Day Fourty-Four, The Ocean

Yesterday afternoon as I was walking with Dave and Lori, I observed the waterline was quite high up the walls. The water was filled with bits of debris, but not too bad. There is a breakwater that extends out towards the marina which is made of concrete. It was fully visible down to the base that met the water.

Last night I didn’t sleep all that well. The boat was being tossed about hard by Yellow Zone warning meaning the waves coming in were 4-5 meters high. There is a breakwater to get into this particular dock, but that didn’t stop the violence of the water. It was jolting me frequently enough that it was hard to get to sleep.

At 2 AM, my bladder went off. Damn it. I put on my shoes and walked to the bathroom. There is a gangplank from where the boats are up to the land. Normally, there is a rather steep grade to get up, but this was barely a slant. I looked over to see that the waterline was gone. The jutting breakwater was now nearly underwater. Well no wonder!

After I observed this, I returned to my warm bed. At 5 AM my bladder went off again, Oh for Pete’s sake! I hauled myself out from under my blankets, put on my shoes and made my way to the bathhouse. To my surprise, the grade to get to the gate was steeper and the waterline was again visible.

I thought to myself, “How often do you actually think about the tide?” Being a land-lubber, hardly ever if at all. But here, it was brought into sharp focus. Something I don’t think about because of where I live, but to observe it happening was astonishing. It inspired me to write a poem.

Tides
Be mindful of the tides
Waves prowling, the waters rise
Deep green home
to long black fish
silvery minnows
a seabird's dish
Boxy grace flowers below
Undulating with aquatic flow
The deepened walk
becomes less so
As the river rises and the rivers go
A breakwater holds the mari-"time"
cyclical clock of moonlight's bride.

Dave and Lori stayed in a hotel last night and this morning they were up and ready to go. They came and picked me up. Lori let me ride in front with Dave so I could better see the sights. It made me feel great!

We started to go to one place, but we got distracted and ended up going someplace really cool. We showed up at the Palacio Nacional De Pena. We opted for the garden ticket because the palace only allows a certain amount of people at a time and the next available entry was 2.5 hours away timewise.

We entered the grounds like cattle. Cobblestone walkways lined the paths. Their shop consisted of vending machines which was rather disappointing, but there was a scale model of the palace itself.

I have no idea what is happening with my phone. It keeps breaking pictures, deleting others so it looks like a trip to the phone store when I get back to the states.

This was a decent model of the grounds. I had a picture of the other side too, but that’s gone. 😦

As we were making our way up to the palace, there was a cafe in a forested garden area. My body was telling me my blood sugar was low so we went to get drinks and sit in the festive red chairs. While we were sitting there enjoying the view and chatting, the rains came. Oh boy, did they!

Lucky for me, when I was in France, I picked up these handy little grocery bags that are made of nylon and fold into themselves so they’re no bigger than a potato. I whipped my purple bag out and used it as a rain hat. People were laughing, but I was staying dry.

We went to the palace and then walked down a LOT of stairs with long steps down to the next level. Back to the parking lot, I got a call from one of my favorite clients. It was so great to hear his voice. We chatted a bit and I told him of my mishap. After a brief conversation, the three of us loaded up into the car and headed off to the coast to see a lighthouse Lori wanted to see.

Dudes, the roads are narrow like in France, but only a bit wider. There are a lot of blind curves which Dave handled beautifully. As we climbed in elevation after our descent from the palace, the views were filled with vast vistas. The buildings are primarily white with terra cotta shingles on top. To see them against a forest of green was such a striking contrast it made me wish I had time to paint the scenes.

For the record, the parking here is zero Euros, but there was a guy in a yellow vest directing traffic. When we got out of the car he kept saying 2 Euro. I gave him one which he accepted and moved on while jingling a considerable amount of change in his pocket.

The music from these musicians made a lovely soundtrack as we viewed the ocean. The man, at first was playing the accordion and singing in a rich, true voice. She played the keyboard accompaniment. Her son (The man is just her music friend) danced wildly with abandon to the songs. It was pleasing to witness.

Their sign reads, “We sing for Ukraine” I emptied my change pouch into their box. I gave the boy and the woman each a tiny duck. It lit their faces up with smiles and thanks.

This particular song he’s playing in this picture was haunting, moving, emotional, and passionate. The rain started so we had to go.

My friend Cathy E. suggested that if I get the chance to try the roasted chestnuts. I can’t chew anything, but there was a vendor near the parking lot who was roasting them on his cart. 3 Euros a dozen. I bought them, peeled the first one with stinging fingers (They were hot!), broke off a tiny piece and ate it. It was sort of like eating almond butter with a slightly different flavor. I shared with Lori and Dave, but they didn’t want any more than a few. I gave the rest of those delicious tidbits to an Asian woman explaining I couldn’t eat them and she could have them. She tried one and smiled with satisfaction.

The wind was getting stronger, drops were starting to fall as we made it back to the car. We got in, decided to find somewhere to eat, and toodled off again.

Lori admitted she wasn’t one to make solid decisions, but when we got to a turning point, she told Dave the directions with fierce confidence. We arrived at a restaurant called Don Quijote’s. It was a homestyle villa with a beautiful garden and a windmill. From what I read about it, the mill was where the locals used to bring their grains to be made into flour but it fell into disrepair. It was lovingly restored into a magnificent place.

This sink! WOW!

Haunted Risotto which had zucchini, pumpkin, spinach, and parmesan cheese in it. The appetizers were organic sauted mushrooms, and a dish called Naheleh (maybe?) which was a cheese that tasted a bit like a cross between cream cheese and cottage cheese. It was seasoned with olive oil, roasted cherry tomatoes, black olives (with the pits unfortunately), and a parsley. They served that with toast made of a wheat bread.

The pink stuff is an iced tea that had fruit and honey in it. I’m not a fan of sweet tea at all, but that was quite tasty.

I was stuffed. It was SO good. I checked out the dessert display on my way back from the restroom. They had a lemon meringue pie which had a spider web design set in the top. They had a pumpkin pie which had little ghosts of whipped cream. The cake had a finger shaped cookie with an almond fingernail on the top of each slice. They looked fantastic.

We stopped off at a grocery on our way back so I could get enough supplies to last me. As we navigated back to the marina, the rain started falling heavily. By the time we reached the dock, the rain was still going, but not heavy. Dave and Lori went off to their hotel and I made it back to the boat (low tide but currently rising) safe and sound.

What an incredible couple of days! May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You, my friend, 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 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!

A Good Day

She is well but doesn’t know me by sight.

She knows me by sound.

I have to tell her my name like a password

that unlocks that she likes me.

We talk,

Or I do the mundane,

Or we read together.

The together is a championed victory

The memory of presence remarkable

TAMP: Looney II Crew

I love people who frame their puzzles

and hang HOME upon their walls

I love the people who are never quiet

even as night-time falls

I love the people I call family

as right as any blood

I love the fam’ly of my heart

who love me like they should.

Dearest Mama 2020

I’ve thought about your chronological timeline of our relationship that you wrote with such attention. I wish I could see it like that. The absence of our relationship during the lean years of our emotional lives burdens me to this day, but not how you may think.

With your guidance, perhaps I’d have avoided some of the pain I endured because I refused your matriarchal wisdom. Without you, I kept myself small so that others, undeserving/saints, could shine their sins/lights through me, the prism child. The magical being you brought into this world. With my life reborn here, you’re not losing me, you’re gifted with the light’s rebirth in my spirit. It burdens me because I couldn’t shine for you like I shine here. Know that in my heart of hearts, I am but a reflection of those around me, and around you, I’m at my most glorious.

You wrote of us breaking apart in our relationship, but Mama, this is how I roll. I realize this with Ben and my marriage. I love that man ridiculously. I wish him not a lick of harm which is why I’m away from him. He couldn’t give me what I needed right now.

This was not personal against you, although I recognize how it could feel that way. Perhaps feeling like you’re not enough to keep my heart. As I stated above, it’s because of you that I felt brave enough to step out into the world. It’s because of you, I felt the confidence to face my darkest fears. No ordinary person could love like you, my mother, my heart, my love. You make mistakes, but man, so do I.

This, my beloved mother, is how I want you to know I love you. You’re not a saint, but you’re an angel in a meat suit. I think the world of you even when you’re doing what I call mundane things. Things I’ve seen you both do for a million years; Things that make me want to have a more musical life (like a real musical, not just singing (Hit song quality)). Ones where the true feelings pour out of the mouths of people like you and me in a harmony that is strictly our own. Like the Loon song you sing with Dad, the familiar feel of three-word arguments and ribs with deep gouges from elbows.

Please read this with an open heart so that I can snuggle up inside and feel the safest I ever feel. Allow me to cuddle up against your memories like when we’d watch TV on the couch and I’d get the knee because I was the oldest. How I’d fall asleep on your hip and don’t ever remember waking up. I want to remember how it felt to know I was protected like I feel now.

I know I’m not what you expected or maybe even hoped for. I’m loud, cuss a lot, think nakedly, don’t filter frequently, but I’ve tried so hard not to break your heart or disappoint you. It’s a reason I stayed as long as I did. It’s a damn good reason to stay. That’s not blame, that’s recognition for the truth you showed me through your calming words when I freaked out over stuff that, truly, should never have happened or been said, but there it was and there you were with the dustpan to help me sweep up another mess.

As I sit here in my living room writing this on the computer I’m still paying for, I can’t help but be grateful for the many things you’ve allowed me to achieve with your generosity. You’ve helped me commit to things I was busting buttons proud to do. You helped me realize I’m okay and worth it even when everything went south before I did. I don’t know the right words to express how deeply I adore your generous heart. You are far more trusting of your intuition now that you’re older. I admire the growth I’ve seen since returning as a significantly different person than I knew.

I want this to be a letter that you cherish. If it’s anything but, please let me know. Every intention of these words on the page are to convey to you how very deeply, truly, and completely I adore you.

With deepest devotion, your daughter

Mare Helen

Blueberry Pancakes

I love blueberry pancakes.

the ones my dad makes for me

when I get to spend the night.

They are emotions spread into 6″ rounds

with bubbly edges stained purple.

It’s how he tells me

“You mean so much to me.”

or

“I love you berry much.”

That’s not him, that’s me.

It’s the connection with a father

MY DAD that worked hard

so she wouldn’t have to.

It’s the flavor of buttered syrup

a modicum of sweet drizzled

over bruised blueberries

bubbling more

than some battered fruit

The stacks of his generous heart

tower over the platter

that he places on the table

solid, like him, dependable,

sturdy as stock he stands

I accept his gift as he tells a joke

with the punchline

strategically placed

in middle the middle

These Are My People: Lorraine Couch

Lorraine the Warrior Queen, multi-media, canvas SOLD

Pull up a pew, step up to the pulpit

Church with Lorraine is true; no bullshit

She’ll dip you in baptismal waters

Correct our sons, respect our daughters

She a woman of God fearing faith

a warrior healer with a transcendent face

She kneels to no one and you’d better be true

Because she doesn’t care who you are

but she knows what you do.

TAMP Matthew (Seth) Fox

This young man died on January 6th of 2020. He was my "future husband" and as best friend to Matthew McBee, a true blue all the way. He was 24.
Matthew Caine (Seth) Fox

Your hair should be gray

when they lay you to rest

not dark on your brow

with a babe on your chest

What brings me awakened;

startled upright in the dark

‘Tis only the dawn becoming

on the lilt of morning larks

They promise a new day

frigid with winter’s chill

To rest you in the January earth

upon that hallowed hill

The Winter Baby

These Are My People: Lydia Khandro

Dried brown leaves and gray branches of solemn cycle

ignite to become golden lakes of wild hip-deep depths

The Blue Ridge Mother bears twice the ritual witness

standing cool, wrapped in the garment of her ancestor,

cradling her Divinity with skirts raising winds of power.

Her hair halos with the light of life, love, and nurturing.

She is the Great Mother bearing her Winter-born in holiness