Ten-Thirty this morning (Earlier than that but I wasn’t awake yet), Lori poked me to see if I was awake. We had a brief conversation where we discussed the plan of the day. She and Dave prompted me to choose something, but honestly, everything they’ve shown me has been extraordinary in such a profound way, I bowed to their wisdom and encouraged them to light the way.
There is a Galp petrol station in front of the marina. The woman who works there has wild curly hair that is both dark and light in a pleasing combination. She makes REALLY good espresso. That’s the meeting point. I was told to bring my laundry with me today.
The other day when I had my wreck, I grabbed the first thing from my dirty laundry to control the mess. I grabbed my bath towel which at the time was a perfect choice. However, it is my only towel which has prevented me from being able to take a shower. I have Dude wipes and some wipes called HoneyPot which have kept me at least presentable and not stinky. I’ve washed what I can, but without a towel, it has been limiting.
As I waited at the station sipping my cup of espresso (double shot), I observed a sailboat pausing at the dock below me. They were getting ready to head out. The Captain of the boat untied the front rope and gave a mighty push to the front of the large sailboat. Then he quickly went to the back of the boat and pulled the rope which forced the back of the boat toward the dock, pushing the front to where it pointed to the marina entrance. A man at the wheel obeyed the Captain’s commands, steering appropriately. Once the boat reached a safe trajectory, the Captain boarded and guided the boat out into the river. While this was happening, two other boats exited the marina, one with full sail (much smaller sailboat).
Dave and Lori arrived, loaded me and my laundry into the car and we headed off. Now, Lori told me where we were going, but I forgot which made the destination a wonderous surprise. We went to Cascais (CAS-caysh).
First we found a laundry. The roads were more narrow (I didn’t think it possible) than France. Dave navigated skillfully to our destination.
This Lavanderia, Mary Clean, was small. Three washers of various sizes and three dryers. It was very clean. How freaking cool is this? The washers put the soap into the wash for you! Load your clothes, pay, and your clothes get washed. What a revolution!
With time to kill, I offered food because I was hungry, they’d already eaten. I found a restaurant at the corner that had food I thought I could eat. We sat outside under giant umbrellas.
I ordered a soup and a tofu dish that came with rice. When the soup arrived, I was able to eat the broth, but not the actual vegetables. I asked the server if he could request the chef to blend the food so I could enjoy it. Absolutely. It came back with the texture of a thick oatmeal. Farts, that was outrageously good.
As Lori enjoyed hot jasmine tea and Dave was off getting his ears lowered, my entree came. Tofu, lotus root which looked like crunchy waffles, sweet potatoes, a curry sauce, and other vegetables mixed together but, I couldn’t eat anything but the tofu. I asked the waiter if he could do the same thing to the entree, which he did. Hokey smokes! It was stupendous. It came out with the texture of the rice. It was fantastic!
While I slowly made my way through my brunch, Lori popped off to put the clothes in the dryer. And again, she popped off to take them out of the dryer as Dave arrived shiny like a new penny with his spiffy haircut. We sat and chatted as I finished my decadence. I paid the bill and left tiny ducks for the waitstaff who had been so kind and entertaining.
Painted in the middle of the road is a starfish.
Lori had folded my clothes already! Man, how lucky can I get?! We went back to the car, loaded up again, and headed off to the next destination. Unfortunate event, we got a parking ticket. Abuh! But it has a QR code on it so you can pay it right then and there. That was an expensive parking spot.
As we rode through winding roads, I felt like my eyes were seeing the world in an entirely different perspective. The houses are painted in yellows, pinks, tans, cream, white, and almost all of them have terra-cotta roof tiles. It’s an incredibly pleasing aesthetic.
Dave pulled off into a parking area because they wanted to show me something. The video you’re about to see if of today and I finally got video to load from yesterday, so you get the bonus clip. The Ocean’s Music:
This is the two seaside places I’ve been taken to in the last couple of days. I can’t even.
We arrived in Cascais about 2:30 PM (9:30 AM East Tennessee time). It was similar in style to Pigeon Forge only the buildings were definitely not Southern American. Brightly colored with wares pouring out the doors. As we walked towards the shopping area, the ocean crashed and waved hello to us. The air breezed past us with scents of a variety of restaurants, the ocean, the scent of anticipation.
We popped into the first store in search of a sweatshirt for me. We found one, but the price made me balk. Lori reassured me there was plenty more to see. I left, making a mental note where to get it if I felt the need.
Look! I’m an ice cream store!
The shops were bustling, the outdoor cafe’s were filled with people. I popped in and out of stores, browsing from the many choices. Lori suggested a shop called The Bijou which had the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life. Outstanding!
I didn’t purchase anything. I saw a lot that I was tempted to impulse buy, but I had a couple of people I wanted to bring things back for. Lori suggested a small corner shop that was deceptively large. To say I went hog wild in that store would be saying too little. I was able to get the gifts for my people in sensational style. I can’t show you the pictures of them because I want them to be a surprise, but I will post them after I’ve given them away.
Finished with the shopping and trying to meet the “deadline” for Dave and Lori to return home, we hopped in the car and drove all the way down the coast. Surfers were out paddling in the crashing waves. People were swimming despite the cool air. There were kids playing beach volleyball. At points on the road, the waves hit the guardwall so violently that it splashed up into the air and onto the cars and road.
Day done, we arrived back at Doca De Belem. Warm hugs, empty bladders, sunshine brightly lighting the afternoon, we bid adieu. They gave me a gift of their presence which was more than I could ever have imagined. I didn’t know I needed it so badly, but I did. I will cherish the memories we made together for as long as I live.
Falling in love with my friends, sharing moments in a life well lived, putting down the camera and just existing in the time we had together was a highlight of my trip. Gratitude has no bounds.
“Stop being a tourist and just be in the moment.”
Mare Martell, 2023
Storms A'Brewin'
Sailboat windchimes wildly chorus
obeying the Mistress of the Winds
The strength of ropes is tested
creaking, groaning, protesting
as the waters stake ownership
A waving power rising and falling
obediently testing boundaries
Like ashes to ashes
dust to dust
the ocean claims
what it must.
Mare Martell2023
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!
The title is misleading, I know. I read it and picture a couple of equine’s reclined while indulging in some “funny” grass. But it’s not about that.
Besides bouncing a ball back and forth, it’s my job to encourage my client to take walks to maintain mobility. Sometimes he gets cranky and will only walk in the yard which is not very interesting. And then there are days like today when we get to walk down the country lane to a side road that borders a field with four horses. I’ve described them to you, but today, I got pictures!
Chinaberries, variegated bi-color leaves.
That last picture is a fire hydrant. The red top comes up and off. There is a cylinder inside. I saw some municipal workers clearing out the interior of one. It’s an interesting design. I don’t know how effective it is, but they evidently work because they get maintained.
While we walk, we talk about different things. His voice is quiet so I lean in to hear his take on things. He was genuinely delighted that the one horse was so close to us. I like when he laughs. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does, it’s magic.
I can’t see out of the small window in my small room, but I got brave tonight because I could see the sky. There is a short slanted roof below the window. The first picture is pretty much straight out the window. I angled up and down the street to see what it looks like. The sky was prettier in person. My fear was in dropping my phone while trying to see outside.
While at my client’s house, their daughter was in town from her bike-ride across Europe. She and I talked about how looking a fool is something you need to get comfortable with really quick because with the language barrier, charades is sometimes the best you can do. She disclosed that she also shops by picture and was slightly embarrassed that she couldn’t speak French as fluently as she thought she could.
She’s really a great human. I like her very well.
Why can’t we have nice things like this? This is across from the bus stop in the Cairon Commerces. To the left of this is a recycle and trash station. It’s clean, cozy, and peaceful. The horse that stared at me is farther to the left of this pictutre.
This has nothing to do with Japanese Death Poems, even though it kinda does. I’ve made it into a have-to which means I’m commitment shy. I want to read them. I nearly made it through the introduction but found Charlie Mackesy instead at a client’s home.
The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse was sitting on the coffee table. It has a sketch picture on the front which is what caught my eye. The rough edged raw that showed beauty in loose lines with suggestive coloring. The inside cover filled with music that rippled in waves of tones coming off the printed paper. I was pulled in by simplicity in paradox.
It looks as if the print in the book were carefully calligraphied to demonstrate a deep caring sense of connection to the reader. Although there were parts (like the author’s name) where I had trouble discerning letters (Where’s my glasses?), the words were crafted with care.
“Life is difficult but you are loved.” Simple truth brought to life in a tale of loving friendship in a makeshift family. I identified with wanting to belong, seeking other odd creatures, befriending them in the way family could be, and walking them home. What a deeply sensitive place to balance; on the edge of tenderness.
Dive into the depths of light-hearted conversations rich with wisdom. This made my heart deeply happy.
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.
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 