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.
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!
As I was walking towards my work today from the bus stop, my client’s wife asked me if I’d like a ride. Sure! I happened to be standing at the end of the sidewalk under a tall willow tree. She said she was on her way. I waited but while I did, I contemplated the huge tree reveling in the wind. I wrote this as a record of my thoughts:
The willow isn't weeping it is exuberant with joy Draped tendrils gossip with the giggling zephyrs sharing lusty, gusty secrets. Complicated communication through a seeminly intricate dance a bough there, a swirling circle of leaves, a historical echo in contemporary moments. MM 2023
He didn’t have enough, but I did.
He searched for resources embarrassed.
He promised to return, hurrying away.
I gave because I could.
It wasn’t much, less than 2 euros.
The cashier looked puzzled
but she accepted my gift to him.
In fact, she chased him down
while I waited, patiently.
I made sure he got a tiny yellow duck.
I made sure the cashier got a tiny yellow duck.
My spirit felt good and right.
He didn’t have enough, but I did.
You know, the church bells don’t sing here.
The cars pass by, the scooters and motorcycles whine
At times loud music stays long enough for a stop light
I hear youthful voices interacting in bubble-gum bursts
Males with raised voices gushing laughter at one another
The steady whir of the fan sets a background,
noise I don’t pay attention to for a while because
I’m listening to a spider win against the fly.
I was given notice yesterday that the place I’m staying is currently up for sale. The realtor would be popping by to show the place today, would I mind? Uh, well…since I have no real choice in the matter and I feel like refusing would jeopardize my current arrangement, Yeah, sure! A while later I was messaged with a Whoops, sorry. Rescheduled to next week.
Five flights of stairs is not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but I’m fat and tend to be sedintary if not motivated to accomplish a task. Hey, I come by it honestly, my mother is the same way! The idea of dragging anything up and down those stairs sincerely makes me consider exactly what I’ll need to do once I get down the stairs (THAT’s no problem).
I double/triple checked that I had all my dirty clothes and towels loaded into my handy buggy. I got the trash out of the can, tied off the bag and put that on top of the dirty clothes, securing the slide. I put the recycling bag handles over the buggy handles. Double/triple check, yup. That’s everything.
Grabbed my bag and keys, unlocked the door from the inside with the key… Pulled my buggy into the dark hallway, locked the door with the same key I used to open it from the inside…Open the stairwell doors and descend.
Down to the lobby where there are three doors. One goes to the outside. One doesn’t open. One reveals a storage area with a closed door off to the right. I open it because it will and I found the trash bins! Hooray!
I didn’t see a place for the recycling to go until after I’d dropped it into the cans I’d found. It was behind another closed door. Dudes, I thought about correcting my error, but truthfully, I was grateful I even found the trash bins.
I am not a graceful person. I’m large but unaware of my size most of the time. I don’t feel like I’m a size 20. In my head, I’m much smaller. I could be reading more into it than is necessary, but it’s rather magnified over here.
As I’m in the grocery store, shopping by picture, guessing at words, refusing to translate because I’d have to translate the entire store, I felt an ineptitude that I’m not a fan of feeling. It really snaps my awareness into a clarity about what it could feel like to be illiterate. I’m practically mute because although I can say simple things like please, thank you, good day, I’m sorry and my numbers, I’m ridiculously unable to do things I take for granted back home.
I’ve observed that the people I’ve interacted with have primarily spoken more than one language. They have at least a rudimentary conversational base which I am lacking in their native tongue. I feel small here. As if I could be quickly and easily forgotten. I want so badly to communicate, to let them (whomever that may be) know I exist. Maybe I’m like Ariel, wishing to be a part of a world that doesn’t belong to me. Perhaps.
Why did you get the emotional roller-coaster? It turns out that the laundromat is slightly different than the one I used before. I tried to will my brain to translate the words into ones I could understand, for some of them it did, but not enough to know what the hell I was doing. I didn’t ask for help. I just stared at the sign, trying to make sense of the symbols.
A young man, maybe 22-24, asked me in accented English if I were going to be staying long in France. Yes, until the end of the month. He suggested getting a laundry card and loading it. Instead of paying 4 Euros per wash, I’d only pay 3 Euro 60. Well, heck. That’s a pretty darn good deal. I followed his instructions. Voila! I have a loaded laundry card.
An hour for a wash. Yikes. I toddled across the street to the pharmacie, found nail clippers but no lotion. The woman behind the corner kept trying to engage me by asking me questions in French. I smiled and nodded, thank you I said. I tried to explain that I needed a small bottle of hand lotion. She stared back at me with an equally blank look on her face. I felt a little better. I relented and pulled out the translator (Why aren’t babbelfish a real thing?) A bit of back and forth and I tucked my purchases into my pocket-bag.
I’m reading a book by Jenny Swartz. Freddie Nechtow gave me the book “The House That Walked Between Worlds” and I finished that three book series. Now I’m on a new adventure by the author. Maybe it’s because of what I described earlier about illiteracy, but I don’t typically read for fun any more. I like to get lost in the world the author created. I like to ride the emotional pony around the imaginary carousel. It takes up a significant chunk of time which is why it’s not something I readily do. However, I sure am popping them back like illicit drugs trying to get a reader’s high. I returned to the laundromat and read.
After my clothes were dry, I folded them and stacked them compactly into the bottom of the buggy. I headed off to the grocery. The weather was gorgeous out, if not even a wee bit warm. But the sun, the people, the neighborhood feel of Mondeville created a sense of being. It was good.
I arrived at the store, picked through the aisles, collected my necessities, checked out, loaded up my buggy, and walked back a different route.
What steps I have traveled on roads past tense and presently, altared; a communion of daily lives exalted as the fevered prayers of the faithful knelt in the pews with bowed heads whispered words of conversations, of confessions, of wrong paths and right roads taken A map to their righteousness emblazoned on a rosary bead. I sit in the silence, aware. I wonder if their God would understand if I spoke prayers in English. I wonder if the forgiveness would somehow taste different or if the mercy would cold shower me with a condemnation... con-damnation? Instead, I don't press my luck. I return to the community I don't belong to hearing the voice of the God that doesn't speak my language. MM 2023
I tugged the buggy up to the top floor. I unloaded the groceries then my clothes. I texted with my friend Jen who is currently in an inconvenient situation. I dozed for a bit, then woke up to tell you my eventful/uneventful day. Tomorrow I plan to go to church (at 4PM here) so, there will be plenty to do while I’m waiting.
Peace be with you wherever you go. You are loved!
My dead are buried here
Cycling the winds of change
Filling my hourglass with the sands
of moments spent with true hearts
moments charged with life’s passing
Experience dictating lessons
of community
of unity
of vision
A tribal pulse weaving roots
deep into the soil of my hearth
fashioning the cloak of enduring life
a version of immortality
told in legends measured by grains
creating a life worth living
The stillness is
where you were
Intimately held;
death and life blurred
The wealth of years
Fell silently
The labor gone
So quietly
The stillness is
Where you were
The peaceful night
Embraces you
Mourning’s tears
A grassy dew
And yet,
The stillness remains
Where you were
Glimpses of mortality
An unacceptable reality
Because the stillness is
Where you were
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 