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.

 

A Reset Moment: The Sea Reveals All

Resets. They're needed sometimes. Resets can restore the soul. Yesterday was a reset day, and what a day it was.

Francie had a routine doctor’s appointment at CUF Tejo in the early afternoon. It was done and over quickly. The question became what to do next. Initially we thought we’d take the bus to downtown, so we jumped on board. But the sun was out and the air was warm. As we arrived in Cais do Sodre we decided the heck with downtown let’s take the CP train to Cascais. Goofing around at the beach sounded like fun.

As the train approached Estoril the weather looked gorgeous. We decided to get off at one of the Estoril stops and walk along the promenade the rest of the way into Cascais. Ah what a walk it was. All the things that tell you the world is still nature first and human folly second were at work.

There were several points along the walk that we had to move to the inside part of the promenade. This was because the waves hit the bulkhead and were flying 2+ meters into the air. You could tell these spots in advance because the sidewalk had standing puddles on it. Watching the waves hit the shore and blast up felt cathartic.

As they have done since before recorded history, people cast their lines out into the surf. Seeing men in duck-billed hats with long rods casting their lines out over the rocks into the sea just beyond the breaking waves took me back to my days in Ocean City. Back then there were night fishermen up and down the strand with small aluminum chairs and Styrofoam coolers working the sea for fun mostly.

There were still a few cafes open during this off-season.  One made me laugh. The café had placed seat cushions on the sea wall and had some wire contraptions on the sea wall. You could dangle your legs over the sand and enjoy chips and cervejas as the day ebbed away. Me, I would worry about having too many cervejas and then falling off the wall onto the sand some distance below. But hey this is Portugal and you are on your own for your safety.

At one point along the sea wall there was a phalanx of geezer sun worshippers. By the time we reached them the sun had dropped a bit toward the horizon but the day was warm. I am sure the stones they sat on were toasty. There in all their shirtless ragged glory they took in the gold the sun offered them on this warm November day. I could have joined them. I really could have. But I wasn’t alone.

As we reached downtown Cascais the vendors were setting up the Christmas fair. The merry go round was in place, the Ferris wheel was erected and the weird conical Christmas tree was decked in lights. But we had to dodge a semi that was backing onto the square with another ride which I don’t remember the name of. 

To cap off the day before leaving on the train back to Lisboa we had a beer, a bifana and a muffin. Still feeling puckish when we got back to Lisboa we stopped at O’Gilins for a draft Guinness and a split plate of fish and chips. Oh my, their fish and chips are so tasty, especially when you wash them down with dark brown Guinness.

The afternoon reminded me of an old Van Morrison song, “Coney Island." Moments of joy in the warm autumn sun along the water. Nothing in the world mattered yesterday but nature’s cycles. It was a reset. It gave my spirit wings.

Songs for a Sunny Morning, No Hard Feelings

Morning came again. Sunlight acclaimed its new arrival. I ignored morning for a time but it insisted I rise. In the kitchen coffee was prepared with shuffling and grumbling. Breakfast was prepared and set out. My bleary eyes saw tacos filled with steak, eggs and cheese. Over breakfast I firmed up my plans for this day and tomorrow. A long walk is on the agendafor me and she will meet her friends. Later there will be a trip to a mega store but that could be today or that could be tomorrow. Then there will be my family travel agent duties so time will be spent on the computer.

When I awoke I had two songs in my head by the Avett Brothers. The first was “And I Love You”. The second was “Murder in the City”. There is no reason on this green and blue orb why I should have the Avett brothers music running through my head at this hour on this day in this place. But there it was. I shuffled to my computer desk. As I listened to the two songs on my laptop, they led me down the rabbit hole of the brothers' music. Goodness I had forgotten about “No Hard Feelings”. The genre of this song is country/folk. It is not political but it resonates today. It really does.

As a result of my trip down the rabbit hole I decided to share these songs to brighten your mornings. Give all of them a listen. This is some outstanding stuff folks. It is a diversion from so much we need to be diverted from. Note that in the video for “And I Love You”, they drive a Ford Galaxie 500 circa 1964. Oh, that was my childhood ride. I remember sitting on that back vinyl bench seat. I can see the waffle patterns on the back of my calves on a hot day. I can also hear the schlooping sound as I pulled my legs off that hot vinyl as I got up to leave the car.

Just to tempt you to listen to “No Hard Feelings,” here are the lyrics. Even without music this is a damn fine poem for my friends of a certain age.

 

When my body won't hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Will I be ready?

When my feet won't walk another mile
And my lips give their last kiss goodbye
Will my hands be steady when I lay down my fears, my hopes, and my doubts?
The rings on my fingers, and the keys to my house
With no hard feelings

 

When the sun hangs low in the west
And the light in my chest won't be kept held at bay any longer
When the jealousy fades away
And it's ash and dust for cash and lust
And it's just hallelujah
And love in thought, love in the words
Love in the songs they sing in the church
And no hard feelings

 

Lord knows, they haven't done much good for anyone
Kept me afraid and cold
With so much to have and hold
Mmm, hmm

 

When my body won't hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Where will I go?
Will the trade winds take me south through Georgia grain?
Or tropical rain?
Or snow from the heavens?

Will I join with the ocean blue?
Or run into a savior true?
And shake hands laughing
And walk through the night, straight to the light
Holding the love I've known in my life
And no hard feelings

 

Lord knows, they haven't done much good for anyone
Kept me afraid and cold
With so much to have and hold

Under the curving sky
I'm finally learning why
It matters for me and you
To say it and mean it too
For life and its loveliness
And all of its ugliness
Good as it's been to me

I have no enemies

I have no enemies
I have no enemies
I have no enemies

 

   

 

The Disease

Today a patient sits in a waiting room outside a sage and noted physician’s office anticipating what will happen in the scheduled office consultation. The last big series of tests have been run and this is the moment when you must come to Jesus. A large wall clock's second hand just seems to crawl. The patient, and in this scenario you can either assume it is a compassionate and caring America or yourself, is in full flop sweat. For narrative purposes let’s just assume the patient is you.

Nerves are frayed and this morning’s coffee is just not sitting well. Your mind begins to silently work through the start of the universal last-ditch prayer, “Dear God, I know I haven’t always been faithful but I can change…,” and then stops when the thought arises that how dire things are is yet unknown. The dark wood door to the doctor’s office swings open. A smooth hand extending out from a starched white lab coat beckons you in and directs you to sit.

A manilla file jacket lies open atop the leather pad on the doctor’s side of the cherry desk. You and the doctor take your seats, both in leather chairs. The doctor’s chair swivels. You glance around at the rows of diplomas, certificates and awards and hope they mean you have made the right choice of specialist.

After a couple of quick questions and comments about traffic and the weather the doctor says, “Well let’s get to it.” You sag in your seat as the doc picks up a sheet of paper and scans the top few lines.

With a solid and measured voice, the doctor begins, “There is no way to sugarcoat this. Your case is quite serious. You have a potentially deadly disease. A short while ago you had a moment where this could have been nipped in the bud but for whatever reason that didn’t happen. I don’t know if you thought it was too costly, it wasn’t, or you thought you couldn’t trust the treatment or the provider, you could. I see the provider was a woman of color. I hope that didn’t deter you from addressing this.

But here we are. You have let this disease spread unchecked. Maybe you didn’t get the support you needed from those around you to give you the confidence to make the right choice. However, it is too late at this point to run through the what ifs and what should I have done questions. We have to come up with a treatment plan.

The disease you are facing has no guaranteed cure, but it can be beaten. It will take a great deal of work and commitment on your part to get through this. However, I assure you that survival is possible if you take an active role in your treatment. Make no mistake your odds are at best 50/50 and maybe slightly worse. This is because even with our tests there is no telling if the disease has spread to places that our scans can’t see. Sometimes the disease masks itself incredibly well only to surge up and out when a weakened body gives it the silent go ahead to show its ugliness. A hateful thing really, this disease shows no mercy, no compassion, no empathy and no understanding to anyone but itself. It is a very selfish and myopic disease.

Surgery is out of the question because the results show that the disease has spread to places we hardly thought possible. The heart and the brain are involved. And that is surprising because otherwise you are in general good health. I mean you have been working hard and making a decent wage. I see from the notes that you are a shop steward. These recent years have been a good time for your union folks. You have reconnected with friends from all over the world that you thought you had lost. They turned on you a few years back but maybe that was your fault. There are only a few social notes in this medical history so I am not going to try and guess as to what happened there in the past.

If I remember correctly, you had a bout of this before about eight years ago. But it entered into remission. What was it like? Good thing you have coverage for pre-existing conditions. I see you have actively improved the condition of almost every part of your body over the last four years. Your vision up until the last few days has been good. That is the thing about this disease, it can sit dormant for a time festering quietly only to rage back.

There is no magic pill I can give you, not one that will vanquish this sickness. Most of the work in fighting the disease you will have to do on your own.  What is critical is developing a support network. Maybe you can find others who have been afflicted by this disease and recovered. Anecdotally I understand it can be difficult to find these people. They tend to clam up. They have already been stigmatized by non-sufferers due to the nasty treatment they gave their friends and community members while in the throes of the disease. As soon as they've recovered, they don't want to be stigmatized, or tortured, by those who continue to suffer from their disease.

I am sure you can find plenty of people who have watched loved ones suffer. They can offer you tips and guidance on recovery strategies. More importantly they can point out tactics that don’t work. Silence is never an appropriate choice. Neither is isolation. In addition, become familiar with the underlying causes of the disease. Poverty, race, sex, ignorance, and fear are all factors that impact the disease. It is crucial to inform yourself about the truth about what is going on. Memes and Tik Tok won’t lead you to better health. Note however, you don’t get this disease from being around gay people or immigrants. You get it from ignorance.

If you don't work diligently to blunt the disease and it really takes hold the effects are devastating. Your mind becomes clouded. You lash out at people who love you and who have supported you forever. You belittle them. You fear anything and anyone you don't understand. People of different races, sexual orientations, and religions scare you. In a weird twist women become a problem. Your mind creates false memories and deluded visions of a past that only existed in stories and on old TV shows where women were subservient housewives. 

One critical thing to help you recover is communication. Another is activity. You need to talk with your support circle about what is wrong and ask them to help you address the paranoia and fear that will come. You also have to talk to people who may not be infected yet but show minor signs of the disease. You have to convince them to change their behaviors before things worsen. You have to step out in public and show people how recovery is done. You have to point out the positive things that made your last four years better than those years with your previous bout of the disease.

I will not give you a prescription. Instead, I will subscribe you to Heather Cox Richardson's newsletter, Letters from an American and also to Mother Jones. Next I will give you a copy of the Constitution. Read it and read it again. Finally, I will provide you with the addresses of the nearest cannabis dispensary and liquor store near your home. You may need an occasional intoxicant to take your mind off things. Talk to my secretary on the way out. I want to see you again in January. The first month of next year will be brutal for sufferers like you.

 

Trump & My Exile From Main Street

“You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, back home to romantic love, back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame, back home to exile, to escape to Europe and some foreign land, back home to lyricism, to singing just for singing's sake, back home to aestheticism, to one's youthful idea of 'the artist' and the all-sufficiency of 'art' and 'beauty' and 'love,' back home to the ivory tower, back home to places in the country, to the cottage in Bermude, away from all the strife and conflict of the world, back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for, back home to someone who can help you, save you, ease the burden for you, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time--back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.”

Thomas Wolfe

"The exile is a man who carries his homeland with him, like a ghost in his heart." 

Czesław Miłosz

"Exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place..."

Edward W. Said

Wispy pink clouds move quickly across my morning sky. On hundreds of other days these phantoms of moisture and light would cheer me. In this moment, they leave me longing to be younger, to be in a different place, to be in a different world. My soul feels like it is carrying an almost unbearable burden.

Today my eyes opened to darkness. I woke up too early this morning. Despite repeated attempts, I could not get back to sleep. No matter how many times I fluffed and scrunched the pillows I could not get comfortable. So, I rose, made and ate my breakfast, did some mundane chores and sat down to type.

After yesterday’s election my heart, my soul, my very essence feels sodden and gray. I have no real hope that writing will lift my spirits out of this dark funk. Perhaps, however, these paragraphs I am drafting will focus my mind on the next steps I need to take. Maybe if I act on those next steps they will move me back toward a lighter spirit, a lighter soul. Maybe.

Yesterday, despite my vote, and many other voters' votes, Donald J. Trump was elected to a second term as President. Donald Trump lacks any sense of public responsibility. He never was, and he never will be, a President for all Americans. During his last term, he served the powerful elites first and foremost. He was a President for those who believe that a lack of wealth results from the moral failings of the impoverished. His election will almost certainly lead to continued policies prioritizing economic deregulation, closer relations with despots, and tax cuts for the wealthy. I can only shake my head as I contemplate how we got to this moment.

Trump’s upcoming actions will not be without cost to the vast majority of the American people. Social welfare programs including Social Security and Medicare are in the crosshairs. Childhood nutrition programs too. Additionally, international relations will be affected by his focus on nationalism and unilateral decision-making. Trump will try to run America as an autocratic leader in the style of his apparent heroes Putin and Orban. The next four years will challenge virtually all of America’s democratic institutions.

Two and a quarter years ago I left America to live in the EU. At that time my choice to embark was mostly based on a sense of adventure. America was coming out of a pandemic that closed most everything. Covid 19 had locked me and everyone else down for almost two years. I retired less than two months before the pandemic hit with its walloping fist. I had plans. Those plans had to be put on hold. So, I was itching to go.  I had the bug. As soon as ‘normal’ began to return in earnest I packed my duffle and headed off.

While America was at the time I departed governed by a Democrat as President I cannot say that Trump’s years in office did not influence my decision to go. Watching his actions, I found them filled with self-interest, hatred of anyone not willing to kowtow to his views and insensitivity to the needs of large parts of the American population. The fact that he had ever been offered the reins of power left my faith in the people and institutions I trusted shaken. His role in the January 6th attack on the Capitol was the last straw. I needed to experience life elsewhere. 

Living abroad has given me a new appreciation for different political systems. I've seen how Portugal, the country where I live prioritizes social welfare. It has reinforced my belief in the importance of social welfare programs. Portugal doesn’t get everything right, it is not heaven on earth. A socialist system is not the ultimate panacea. I can see now both the strengths and weaknesses of the American system. On balance right now though this is the better place to be. People in Portugal remember life under the fascists and do not want to go back. 50 years has not erased the memories of harsh rule from above and of the disappearances of those who dared to challenge that rule.

I was tentative about moving to the EU. I left my children in my US home. Thus, I had a place to live if I returned to the States. I always felt that if I ever felt that I was so out of place in Portugal that it was no longer tolerable (that it was no longer fun) I would just hop on a flight back. I came to Portugal mostly for adventure. My adventure has now evolved into an exile that was not caused by my own culpability.

Trump and his policies epitomize everything I despise. I ruminated on what to call his governance philosophy. Should I say he embraces social Darwinism? Should I say it is a kleptocracy he wants to promote? Neither of these captures it. Trump's governance system is more like Marrakech's market. It is a place where the rich are given favored positions without question. It is a space where bribes and favors rule the day and are expected. It is a location where in unnecessarily crowded corridors and stalls pickpockets and scam artists are free to ply their dishonesty. It is also a location where the weak, the sick, the different are pushed to the margins to beg for charity's scraps. Trump is not a ‘We the People’ kind of guy. Trump does not know nor will he ever embrace the primacy of the electorate in a representative democracy.

I can't go back to America now. And who knows where I will be in four years or if I will even 'be'. My "exile" will be a complex experience. Obviously there is freedom in being a long way away from Trumpism and all the madness that it entails. But there is also sadness and longing being away from my roots and loved ones. This self-imposed exile has and will continue to have many serendipitous joys. But, it also carries a persistent heartache for those I love who will have to live under Trump’s regime. I hope to achieve a balance between the two. Ultimately, I hope to continue to find quiet joys in my exile, while finding a meaningful way to fight against Trumpism. America you are the ghost in my heart.

As I Age Into Insignificance

I am not an intrepid traveler. I am just someone who has watched the world he grew up in fade farther and farther into the review mirror. I am a person who has decided to take a walk out and go on a little explore. Maybe I will find something that makes more sense to me than all the anger and resentment that have bubbled up all around in the place I was living. It didn’t require bravery. It didn’t take courage. What it took was the willingness to just open a door (metaphorically) to a wider world than the one I had been told all my life was the best of all possible worlds. 

Thus, I’ve been travelin’. I’ve been traveling on the macro scale by my move to Portugal and on the micro scale by my jaunts around this new country I inhabit. Recently, I spent a few days poking around the eastern side of Portugal’s Alentejo region. Went to Evora. Evora based on tourism materials I have read has been a center of human endeavor for roughly five millennia. Went to Monsaraz. Likewise, Monsaraz, based on the guides I perused has been occupied by humans since prehistory. But both Evora and Monsaraz were converted to Roman towns during Rome's heyday. Went to the Almendres Cromlech megaliths. These are said to be from seven thousand years ago, particularly the Almendres I megaliths. Damn, that is old.

I set out on this trip because I had never been east beyond Evora. Both Evora and Monsaraz were/are walled cities. Each has narrow crooked streets and buildings steeped in history. Evora has Roman temple ruins. It has an ancient cathedral. Monsaraz is much smaller but it has a castle and you can walk its ramparts.  It also has an Inquisition museum. Let me tell you good times were remembered there, especially if you were a Jew, a Lutheran or a woman who knew something about herbal remedies. Truth is I enjoyed both cities but they were not the high point of this three day explore. The megaliths took my breath away. 

To get to the megaliths you have to travel down one hellatiously rutted and bumpy road. You do not speed down that road from Nossa Senhora da Tourega e Nossa Senhora de Guadalupe, you just don’t. It is a puddled road with cavernous ruts waiting to rip your oil pan off the bottom of your car. What would take three minutes on black top takes twenty minutes on this poor memory of a dirt road. At some point as you bounce side to side and jolt up and down your ass asks you, “Is this really worth it?” But then you pull into the parking lot and you see the stones. Wow.

In a field of green I was awed by the rings of stones.  95 granite stones stand in a large circular pattern. Experts think they existed for religious and astronomical purposes. The stones are big, really big. To think that ancient peoples so far removed from me that there is no written history of their lives and culture could create this monument was both startling and overwhelming. Twenty years after I am dead nobody is going to say, “Remember what Jay said that time?" Nobody is going to stare at anything I assembled, say that really large IKEA table in my dining room and exclaim, “Wow, that’s so impressive.” But a group of nameless people responding to the changing seasons left something that stands today just as awe inspiring as when it was first erected. Just wow.

After visiting the megaliths, we stayed at a quinta (ranch) house near Monsaraz. Tired from the road and trekking a rather arduous path/goat trail to see an additional megalith standing in the midst of a different field, I fell asleep almost instantly. I had four serial dreams and when I woke up I remembered them all. Most have faded but one remains. In that one memorable dream I was traveling and I somehow knew I was traveling back to my hometown in New Jersey. I might also have been heading to my old high school. But as I turned to set off on that path a cop gave me the flat hand palm forward and told me, "That road is closed to you…for good." I wasn’t upset when I was barred from that path. In my dream I knew that particular road had in reality been closed to me for decades. I turned to head down another dirt road to another wonder that awaits me in the short time I have left. And it felt good.