I Need a Brot, Some Beer and Whatever the Hell They are Calling It Now-Yacht Rock Maybe?

Sitting at the Saldanha bus stop in my shorts I look both stupid and American. Shifting on the metal bench I cross and uncross my legs. Mind you I am not cold. But this is Portugal and the air temperature is 22 C or 72 F. At this temperature mature men like myself in Portugal do not wear shorts. The wearing of long pants is not a law, but it's close. Sitting here Iam an awkward thing, a crime against social norms. And I am getting raised eyebrows by the short men walking past men on their way to offices or construction sites.

I am amused by and at the same time self-consciousness as I catch their curious glances. Part of me wants to stand up and explain my fashion choice, while another part wants to fade away back into the bus stop. So it goes.

Heading out at 0930, I arrived at this bus stop to find it empty. The lack of other passengers is a surprise. I mean I am the only person waiting for the bright yellow Carris bus #738, a normally popular bus that will take me down to the Tejo River in relatively short order. The sun keeps trying to peek through on this overcast morning but so far it has not succeeded.

When the bus arrives, I board and find only four passengers including myself seated
for this run. Chucking to myself I am thinking that if I were getting on a bus in the USA today the ridership would be very similar but for different reasons. Here in Lisboa I am boarding the 738 after rush hour and people trying to get in on time have already come and departed.In the US it is Friday before the last holiday of summer and if people haven’t left for a four-day holiday yet, they will be departing this morning. Portugal like most of Europe celebrates May Day but not Labor Day. This is just a Friday, not a holiday Friday.

No matter what the weather is like summer is over in the US as of Tuesday. Kids will be back in school and adults will be back at work. Crane operators and lawyers will be in place where they belong raising I-beams or objections. There is no similar demarcation here at this point save maybe for the paucity of North American tourists especially college age ones.

Oh how I remember Labor Day weekend. Here is an old piece I wrote about it. It is about five years old.

OCEAN CITY LABOR DAY 1977

How I wish I was in Ocean City this holiday weekend. Labor Day would be hot and steamy. The boardwalk would be crowded with people jostling each other as they walked whatever distance they chose. This could be it from 12th Street to 4th Street or from 7th Street to 10th St. The smells of Johnson’s popcorn, Mack and Manco’s pizza and the boardwalk creosote would mingle all together as they strolled.

And there I would be behind a shiny aluminum counter. Wearing a T-shirt that said Zap, I would dispense Coca-Cola or soft serve ice cream, or hot J & J pretzels or frozen novelty treats. All day until about 430, business was steady. Large twin twist chocolate ice cream cones would be dispensed covered with nuts and sprinkles to begging seven-year-olds.

Come 430 the summer will be over. Summer rentals on those cottages expired. From pots and pans to bathing suits and pillowcases, cars were packed. Dads in sweaty short sleeve brown shirts would pilot their big assed Chevrolet back up to Upper Darby and points west. As the evening wore on the foot traffic thinned out on the boards. Kurly Kustard would close early because Ocean City would be a ghost town by 9 pm.

With very few people stopping by, I could clean up and close the store. Between emptying out the salt tray beneath the pretzel baking machine, tearing down the soft serve units and sanitizing them, I would look out at the Atlantic. The mighty Atlantic was so impressive even when it was calm.

There was nothing better than the salt air. My favorite thing to do was lie in the sun reading cheap paperback copies of classic literature. My heart was full of lust when I saw the girls in their skimpy bathing suits. I so loved the humidity that turned a feather pillow into a rock over three months. Kind of liked the beer at Somers Point late at night, too.

The summer of youth is fast disappearing. I would advise the young to do what I would do if I were young again. Drink some beer, read some Shakespeare, get to know a romantic companion, smoke some weed, and watch the sun go down over the water. Feel the warmth of the day and then let it fade away as night comes on.

Oh yeah and I miss the end of summer countdown on WMMR.  I mean they played the Clash and broadcast the Dead's Englishtown concert.

 

Truth and the Sound of Bumblebees

For the first time in a week, I felt comfortable raising the metal blind in the room I write in. Opening the window felt pleasant. Lisboa’s heat has backed off, so opening up the writing room to sunlight and outside air is okay. As I looked at the clear sunny day outside I pondered the one true sentence I should begin my writing with. 

Initially, based on a friend miscalculating the time zone differences between us resulting in a 6:30 am call I had thought to begin with something like, ‘When you are 27 a phone call late, late at night or early, early in the morning means somebody is drunk and wants to talk. Well, that or they need bail money. When you are in your late sixties a phone call late, late at night or early, early in the morning usually means something heavier, something darker. You pick up those calls slowly and with trembling hands.’

I kicked that idea around for an hour or two and couldn't figure out how to write it without depressing anyone reading it. Just thinking about it sent me back to all those awful phone calls I received over the years. We have all answered our share of dark telephones. My head is not in place today to review all those painful memories. On a sunny day like this I just can't go to that space. However, it is a worthwhile opening and I may well return to it on another day, perhaps in the deep dreary midwinter.

Next I thought about writing about how when reading something a really smart person has written all my fears about intellectual inadequacy resurface. The genesis of this was my reading of Heather Cox Richardson's latest post. https://open.substack.com/pub/heathercoxrichardson/p/august-18-2024?r=6yy7a&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email Her article detailed the history of what led to the passage of the 19th Amendment. This amendment granted women the right to vote in all governmental elections in this country. I should have known those facts, or at least once upon a time I should have known those facts. Truth be told I am not sure I ever did and that is on me. After a lifetime of reading legal documents for a living I became an executive summary reader. On more than one occasion I have missed the important bits because of it.

Nope, I decided I didn’t need to tear my psyche down stone by stone and show it to the world. Perhaps the way to go would be to discuss the fact that what we have been taught is not the actual story.  Or maybe something about what you see depends on where you stand relative to the action. 

I would say nothing novel by laying out how our prepackaged educational curriculum has impacted Americans' perception of historical events. Often our views of history are skewed by the narratives that make us the heroes in what is best described as an American myth. The 'facts' read to us in school, and memorized by us, tend to highlight certain American white male narratives. However, they often omit a look at the broader truths and the real and valid interests of all the parties involved. This curated perspective clearly impacts how we interpret events and learn from them. But I gave up on this because it was too damn arduous to think about such matters so early in the week.

In the alternative I could get back to my Jean Shepherd roots and write something real but truly absurd. I mean I could talk about how the sound of an unfortunate recent incident of 2 am flatulence on the part of someone I know woke his wife up and set her to screaming. Based on the vibrato sound of the errant butt burp this poor woman thought bees and other bugs were invading the couple's bedroom. She set about screaming and thrashing to ward them off. When informed about what had actually happened the long suffering woman was truly peeved. But that would be gross and pedestrian. And anyway, the woman would deny it ever happened. 

Oh well I am just going to hang it up for the day because I have laundry to fold and a walk to take. Tomorrow I will start earlier with a clearer mind. Sometimes we need to recharge and refocus.

Hot Day Meant Dining Out

 

Sometimes, just sometimes, the heat brings about a moment (or two) that delights. Last night it was too hot for us to cook in our apartment. The daytime temperature reached 100 F (almost 38 C). At first even the thought of warm food seemed unappetizing. We decided to go out. 

Sushi was on our minds until I considered the cost of the restaurant we were considering.  Nope, too much. But the items this particular place carried notably gyozas and bao buns sparked Francie’s memory. She had heard of a place up north on the subway that did delicious dim sum. The name of the place was Dafu near the Alvalade metro stop. 

At its most extreme, the temperature yesterday was broiling. However, by the time we set out at 7:15 (19:15) it had dropped into the mid 80s and a breeze had kicked up. Two quick rides on the subway and a five-minute walk and we were at Dafu. We grabbed one of the two outside tables.

Upon arriving at Dafu, we were immediately struck by the inviting aroma of freshly steamed buns and savory spices wafting through the air. The modest yet charming decor exuded a cozy, authentic vibe that made us feel that the promise of delicious dim sum might be fulfilled. Even though the heat had slowed everyone's energy level, the faces of patrons and staff alike showed pleasant smiles.

We had a sampler of steamed gyoza. Also, we ordered a meat bao bun and some carrot and shrimp dumplings. Sitting out at our table on the street we watched people walk by with their dogs and let the wind blow our hair about. Cold beer was a welcome addition to the meal. 

The steamed gyoza had juicy fillings with wonderful flavors. The shrimp and carrot dumplings were served in a delicious broth that added just the right touch. The meat bao bun was soft and pillowy, and melted in our mouths, leaving our palates pleased and happy. A night out was a really, really good choice last night.

On the way back to the metro we passed three gelado places. I resisted each one but at the fourth one my willpower collapsed. The place was packed with parents, kids and grandparents who were enjoying a cooling treat on a warm night. It only took a moment and there I was eating some of the richest chocolate ice cream out of a cut standing out on the streets of Lisboa at twilight. Willpower sometimes fails when faced with with the combination of heat and ice cream. 

I tell you there is no shame in surrendering occasionally. Like the heat it sometimes brings delight.

Summer's End (Revised)

Somewhere In East Lansing 2014

In summer’s fading glory, there is sublime joy. Patches of once vibrant but now slightly dusky flowers abound. Breathe deep and you will feel both infinite and finite time. The blooms of the flowers still draw the eye from afar. Upon closer inspection even the untrained eye can see the tints of age have started to scar. Bright red, yellow and purple flowers abound shouting out to bees and bugs and humankind "I am here, I am alive for this glorious moment." They roar singing, "Let me fill you heart." But the green stems supporting them grow straw-like and burnt/brittle at the edges. 

As we survey this scene it evokes memories of past summers spent in fields of wildflowers, in the lush green woods of the north, along the mighty oceans east and west where the air was filled with the laughter of friends. Those memories hint at the bittersweet passage of time, where beauty is fleeting yet profoundly impactful. Each flower, in its last burst of color, whispers stories of long, sun-drenched days and the warmth that lingers in our hearts.

The glory of the flower takes us away from a finite moment into an eternity of delicious joy. I would call these moments the time of ripe peaches. As the liquid from that soft fleshy fruit drizzles down after you consume a mouthful the sweetness is fully satisfying, almost as sensual as an intense sex. The sticky joy of the sweet taste take us beyond this mortal space into a moment of eternity.

This summer's kingdom will soon come falling down. Look my friend, you can see it in the silvering leaves of the trees. This year’s time of short sleeves, short pants and water play will be done soon. The beaches where we sought retreat,seeking relief from the heat, will shortly be cold and desolate places. But when you see flowers full and exploding you suspend the reality of time and age and fragility. The tall grass blowing back and forth with a full beard slow the clock down for a minute so that its tick-tock-tick cannot even be perceived. The thumping of the human heart is lost in the background. 

The coming shift from summer to autumn will bring with it a sense of melancholy and nostalgia, as these vibrant hues of summer give way to fall's muted tones. We will experience bittersweet beauty watching the world transform, a reminder of the impermanence of all things. But we should appreciate the fleeting moments of warmth and joy, making sunlit days memories all the more precious.

In the summer warmth of late August, I will wrap my warped and worried frame in the joyful colors of the spectrum. I will surrender to the bird song and the rhythmic hymn of bees’ wings. They will seduce me and hypnotize me into believing this will be forever. Let us celebrate this time of sweet tastes and perfume-like smells. Let us revel in the sounds of the wild world at work, the rustling of grass and the buzzing of bees. Let the soft grass be our bed. Let our eyes be awash in the royal purple of lavender as time winds down on this short eternity. 

 

Keep Your Distance is What he Says, But Don't

Street Name in Viseu

The morning is beautiful on this day. Some clouds are out but the sun is still shining. The air is still cool and there is a breeze that makes the day promising. With such an ideal morning a walk, a good long walk is required. 

Took the metro up four stops to start my walk. Picked the east side of the street to head home on. The sun will be hidden behind those high rises until noon. Needed to get up to pace so some music was in order. Took out my hearing aids and put them in their case. Retrieved my air pods and jammed them in my ears. Kicked up some Richard Thompson. Thompson's strong guitar playing and storytelling lyrics always set the perfect tone for a morning walk. 

The flow of songs was 1952 Vincent Black Lightning, I Misunderstood, I Feel So Good, Keep Your Distance, King of Bohemia and Beeswing. Didn’t take long with this as my cadence generator to get my pace up to my standard of 3 mph. Walked a mile and a half smiling most of the way. Thompson's music has a way of making every step feel connected to the world around me. His songs are the right companions for a morning like this, full of promise and quiet beauty.

Whenever I have an extended listen to Richard Thompson’s music I am always puzzled. I kid you not I believe he is one of the greatest guitarists of the rock era. More importantly his lyrics are sharp, sly, full of depth and insight and damn catchy to boot. So why is he not one of the best-selling and most famous singer-songwriters ever?

From Leif and Liege with Fairport Convention to Shoot Out the Lights with his ex-wife Linda and beyond he has consistently created excellent songs. Many, many other artists have covered his work. One of my favorites is Linda Ronstadt’s cover of King of Bohemia. Perhaps it is because his songs are too smart to be crafted into a “hit”. Maybe it is because he is a Muslim. Possibly it is because his voice is not his strongest instrument although it has improved over the years. I don’t know why he isn’t a star but if you give him a chance he will be on your Apple Music or Spotify playlistsregularly.

Here is a song that I love because of the lyrics. Enjoy. It is let us give Richard Thompson a chance day.

Please Let the Wind Carry Me

Monday, the first day of this new week has arrived. Sunlight floods in and the living room is growing warmer.

To combat this day's coming heat, I will roll down the living room's exterior metal blinds and block out the sunlight in total. I will leave them down until late afternoon. I have opened up the same metal blinds on the back side of the apartment which face the large neighborhood courtyard. This common space stays cool until noon. Having no air conditioning I must manage the heat with the tools available to me. 

As the sun burns fiercely back in the courtyard in the early afternoon, I will roll down the metal covers. And later when the temperature drops 25 F degrees, and the strong breezes accompanying it come at twilight, I will throw up all the shades and open all the windows. I will let the cooling wind blow through this place. Every time I do this I hear Let the Wind Carry Me play in my head.

Moving to a place where I don't control the interior weather (my apartment has no air and no heat), I have had to come to terms with the need to adjust my behaviors to the rise and fall of the sun. This means that I shop in the morning long before the sun hits its zenith. I visit the breakfast/brunch cafe when it opens at 8 or 9 in the morning and not at noon. When the afternoon comes I settle into a cool dark space and read or watch a little television. As a result of my move to this golden country, I am now more attuned to the natural rhythms of the day. I rise relatively early, prioritizing errands and conducting my activities in the cooler hours of either the morning or the evening. 

These changes have added discipline and rhythm to my daily routine. I've become more mindful of the natural cycles of the day. Also, I have come to embrace the quiet, reflective moments that come with avoiding the afternoon heat. Oft times you will find me typing things like this midafternoon in a room dark save for the glow of the computer monitor's light. I also appreciate the simple pleasures of life, like the refreshing breeze at twilight and the tranquility of the early morning. 

At first I resisted adapting to the heat, but there was little choice but to submit. The above adjustments have brought a certain mindfulness to my daily routine. You might say I have aligned my activities with the natural flow of the day. One has to learn to live in the world we are given.