Category Archives: Personal

I had a dream…

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!

Day Fourty-Eight, To Home and Back

I had so much trouble going to sleep last night. I was experiencing so many different emotions. From anxiety, to excitement, all the way to sadness and a reminder that being in the moment is necessary.

I woke up at 7AM (3AM Tennessee time), loaded my bags onto the dock and made my last trip up to the Galp station for a double espresso and a croissant. The driver couldn’t find me and he didn’t speak any English. The woman with the beautifully wild hair was kind enough to translate and the driver found me.

I loaded up the trunk and we headed to the airport. We could barely communicate but we used the translator and laughed hysterically at the ridiculous translation. He dropped me off and I put my luggage on a buggy. I stood outside the airport, reluctant to enter.

I was unsure of what to do. I mean, get on the plane and fly home, obviously, but I didn’t want to give up the time that I’d spent in a different world. I finally relented and stepped into the airport.

The process wasn’t confusing, really. Some dude grabbed my cart and asked me where I was going. A policeman shook his head no and pointed at the dude. I thanked him and took my buggy to the check in point. I had two bags to check and a backpack that I picked up as my carryon. But…you can’t put a computer through in your checked bags so I had to buy another bag to store my electronics. For the record, spend the money on good luggage. Do not skimp or you’ll end up with flat tires that don’t roll.

Bags checked, carry on over my shoulder and I had to walk to the very last gate at the other end of the airport. Abuh. Good for the butt, I thought. I purchased a soda and a snack while I waited the two hours for the flight. Security was pretty easy to get through. I didn’t even have to take off my shoes.

Boarding the plane was easy too. They scanned the boarding pass and checked my passport.

The seats sort of looked like lawn chairs and were about as comfortable. Buckled in and ready to fly, I was dizzy and nauseous. I fought with it the entire flight. If I lean forward, my lip stings and my head gets light. I know, don’t lean forward. No matter which position I sat in, I just couldn’t get comfortable.

Arrival in Philly was different. Customs, claims, declarations, confusion. I didn’t feel competent but I made it through. By the time I reached the gate I was so dizzy. I asked the customer service for an ice pack for my face. They were so accomodating and nice. Thank you American Airlines.

The connecting flight had way better seats and far more legroom. I listened to music since the wi-fi wouldn’t connect and jammed out to my favorite songs. The flight was only two hours, but it was totally comfortable.

Arrival in Knoxville was coming home in such a different way. My friend Diane said I’d be changed by my travels. She said I’d never be the same. I understand now. I get it. I am different. But, as I’ve described before, home is where I am. Here, in my home, I can be all of me, express my ideas, share in stories, be a part of life.

I was more of an observer, and explorer of cultures. I saw things I only dreamed about. I tasted some phenomenal foods from all different culinary experts. I stayed in a quiet apartment. I stayed in a tiny condo. I lived on a boat. I wouldn’t trade anything for what I’ve been through.

I’m dizzy, nauseous, and I need to sleep in my own bed. My pup and kitty curled up next to me, my son sleeping on his cot in the livingroom. Life is good.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved. Welcome home.

Day Fourty-Six, Aw crap

Last night I became increasingly dizzy and upchucked several times. By this morning, I could barely stand upright without feeling like I was drunk (without the fun, BOO!). My friends encouraged me to seek care, but I was reluctant.

I justified my dizziness because I’m on a boat, there was a yellow coastal event happening which was rocking the boat pretty hard. However, the dizziness and nausea continued when I spent time on stationary land. nao e’ bom.

My resistance led me to call the hospital where I was treated after the wreck. I wrote up a script to say to them:

I don’t speak Portuguese
I know I am calling a hospital
I was in an accident on Wednesday and broke my nose and face.
May I please have someone who speaks English

Eu nao falo portugues
eu sei que estou ligando para um hospital
onde fui tratado quanddo quebrei meu nariz na ultima quarta feira
algeem que fal ingles por favor

My attempt massacred the language.

The woman who answered the phone the first time said Eu nao sei (I don’t know) and hung up. I revised my script. Despite my atrocious pronunciation, she understood. She transfered me to another number. I repeated the script that worked. She said no and hung up. I called back. The first lady answered, recognized my script, asked me to hold, then transferred me to the same woman who hung up on me again. Dang it.

Finally I gave up on that. I called 112 which is the emergency number here. I started off by asking “Do you speak English?” A little she replied. That was about the extent of what we could understand. She asked me to find someone who could translate. They must have thought I was nuts. “Voce fala Englais’?” (Do you speak English?) I kept asking everyone sheltering from the rain under the gas station portico.

A woman asked me what I needed. She kindly translated what was happening to me, where I was, and other information. Obrigado (Thank you). Wait here she said. They are coming.

I waited. They showed up. My friends were messengering me their concern. I can’t really wear my glasses right now so it’s hard to read. I reassured them as best as I could, loaded up and headed back to the hospital.

I spent so much time in this hallway, I thought they forgot about me.
Anti nausea and pain medication which helped ease the symptoms.

As I reported the other day, I broke my nose and my “mustache” line above my front teeth. As it turns out, that wasn’t accurate. I broke four bones in my face. No messing around here, kids. I go all out. No guts, no glory!

After consulting with colleagues and the IV being complete with my symptoms under control, the doctor suspected that my pain being out of control had contributed to my issues. An adjustment of medications, a list of warning signs, and 300 Euros later, I was on my way to the Farmacie to pick up 32 Euros of medication.

I got back to the boat, made a few phone calls to reassure my friends and loved ones of my well being (as much as I can be right now), and now I’m writing for you fine folks.

Tomorrow I’ll be trying to stuff six weeks of momentos into my two suitcases. I’ve already tried to figure out what I’d be willing to leave behind if it comes down to it. My six weeks in Europe is coming to a close. I fly out Tuesday morning for Philly, then home to Knoxville.

There are two more things I want to see before I go home. I’m hoping the weather will cooperate with me. They’re both within walking distance, basically across the street.

But this is the street I have to cross.

I’m going to sleep now. May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.

Day Fourty-Three, Lori and Dave

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!

Day Fourty-Two, The Hitchhiker

This morning I woke up to my alarm. I had to go to retrieve my now fired tile because my intention was to take a train down to Faro tomorrow to visit with some friends of mine. I’d made the appointment to pick up the tile for Friday, but…well, that’s what I get for not putting things in my calendar.

As I was getting ready to meet the Bolt car, I happened to look down into the water by my boat. HOLY TOLEDO! A mother farting jellyfish! My friend Bonk! said it was a box jellyfish. I’d never seen one in the water like that before so I was intrigued with the way they move in such a fluid like motion.

Ana, The Tile House artist was rightfully concerned about the brushstrokes. It was my first time making one, so I’m actually quite pleased with the result.

Traveling is something I obviously love to do. I love taking trains. I once rode on a train from Las Vegas, Nevada to Chicago, IL. I felt like I was in the lap of luxury even though I only had a plain seat. It was totally wonderful. So, taking the train on a three hour trip is exciting for me.

But first laundry. I’ve been conservative with my clothes. I wear the same pants for a few days changing my undies. I change my shirt every couple days and my socks daily. Although I didn’t have a lot, they were really dirty and needed to be washed. I plotted my course, hooked the bag on my back like a backpack, got on the scooter and went for a ride.

I found the place I needed to go pretty easily. Finding a legal place to park the scooter, not so much. I checked the map, found one nearby and tried to follow the directions. I made it to a parking lot, even found a stand that had other scooters parked there, but the app still refused to allow me to park. I checked the map again, found another one nearby and was heading that direction when I was suddenly on the ground.

I face planted. I don’t know what happened, but when my face caught the brunt of my fall, my hands didn’t even come out to brace myself. I felt an instant black pain as I landed. I layed on the ground for a bit until I could get my breath. I sat up slowly and realized my nose was bleeding profusely. I mentally checked the rest of my body and found nothing else hurt as much as my head and face.

I grabbed the towel out of my laundry bag and held it to my face as I stumbled to my feet. A couple found me, helped me out of the traffic lane. They brought me water to drink (I couldn’t do that) and water to wash the blood from my hands. I was shaking, dizzy, and nauseous. They asked me if they should call an ambulance. Since I couldn’t remember what exactly happened and I was bleeding so much, yes.

They waited with me as I alternated between crying and groaning. Fun fact: When you break your nose, it jostles every bit of your sinuses and they go into evacuation mode. It’s not pretty.

A broken nose, four stitches in my lower lip, my front teeth are pushed back with a fracture on the bone that holds the teeth. My glasses survived.

I can’t say this is my favorite part of my trip so far, but the people that took care of me from start to finish were loving, compassionate, giving, and attentive. I couldn’t have asked for better considering the circumstances.

I didn’t break it, but I did bruise my pinkie finger on my left hand pretty good. Scooters are fun, but not worth the trouble when they stop suddenly and throw you to the ground.

It’s been a long day with a lot of catastrophe. My damn laundry still isn’t done, but I’m alive even if it’s in pieces.

Of further note, the Bolt driver that picked me up from the hospital also made sure I got my prescriptions, got food from the grocery, and waited while I did those things. You bet your sweet bippy I tipped him well. Haziz, you’re top hats.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!

Day Thirty-Eight, Arrival

When I left Caen, Normandie, France on Thursday, I was excited, filled with anxiety but also booming with curiosity. At the beginning of my trip, I flew into Paris, rode in a harrowing taxi ride to where I stayed, explored the city a bit. I got to see the pretty parts of the City of Lights. Going from the very clean city of Caen to what I witnessed outside of my bus window in Paris was a startling contrast.

The amount of garbage piled up along the highway was like a collection of mini landfills. How many freaking mattresses get discarded? I saw homeless encampments against the brick walls (probably to protect the “good citizens”). Everything that was a surface was tagged with spray painted testaments that the artist exists. I saw rather nice set-ups with chairs and campfires, a shelter built out of tarps.

It breaks my heart to see so much suffering when there is enough. I am of the mind and opinion that every person’s basic needs should be met. Safe shelter, clean water, food, sanitary toilet facilities. The mentality of every wo/man for themselves is based on self interest, I get that. I’m not willing to give up what I feel I’ve earned either. I’m not sure how to solve the problem, but I am aware of it.

The bus station in Paris was underground. I had a two hour layover there so I found a bench outside to sit on and observe. Immediately outside the doors of the station was a public gym where males were posturing their fitness by removing their shirts and video-ing themselves doing pull-ups. It smelled like piss. There was garbage everywhere. The border next to the sidewalk was muddy and slick. It was not a pleasant two hours.

But, graffitied on a pillar within my line of sight was the phrase, “Call me at night <3…” It inspired me to write this:

Call Me At Night ❤
When you're lonely for my company
When you require reassurances that you're okay
When you're over or underwhelmed
When you need to feel loved
When you need compassion
When you need to vent
When you need someone to be with you in silence.
Call me at night.

31 hours on a bus. I was so exhausted when I finally got to Lisbon, whose bus station is very busy but open air. I got an Uber to take me to my destination because I hads the dumbs. I just couldn’t function enough to navigate.

A nice full bodied fellow named Eduardo loaded my bags into his car and off we went. I had given him the wrong address. I found the right one, reset the ride, and we were off. On the way to the marina, Eduardo showed me the embassy district. When I think of embassies I think of tall, large buildings, but these were like…houses. They had a flagpole in the front yard of the respective country behind walled yards. I said Wow a lot.

We got to the actual address and I tipped him well. He was a great driver.

I got met by the host and his girlfriend who were warm, helpful, and good people. They helped me load up my stuff onto the boat, brought me a kettle to make coffee in, and left me to my leisure.

Okay. I know. It’s a boat. What the hell did I expect? The water was choppy and the boat was rocking a lot. I honestly felt so sick to my stomach that I put a garbage bag in a tiny trashcan and slept with it nearby. And boy did I sleep.

Motion sickness is real until your body adjusts.

When I awakened, I pushed open the hatch of the boat. Dudes…

I feel much better than I did. I look forward to breakfast in the morning and learning to ride a scooter (A razor like apparatus). I didn’t get to explore much today, but Saturday night (tonight here) I’ll be painting tiles with a local artist. Woot!

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!

Day Thirty-Six, Press Start

I’m sitting on the FlixBus in Caen. My cumbersome luggage is loaded under my butt. I feel a complexity of emotions.

I’m excited to see what happens next. I’ve been to Paris, so that part doesn’t feel anything but familiar. I’m not sure if that’s what I mean exactly but it’s close. After Paris, then the fun/fear/excitement/unknown begins.

Truthfully, I’m intimidated by that unknown. More so than when I first arrived. Maybe because it was a rather spontaneous choice to change everything I’d planned at the last minute. Perhaps it’s because the summation of my experience has been a working trip.

I don’t have to work. I don’t have obligations. I’m doing this for me. It feels selfish. It feels uncomfortable. It feels unsafe. But it’s also exhilarating because it’s not something I normally would do. It’s adventure and exploration. It’s new.

I’ll let you know what happens as I leave Caen and head into the rest of my life.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!

Day Thirty Five, Champagne Farewell

I spend time with my client and his family today. It’s the last time I’ll get to see them until they return stateside in December. When I first arrived in the middle of September, it was because of them that I took a chance and stepped outside of my comfort zone. WAY outside.

My client and I exercised his body. I chattered on about things that I’m learning or figuring out. He’s pretty quiet, but he surprises me with how much he pays attention. It was a blustery day. Chilly, windy, rainy. The day seemed sad. I felt sad.

I fall in love with my clients in a non-romantic way. It allows me to give grace, feel compassion, and evoke empathy even when things are a challenge. I absolutely adore this family. Truly it has been an honor to work with them for three years and many into the future, (As Miss Pat would say:) God willing and the creek don’t rise.

We drank real champagne from the real Champagne region in France. It wasn’t quite how I envisioned it, but sharing it with people I adore and love made it all the better. They’re just incredible people.

This evening I’m packing up all my stuff to leave for Lisbon, Portugal tomorrow. I’ll be taking a bus (31 hours…don’t even) to Paris, then on to Lisbon. I’ll arrive Friday at around noon (Insert Miss Pat quote here).

I have felt such a raw presence of myself here. My eyes are open, my ears are hearing, my mouth is tasting, my senses are satisfied with my stay here. I’ve seen everything (but one) that I’ve wanted to see. I’ve made no friends which I’m okay with. I love the people here.

Au Revoir to my French Experience.

I knew that if I failed in France, I had the safety net of my clients to call on if I got in over my head. I didn’t, but knowing it was there was reassuring. The training wheels come off tomorrow and I’ll be striking out on my own to explore. I’m lollygagging, farting around, procrastinating even though I should be packing.

Okay, deep breath. Let’s do this, Mare.

May peace be with you wherever you may be. You are loved!

Day Thirty-Three, An answer

Back on day Twenty-Seven I told you about a course I was taking through Going With Grace called The Living Practice. Each day you’re given something to think about, write about, and enrich your living experience by thinking about your death.

Yes, I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but it really isn’t. Every day you do things, whether you realize it or not, you’re building your legacy. Your life is your message to others about what kind of a person you are externally, and to some extent even to yourself. But the juicy part, as Alua Arthur, founder of Going With Grace, likes to say, is that who you think you are may not actually be who you are.

We all have to go through the every day life stuff. We have to survive. We have to pay bills. We make time for social interaction or hobbies or adventure. But, who are we really? Without anything external, who are you?

I’m still pondering that one, but the question I’ve come to the answer for is:

Who or what was your most impactful death?

Of all the people I have loved and lost in this lifetime (part of the reason I became a Death Doula), the most impactful death would have to be my best friend L3 aka Bean. I lived with her and she with me for the majority of our adult lives. She was so freaking quirky, weird, and resentful of being pulled out of her comfort zone. A little secret I never told her, she MADE me braver than I felt.

I was friends with her for 37 years. She and I fought, laughed, created, sang, played, roadtripped, went to concerts, went on vacations together. She was my secret keeper. She was the fastest typer I’ve ever seen. I think they clocked her at like 125 wpm without errors. She was happier in a world of fantasy than in real life where disappointments followed her around like a rabid dog.

When she died, I got fucked up in the head. The person who was always there was gone. Who did that make me then? It took me about five years before I could think of her without crying or feeling devastatingly sad. Which, when you love someone like I loved her and know that you’re loved back, that loss is going to do exactly that.

Okay, so why was it the most impactful? I was 49, she was a month past 50 when she died. I suppose it’s a trick of my own disbelief or even a naivete’ but who the freak dies at 50? I was looking down that barrel myself and it freaked me out.

It made me really look at my life. I was unhappy. I was deeply depressed. I was so ridden with anxiety I couldn’t handle even missing a bus. Did I want to live the rest of my life like that? What could I change to make my life a better place to live?

She was the most impactful because I decided I wanted to live after she died. I mean live like we had intended to do together. She made me braver than I ever thought possible. She gave me the gift of life by leaving hers.

And now, here I am in freaking France getting ready to head to Portugal. The things I’ve seen would have made her laugh. The food would have blown her mind. The atmosphere would be right up her alley. She, although not physically, is still with me. She’s still here next to me,

I wear Bean in this.

(Well technically around my neck since I wear some of her ashes always) cheering me on to the best life I can live, for the both of us.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!

Day Thirty-Two, Change of Plans

Since February I’ve had a plan in place for September and October. I was going to fly into Paris and stay a couple of days. (check) Then take public transportation to Caen, Normandie, France. (check) I planned on staying in one place for September them move to another for the month of October. (check) Then I was going to stay in my client’s home while they went to Morocco. (Uh…) Well that was a bust, so I made reservations for another place in Caen. But…

If I’m not going to be working, why should I stay in one place? I started looking around. I checked out Brussels, Belgium. I looked at Geneva, Switzerland. I checked out The Hague in the Netherlands. But, they are rather cost prohibitive last minute. Then I thought about Barcelona, Spain. Again cost prohibitive.

I have a friend that housesits on the west coast of the U.S. and in Portugal. She’s told me so many good stories about her journeys that I started looking towards Lisbon.

Okay, so a bus goes from Caen to Lisbon via a route through Paris. As it turns out, it’s the same bus I would have used to get to Paris for my flight home.

Well, can my flight be changed from Paris to Lisbon? Why yes, yes it can. Okay, but can I find an affordable place to stay in Lisbon?

Yes indeed. Did you know that you can search for OMG places on airbnb.com? As it turns out there is a hobbit house you can rent, but I couldn’t figure out how to get to the affordable place because it was not very close to Lisbon.

What I did find was a boat. Like a real live boat. It is located near Lisbon, close to public transportation, and it’s affordable.

I rearranged everything, canceled, reworked, submitted, and dudes, I’m going to Lisbon, Portugal! I figure I’m never going to have this opportunity again and if I didn’t do it, I’d kick my own ass for being anxiety-ridden enough to maintain.

Courage is feeling the fear and doing it anyway. No guts, no glory. It’s my intellectual way of saying, “Hey ya’ll, watch this.” We’ll find out what happens.

Downside, the bus trip is like 32 hours. Bonus, I’ll be traveling through a lot of France, across Spain, and into Portugal. Did I forget to mention that some friends from ORUUC, my church back in Tennessee, moved to Portugal last December? OH! AND! They happen to live in the same neighborhood as the hobbit house. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to see it, but I KNOW I’ll be lucky enough to see them,

We’re already in talks for me to train down to them and spend a couple days. Dudes, the world is a beautiful place.

May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!