit, but, I got to see additional things because of my lack of knowledge. All in all, today has been a win so far.

In the Jardin le Troubadour

The Hourglass

My dead are buried here

Cycling the winds of change

Filling my hourglass with the sands

of moments spent with true hearts

moments charged with life’s passing

Experience dictating lessons

of community

of unity

of vision

A tribal pulse weaving roots

deep into the soil of my hearth

fashioning the cloak of enduring life

a version of immortality

told in legends measured by grains

creating a life worth living

The Stillness is

The stillness is 

where you were 

Intimately held;  

death and life blurred 

The wealth of years 

Fell silently 

The labor gone 

So quietly 

The stillness is 

Where you were 

The peaceful night 

Embraces you 

Mourning’s tears 

A grassy dew 

And yet, 

The stillness remains 

Where you were 

Glimpses of mortality 

An unacceptable reality 

Because the stillness is 

Where you were 

Trauma as an Ally

Trauma has become an ally

It has allowed me to see through

many shadowed secrets kept by others

who haven’t figured out

the origami of self-propelled healing

Trauma isn’t my friend, but it knows what I know

It’s circumscribed me

magnifying me in the darkness

It has believed me, revealed unguarded truth

about myself, about others, about what happens if…

I have altered myself; inside out.

It makes it easier to wear my heart on my sleeve

It forces darkness into the light

It keeps me from internalizing

It has revealed me as strong

(although I truly had to ask what that means.)

I was told “Hurt people hurt people”

I have many points of reference for torment

But, I’ve also been the recipient of deep compassion

enduring kindness, and demonstrations of resilience

that have shown me HOW to turn and be inside out

in the most powerful of ways.

Invisibility (Linda Looney)

I am an invisible person.

I’m sure you’ll disagree

But you’ve been well versed in

How to visualize me.

Maybe scorch-eye my belly

Disapprove my thickened thighs

Look down your nose at me ready

to allow me to be humanized

then possibly you’ll witness me

Become familiar and un-stigmatized

Spiritual Bath

Perfumed purification

anointed my skin

fragrant with absolution

My brethren

Blessed sisters;

Heart-bound lovers

Spirit-kin

My blood baptized

in the cistern of love

Forgiven to be human

The elation of redemption

damp against my brow

Dancing in broad circles

Breathless with abandon

the release of blissful beauty

That little girl

That little girl under the table

that little girl under the table

scratching at knees as a mosquito might

pestering annoyingly enough;

but she’s not.

that little girl under the table

she’s not grown out of it

because she never left (even though she did)

Once in anger, once bereft,

grafting failure to achieve

something withered from the roots

Blood, not her blood, embraced her

brought her Polaroids of family blessed

as blissed as deeply remembered it to be

created in Tunes of resonant harmonies

The only home she wasn’t

that little girl under the table

who begged for scraps of affection

but the dogs eat faster, less furiously,

less needy than

that little girl under the table.

Japanese Death Poems, II

Grief

One of the things I dislike about my time management skills is that I tend to attend to whatever coal is the hottest at the moment. Crisis in lane three, meltdown imminent! Wherever the smoke and mirrors of daily life are flashing the brightest, I find myself drawn to its spectacle.

And there sits the book. Judging me with not an ounce of its former tree self. I’ve caressed its pages more than the other many books on my shelves lately. It’s hard to concentrate when grief feels perpetual, even comfortable.

I experienced and mostly know what to expect with a normal bomb of grief. I understand that there is a loss of some sort, people get together and feel sad at the celebration of life, then, although time seems to stand still closest to the death/detonation, time continues to move forward whether we do or not.

I’ve been in grieving mode for what seems like decades, but lately, I’ve noticed a shift in how I deal with it. Maybe it’s because more people are experiencing the isolation, anxiety, anger, frustration, weariness, loneliness, and trauma that has punished my existence but now as more people are talking about it as the new normal, I got this.

I’m so familiar with grief’s handshake, that I, considering the pandemic, can only greet it from a social distance which means this is alien grief. This is not the grief I know. This isn’t that familiar.

Oddly, this feels like the moment I’ve been training for all my life. Because I know what it’s like to have your life ripped away because of an event beyond your control. I comprehend the feeling of “differentness” that suddenly sets you apart from everyone else by just enough to feel like an outsider. I really see the ones who think they’ve covered the gaping wounds sufficiently but the shock of life, like now, is just enough different to feel tragic. Almost like an imposition of force against one’s will.

These words aren’t meant to be analogous to any event in particular, but to demonstrate the way I’m hearing the quarantine be talked about regarding mental health. People are struggling to function by feeling the same things I feel every day. I’m hearing people feel hope slipping through their fingers like water. I know the depth of that well and yet I’ve never touched the bottom despite my efforts.

It hurts my heart to know how many that are talking about it are obfuscating the ones who won’t ever or don’t ever recognize the grief that comes from trauma, restriction of life, or the anxiety that comes from the fear that you may become ill among many others; the ones of the silent voice. I know for every voice that speaks, many tell the same stories in their hearts to their secret keepers.

I’m here. I see you. I feel you. You’re not alone. It will get better.

So, the book. I haven’t cracked it open, nor the other. I’ve been dealing with some pretty hefty events both positive and negative as well as inevitable. Things are, in my world, normal. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best. In fact, tonight I’ll bring it to bed with me and read.