Living in a Small World

Dawn Behind Rua Pedro Nunes

When I awake and read the tales of the current world I am driven into the small space of my insignificant life. I focus on my modest existence away from the winds of power and money. I ignore the oversized desires of the elites and the political classes. The fools in government and industry who have risen far above me cannot be changed, nor can their behaviors be changed. But here on the ground I walk I can offer love to my family, friendship to my neighbors and openness to strangers.

 

It is the compact space of my small life that I write about most often. I don’t talk about those broader things. It is done for me by people like Heather Cox Richardson and others of like minds. When I read today about the incoming administration almost completely clearing out the National Security Council because its members would not swear fealty above all else to the incoming President I knew these sunlit hours would be ones in which I focused on things like where can I find Ihla cheese that is marked gluten free? Did I empty the dishwasher yet?

 

Still, I feel guilt for writing so much about this small world of mine. I mean maybe I should detail Lisboa's art and architecture to you like an armchair Rick Steves. Instead, I talk about the windows of the apartments behind mine. As expansive as I get in these writings is when I tell you that the barber in the Belarmino barbershop down the hill from the Miradouro Sao Pedro Alicantara with all of her tattoos is one incredibly talented barber. Marta rules. Yeah, I talk about the small world because the larger world is too scary and awful for me to think about too long.

 

Here is what I wrote about yesterday.

 

Coffee? Or tea? Or maybe nothing at all. Late afternoon arrives with a day's worth of coffee already consumed. Any more and my back teeth will float. Any more and no sleep will come before three A.M. Ice cubes, lemon and tea. With the cubes clinking in a tall glass, I move out to a small table made of brown slats, an octagonal picnic table. I take in this afternoon world colored by the cool January sun. For a moment I am static as the world hurtles forward.

 

The sun's rays warm my face but the air is cool. I wear fleece and a down vest but both are unzipped and unbuttoned. Sitting here there is a serene atmosphere. It is a pause in time. Right here and right now sitting in this calm setting, the day’s worries are shoved out of my mind. There is only peace and contentment. It's a moment of stillness for my mind. It is a place where the soul can breathe.

 

The hum of traffic on the other side of the building reminds me of the chaos unfolding beyond my peaceful oasis. While my mind finds solace in the quiet of this moment, I am acutely aware of the restless and unstoppable energy outside. It is a delicate balance between inner tranquility and the frantic pace of the world around me. I will not pick up my phone and doom scroll. I just won’t, at least not right now.

 

I scan the world of the block’s courtyard. White sheets flutter below windows, building after building. Lightweight shirts can be found at the ends of those sagging lines holding fitted sheets. It is clear today, but the temperature won't reach sixty. Maybe stuff will dry, maybe not. You can tell Americans' apartments by their heavy blue jeans hanging from their lines. 

 

Fire escapes have become porches where short middle-aged men smoke cigarettes in the evening and where middle-aged women put potted palms to catch the afternoon sun's warmth. Most metal exterior curtains/shutters have been rolled up to let the sun in. 

 

Sun warmth is an ancient, natural and economical way to dry clothes. None of the people around here have energy-hog dryers. Additionally, most of these apartments are unheated. A full sun boosts the comfort of these living spaces, but so do the portable heaters we all purchase. This winter sunlight nourishes those potted plants on the fire escapes, adding a touch of needed greenery to the urban environment.

 

The contrast between the apartments is striking—on the far side of the courtyard the windows are very small. They let in little heat in the summer and very little cold in the winter. These windows are small pock marks on otherwise flat pastel facades.

 

The buildings along the sides are different. The buildings on both sides of the courtyard have balconies, which have long been covered with wide and high glass to create sun rooms. In one of these sun rooms hangs a disco ball. At night the room is flooded with red light. Another room in a building further down holds a comfy leather chair and a goose neck lamp. This lamp would have been appropriate for an episode of Father Knows Best.

 

Each window tells a story, revealing cultural differences in lifestyle and habits. While Americans cling to their sturdy jeans, others embrace the lightness and simplicity of the day. They let the sun flood their space with warmth and optimism.

 

I cannot sit long in this space. My life will not allow me to immerse myself in this meditation away and apart from this particular January's madness for more than a few minutes at a time.

Twilight Behind Rua Pedro Nunes

Christmas in a World Gone Mad

 

22 December 22, 2024 as I craft this. The sky at 4 pm (1600) here in Lisboa is powder blue and cloudless. A few minutes ago, I started reading an Irish novel and now I have to decide whether or not to buy it. None of my online libraries have it in their collections but Apple Books does. But the phrasing is so beautiful it is almost impossible not to punch that little button to buy. Here is the sentence that captured my attention. “The Irishmen look out blithely at the faces that pass by in a blur of the seven distractions-love, grief, pain, sentimentality, avarice, lust, want of death.” I mean golly gosh how do you reach the stage in life where you can construct that sentence?

 

Most years I would have put together a Christmas message touching on family achievements and joys shared with friends. Maybe it is the bug that I have been fighting for five days, but I'm not feeling it. As far as I can tell, things to be on an even keel. John Lee is working hard at his software engineering position and Loren is furthering his education. Having them both here in Lisboa for the whole of the Christmas holidays is a wonderful thing too. And Loren, God bless the boy, sang in a Christmas concert in the metro.

 

There were events with friends. We took a road trip with Fred and Anne to Evora and Monseraz and wandered among the megaliths. We visited a historical astronomy lab, the national archives and the money museum with our social group. Houseguests arrived and with Francie as expedition leader they toured sites near and far. For me wandering around the Foz in Porto on a sunny day was a brilliant moment. Francie organized a Thanksgiving feast for 18 people and with everyone’s help and contributions of time and food it came off wonderfully.

 

But not everything went as I hoped for this year. With that being the case, I think I should close with the words of the Christ we purportedly celebrate at this the turning of the seasons. The Christ who as a child was a refugee in Egypt offered these words to guide our behaviors. In the years ahead I hope we will cleave to them when pressures will be many to walk away or turn away our eyes from need and injustice. From Matthew 25:34-45.

 

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

 

 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

 

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

 

 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

 

 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ 

 

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

 

And if religion is not your thing maybe you will want to consider Kurt Vonnegut’s thoughts on what it means to be a humanist. “Some of you may know that I am neither Christian nor Jewish nor Buddhist, nor a conventionally religious person of any sort. I am a humanist, which means, in part, that I have tried to behave decently without any expectation of rewards or punishments after I’m dead.”

 

Red letter Christian or humanist the next four years will be challenging. Merry Christmas and Keep the Faith.

 

Some final photos from the year.

 

The national archives

The lights in downtown Lisboa.

 Exploring Monseraz

 The Observatory

 Three Amigos.

Sally made a friend.

                                                     The table of the withered.

Written On a Summer Evening Long Ago

A squirrel is just barking chuck, chuck, snort, chuck in the tree behind me. An odd bird tweets out a sound that to my worsening hearing sounds like water falling over rocks on a mountain's edge. The squirrel is hidden in the tree and I have no idea why or how I have aggravated him (or her).

These are enjoyable sounds. They are not television. They are not angry people. They are not coming from the artifices of humankind. They are of the world around me. 

After days of rain the grass is as green as it is ever going to get. Mosquitoes are starting to emerge. But it is 8:44 p.m. and there is plenty of light in the sky.

I have taken this moment to write. Over the past few days moments of real writing have been few and far between. On occasion as I walk, I will grab a snapshot of a interesting door or a goofy car and post that to Facebook. I will add a little commentary.  Facebook posts are not writing.  Facebook posts are like saying hello as you pass someone in the hallway. 

A walnut just wailed down upon the deck. Damn squirrels. 

In this golden afternoon/coming evening, I want to write about what is in my heart. But what is in my heart has been buried so deep for so many years I wonder if it still exists. A long time ago there was electricity that arced when I thought of ripe watermelon's scent and full red lips. A long time ago I could draw a picture of the naked form of the first woman I ever really loved from memory. But time spent burying those feelings has dulled the passion.

Life continues on and for some, passion will always be there. I think of artists and poets who work into their eighties and nineties.  Maturity was seen in those later works for sure, but the thread of red-hot passion never left the images. Poets as they grow older write poems that are more complex, but the raging heart is still at the core. I must recapture some of this lightning in a bottle. My hand must raise up into the sky daring the jolt to pass through me.

Are there regrets in living?

Of course there are, my dear.

But are the regrets so profound as to be unbearable?

Only if you make them so.

Only if you give them such weight.

 

And we must bear the weight of those lives 

That as the years have passed have attached themselves to ours

And from those entanglements there are no easy extrications.

And we must bear the weight of our hearts' desires, 

Of our passions not yet dead,

Of our dreams perceived only at the edges 

When we are closest to being awake in the late evening or early morning,

That bother us like a fever.

 

And we must bear the weight of frustration.

At not having more control,

At not having made things better,

At not reaching out and grabbing the golden apple 

That “they” have always told us we could do.

 

Are there any regrets?

Of course there are silly.

But if you think about these things

Your heart will lead you to where you must turn.

Regret comes with living but as long as you live

You can balance out regret with joy in action.

Twelve. Number twelve. Yesterday began with number twelve. Yesterday ended with songs sung subterranean to passing metro passengers. Yesterday actually ended with a cookie and a coffee consumed in a ‘healthy’ restaurant and a ‘healthy walk down a steep hill to the metro.

My wife has been dealing with a cold and it has disrupted her sleep patterns. She has tossed and turned and has seemed to never be comfortable throughout the night. Me, except for the normal trips to the washroom sleep soundly but woke early. As I tried to dress without waking her I heard her voice say, “Twelve”. Looking at her it was clear she was still sleeping. She then shook and again said “TWELVE.” Her head fell back to the side and she started softly snoring. 

When the was awake and moving around a little later in the day, I told her about the two recitations of the number twelve. She had absolutely no memory of it. We played our little game of trying to suss out where the number twelve might have come into her consciousness recently. Nothing popped up, nada. 

The rest of the day was pretty much like ever single other day I live. Laundry, dishes, making the bed, purging emails and looking with horror at the news. The one thing that was different was that Loren’s choral group was performing in the metro station at Marques Pombal. I had bugged him that we should go see them and see if he knew anyone still in the group. He agreed.

But then when time came to go he dawdled. He suggested we should walk to the station despite the much nearer metro station to us that would have provided a faster trip to the performance site. At this point it was clear to me he was dogging it trying to delay as much as possible. Loren would never suggest a long walk all other things being equal.

Because of Loren’s long stride we got to the site about 18 minutes before the performance. As soon as the choir director saw him he pointed for Loren to take a place in the back row. Loren had not practiced the music. He hadn’t been with the choir in nine months. He didn’t have the music. He hadn’t warmed up. Afterwards he told me it was about the same as living the dream of showing up to the final having never gone to class and being naked.

Loren gave it his all. He shared a choirboy with a man who was a foot shorter than he was. His head kept dropping down to read the next line and then popping back up to bring the bass line forward. When the choir began to do some simple choreographed steps to accompany a very repetitive song, he watched and fell into the rhythm . It was hard to miss him with his head towering above the rest of the choir.

When it was done people shook his hand and the choir assistant made sure that Loren committed to coming to practices in January. Loren then looked at me and demanded sweet potato fries from Honest Greens. So, off we went looking at Christmas lights and store window decorations. We were got there a gluten free cookie was the choice instead of fries. Then it was down, down the high hill to the nearest metro stop. 

Loren acquitted himself well singing naked last it was. A boring Monday was punctuated with joyful serendipity. 

Disquiet and Anger

Each morning, I wake up and begin my routine. As soon as I get out of the washroom, I pull on my trousers and lately, I have been pulling on a sweatshirt. We're experiencing cold weather, with temperatures in the mid-fifties. In the bright morning light, I crank open all the metal window blinds and eat my cereal and milk. I heat up a cup of yesterday’s coffee and try to shake off the cobwebs in my mind left there by my dreaming.

My next step is to sit at my computer. It has taken me a long time to accept who and what I am. There were times when I could have done better, as well as times when I could have done worse. It would have been better if I had been more serious, but I am who I am. In the end, all I have left are my words, so I sit down each day to write something/anything.

I always intend to write something meaningful. But most days, what comes from the tapping of my fingers is a faint whisper, a thin cloud of thoughts about what I've seen or experienced. I wish I could write with Ishiguro's power or Heather Cox Richardson's insight, but I can't. I can only manage a few paragraphs about getting on the wrong bus.

The temptation at the keyboard is to check out my old home's "news" first. These days it is hard for me to tell if what is coming at my feed is news or the building blocks of an ‘coming soon to this location’ apocalypse. Often, I try ignore the events taking place in my native land, some 3,467 miles or 5,580 kilometers away from where I now live. But I cannot. The madness still filters through, whether I'm in conversations with other exiles (we're all exiles now) or stumbling across headlines on newspapers hanging on newsstands.

It breaks my heart and tears at my soul that a plurality of Americans chose a candidate whose only goal in winning seemed to be avoiding jail. There is no vision. After eight years all he can offer is that he has some concepts for replacing the ACA[i] and he wants tariffs and mass deportations. It is clear from his cabinet picks that he disdains the rule of law and holds abject contempt for the concepts of justice and equality. The fact that these voters knew the man had promised to pardon all those involved in the Capitol attack of January 6th absolutely crushes my soul. His intolerance, bigotry, and his inability to handle world crises are problematic. However, the pardons will be a slap in the face of everyone living and dead who has fought for and/or died to keep American democracy alive.

The United States is a land of laws. When I was sworn into the bars of Michigan and Delaware, I committed to upholding the laws of both states and the Constitution. During the mayhem at the Capitol, I saw the mob attack our democracy's lawful processes with fierce force. We all saw it. To my mind it is impossible to justify pardoning these individuals in a nation of laws. Pardoning one man for a nonviolent drug crime and a weapon possession charge is not equivalent to forgiving a mob. This mob broke in, damaged and defiled the people’s sanctuary, and caused deaths and injuries because their personal demagog[ii] decried the results of a lawful election. 

It breaks my heart to see what America has done. It makes me sick to my stomach. I fear that the US as a nation of laws, of checks and balances, of personal rights and freedoms and of citizen’s obligations will be diminished or disappear. It brings me no solace that I will not be there as this unfolds. I wish I could have the enlightenment of Siddhartha as he sat by the river at peace with all. But I don't, Instead I have antacids to calm my churning gut as I watch this political car crash unfold.

---

[i] December 8, 2024 Interview with Kristen Welker, NBC News:

Welker: “Sir, you said during the campaign, you have concepts of a plan. Do you have an actual plan at this point for health care?”

Trump: “Yes. We have concepts of a plan that would be better.”

Welker: “Still just concepts? Do you have a fully developed plan?”

Trump: “Let me explain. We have the biggest health care companies looking at it. We have doctors. We’re always looking because Obamacare stinks. It’s lousy. There are better answers. If we come up with a better answer, I would present that answer to Democrats and to everybody else, and I’d do something about it.”

[ii] One who makes use of popular prejudices, false claims and promises seeks to gain power or maintain power. -Merriam Webster.

And I Can’t Find my Way Home (Sometimes Just Go With It)

Waiting, no buses. This day’s end came perfectly. Well, a day spent at an IKEA roach motel had a perfect ending. After three hours of wandering, waiting, ordering, and buying we got out of the brightly lit reconfigured space hustling to the bus stop to be there five minutes early for the Carris 1704.

 

But the bus never came. And at 1800 (6 pm) Uber costs were too high. The next 1704 bus would not come for an hour so…we just jumped on the next bus with only a vague notion of where it was going. And the Carris bus app is abysmal. But with a little finagling I tricked Google Maps to give me the bus route we were on and where it was taking us.

 

Turns out it really wasn’t an issue of importance; we had taken a bus and we were out of the cold wind that was blowing. The bus terminated at the Algés bus terminal. This was a stone’s throw from either the train or tram line back into downtown. All that was lost was an hour or so of my life. What was added was an additional twenty kilometers of traveling.

 

Arriving in Algés I was hungry. Francie looked for places to eat on her phone apps. My plan was to get off at Winter Wonderland in Eduardo VII Parque and have an ‘artisanal’ pizza. But in that the bus to Wonderland never came so we went to Algés. Now we had to drop back and punt. Soya Noodle Bar Algés was what she found.

 

We had been to the Soya Noodle Bar Algés once before with a group. Wow. The noodle bar wasn’t where I had planned to be, it wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it was where I needed to be. Tom Kha Gai soup, deep fried pork belly in sweet sauce and sweet potato noodles with beef washed down with a couple of cold imperials shook off all the aggravation of the day. Well, most of it. What a delightful meal. My coiled spring of tension just unwound as I smelled that delightful food and quaffed that cold tiny Superbock beer. The dispersion of my grumpiness was almost palpable.

 

Sitting there at meal’s end belly full and mood elevated I thought back on all the Christmas lights we had seen between IKEA and the restaurant. Some of the displays were quite beautiful. Wanting a little more joy, we decided to take the 15E tram through town to see what other light displays we might catch. I saw some very pretty displays but I didn’t grab any pictures because well shooting through the tram’s tinted windows at night is not the preferred option for good results. So up above is the picture of the Eduardo VII Christmas Ferris wheel from 7 years ago.

 

Serendipity rocks my friends. IKEA for three hours, not so much.

After the Turkey Wears Off

Christmas Pedricktown, NJ circa 1959

Foggy thick mists, the light filtering down is grey and pink. The air is thicker and warmer than it should be. I have tried to ignore the arrival of the day since roughly 0530. But the gluttony of yesterday (and the day before) set my stomach against me. Damp and cramped neither sheet on nor sheet off comforted me. Awake but trying to be still I scanned what others in different time zones had done and were doing. What I saw didn’t move me nor bore me enough to drop my eyelids. So, I got up. The tea is on.

 

In addition, the first coffee pot is brewing. The second pot, the decaf, will be available soon. Last night’s dishes are running in the dishwasher. Time slips by so fast when routines like those set out before are allowed to become the “all” of the day. The way I am gathering my thoughts at the keyboard now hopefully will alter the route this end-of-week day may take. I have yet to read the news. I am not sure if I should or will. News of jets playing chicken and troops in movement filled the tabloids at yesterday's end.

 

In bed and hoping for sleep last night I thought about Christmas. From here it is 26 days until the celebration. Not a thing I want. I might like some tech things but I don’t need them. My kids don’t need much from me at this point save emotional support. In any case, I will try to find something small that will amuse or delight them. No at this stage there is nothing I want that would make one whit of a difference in the coming year or in the years to come.

What may have triggered my reflective mood is a two-pronged series of events. The first was a Thanksgiving gathering staged here on the ‘not America’ Iberian Peninsula. In total we had 17 guests over and did American things and ate American foods. Chilled jellied cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and brown gravy, turkey stuffing and green bean casserole. I doubt an actual American Thanksgiving group would blow through as much wine as we did and touch nary a drop of the hard liquor I laid in for the occasion, but life is different here.

Getting together with a tribe of people looking for something different in life than what has always been their lives makes one think about what is of value. Makes one think about what I need to carry with me on the short road ahead. With full bellies and a bit of buzz on the conversation was warm and laughter came easily. If I am really considering what I need for the years ahead, laughter and conversation are what I require.

The second event that led me down the road of what do I need was a decision to open up an old hard drive. Turns out I had stored decades worth of photos on that hard drive. Two photos cropped up. One was of my oldest son in a goofy outfit he had thrown together including star-shaped sunglasses. When I consider the deeply serious man he has grown into the frivolity of that moment reminds me that a moment is just that one moment. We cannot fix it to make the emotions and joys last forever. Thus, we need to be present in what we are experiencing now

Another photo showed my youngest son standing on a balcony at the Jersey shore with his back to the sunset. His eyes twinkled in so much happiness at being at the water’s edge. Again he is such a different person now than he was then. I wish I could have captured the delightful spirit of that moment to sprinkle a small amount of it on him when his times grow rough. But I couldn’t and I can't. 

And no manufactured thing can give me true and real happiness. Thus, I need nothing this holiday except to be present and to find, carve out, share the joy that exists all around me.