The soul eats time ravenously
savoring the flavors of the tempest
diving into the depths of despair
Flying with euphoric joy
Bathing in love with bubbling compassion
Filling buckets of companionship
Devouring knowledge of experiences
Exuding the light of the spirit into dark corners
Rampaging through injustice covered in battle armor
dressed in the scars of survival
Striding towards purpose
Hat out as the soul sings a song, waiting for change
Love the binding that holds tight the life
The skirt swayed as she sashayed.
The exceptionally white sneakers whispered by.
The heavily colored scarf blistered the neutral blazer.
The jacket’s sleeves tattled the height of the man.
The pants creases were crisp as the autumn air.
The plaid shirt the only color besides his eyes.
The thigh high fishnets slendered her legs beneath her shorts.
The heavy black boots complimented the fashion statement.
The only pajama pants were on tourists with America emblazoned.
They were fish out of water in a sea of dressing for the world.
I was speaking with my mother the other day while she giggled about the antics of her dog, my boyfriend, Apollo aka Pol. He kept going from food to toy, couch to floor, reveling in his dog-ness.
“One joy at a time is all he can handle!” She exclaimed.
It made me think about that phrase. One joy at a time.
In a society that revels in multi-tasking, demanding everything be done all at once despite our chronic limitations, Pol teaches an important lesson. We only have what is right in front of us right this moment. Thinking ahead takes away from what we’re doing. Going over things we’ve done is redundant (redundant) (heehee). This is it.
I used to think that somewhere along the line I’d be given a key/playbook/how-to or something that would show or tell me how to do things. Because of that belief, I looked forward to the day that would happen. As naive as that sounds now, I really thought that’s how adults who “have their shit together” got that way.
I no longer believe that, but what I’ve discovered is that the big picture is great as far as a guidebook goes, but, like Miss Marge taught me, keep moving (even if it’s a sidestep). Take a bite of the moment and savor it as if it were the most wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. In reality, it is. No matter what is happening, however you percieve it, it IS something never done before in your lifetime, not like this. Not in this moment.
You may have fed your children or your dog a thousand times, but what if this was the last time you were able to do that whether something happened to them or you? Would you feel regretful that you didn’t “do more” or “pay attention better?” Chances are likely, yes.
Each moment is unique to us individually. I read about how a rainbow can never be perceived the same way even if you’re standing next to each other because the light refracts in such a way that what I see isn’t what you see even though we’re looking at the same thing at the same time.
This flows in congruency with our life experiences. This is what we have. This is what we’re doing. This is our perception of time. Because of this, we can take the lesson of Apollo, One Joy at a Time.
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 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.
My last day in Portugal, in Europe, in Lisbon. What to do? Well, since I don’t do well with tourist transportation, I decided on a walk about. There were a couple sites nearby where I’m staying that I wanted to check out. With my FINALLY dry favorite Blowfish shoes on my feet, shorts and a t-shirt (It was really that warm out), I headed out. I’m going to mention that I took all the medication I was prescribed for the pain so I was okay to observe the world around me.
I walked the riverside until I reached the pedestrian crossover. I shared a picture yesterday of what I had to cross. It was not busy. I climbed up the ramp and crossed over. The walkover exits nearby the coach museum I shared with you. I walked to the left.
I poked my head into a few shops, bought a bucket hat since I can’t wear my transition lenses for very long, grabbed some coins, and took my time.
That bridge is incredibly high up and looks similar to the Golden Gate Bridge, but this particular version has a bonus feature of a train that runs on the lower level.
I walked through the Jardim Afonso de Albuquerque. At the four corners of the large park, there are four unique statues of women. In the center of the park is a tall spire with a statue on the top. I giggled because a seagull took a rest on the head of the statue,
I strolled the tourist strip ducking out into a park at the end of the first strip.
I visited the Pavilhao Sala Thai which is located inside the Jardim Vasco da Gama. It was pretty, but I was rather underimpressed. I thought it would be bigger.
A prayer for peace and I wandered towards the fountain in the middle of the Praca do Imperio Garden. I’d seen it at night from the Padrao dos Descobrimentos (Explorer’s monument). It lights up in different colors as the water spouts shoot into the night.
I made my way over to the Centro Cultural Belem. Art fascinates me. I didn’t take any pictures because I wanted to not be a tourist. I wanted to be in the moment, taking it all in. I was not disappointed.
I strolled over to the Museu de Marinha but didn’t go in. The outside park had ship anchors displayed. They were massive. Taller and thicker than I am. At the back of the museum courtyard was a Planetario de Marinha but there weren’t any shows available to see. I went dancing down the Praca do Imperio road.
I passed by the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos. The exterior was much different than the churches I saw in France. There was ornamentation, but not overly so. The building is a World Heritage listed Gothic monastary.
One of the Presidential Guard. I’m sorry I didn’t get a closer picture but he and his fellow guard stood at attention while I watched them from afar.
I returned to the boat. I’m heading up to take a shower and change into my travel clothes. I’ll pack up my things and have them ready to exit the boat tomorrow morning. I’m already fussing with myself about what to leave behind so I can bring my goodies back home. Small living is difficult to do.
Other than nausea and a bit of a headache, I’m doing okay. I took a short nap when I got back, so I’m relatively rested. Tomorrow I get to sleep in my own bed. I get to see my pup and my kitty. I get to see my son. I get to see familiar sights. I get to see friends (picking me up from the airport). Life is good.
OH! I wrote a letter to the man who races his boat. I thanked him for the invitation to sail. I expressed my regret of not being able to fulfill that invitation. I used Google Translate to write it. I hope I didn’t say anything completely wrong.
May peace find you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
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.
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:
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 Martell 2023
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
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.
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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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!
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
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.
Hosanna High Community Burial Project
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 