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 Thirty-Three, Bonus post

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

Interaction, a bonus post

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.

Day Twenty-Five, Listen

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.

Day Twenty-Four, Chores

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).

  • Take out recycling (Google image translate informs me that it’s on the ground floor)
  • Take out the trash (Also on the ground floor)
  • Do a load of laundry including towels (Ground floor and over two doors)
  • Pick up some groceries (.2 miles away is the Monoprix Hypermarket)
  • Get nail clippers and hand lotion (Pharmacie across the street)

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!

The Hourglass

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

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 

The gaping whole

It is broken into catastrophic wounds

The edges once pristine are jagged

Bitter with unspoken resentment

Abandoned on the side of the road

in unfamiliar territory

hindered by a lack of direction

or a sense of purpose

Trusting the impermeable

a mistake made of elevated tension

The chaos and confusion weep

from saturated sacred ground

sullied by panic and frustration

anxiety writhes in unworthiness

Trust

I learned to trust from untrustworthy people.

I based my confidence in their reckless care.

My expectation was being cherished.

I watered it with tears of faith & hope.

I gave assurance that my loyalty was a certainty.

My certitude was placed on an altar of conviction.

I gave credence to cruelty as part of my human credit.

My dependence was absolute in their disapproval of me.

My positiveness came from knowing they were right.

My reliance on the low-stock they placed on me

violated ME,

But their neglectful assurance was their gospel truth, not mine.

Trauma as an Ally

Trauma has become an ally

It has allowed me to see through

many shadowed secrets kept by others

who haven’t figured out

the origami of self-propelled healing

Trauma isn’t my friend, but it knows what I know

It’s circumscribed me

magnifying me in the darkness

It has believed me, revealed unguarded truth

about myself, about others, about what happens if…

I have altered myself; inside out.

It makes it easier to wear my heart on my sleeve

It forces darkness into the light

It keeps me from internalizing

It has revealed me as strong

(although I truly had to ask what that means.)

I was told “Hurt people hurt people”

I have many points of reference for torment

But, I’ve also been the recipient of deep compassion

enduring kindness, and demonstrations of resilience

that have shown me HOW to turn and be inside out

in the most powerful of ways.