Turn it Around

Photo credit Eric Fischl

I'm very noise-sensitive. For most of the time, our home is very, very quiet. I do admit that when I hear music that I especially like, I tend to crank up the volume and, I am a devoted user of my Apple earbuds. In fact, just last week, I had two teeth extracted and used loud music through my beloved buds to distract me. But, in general, I enjoy quiet and find outside noise to be disturbing. Years ago, I discovered something interesting about noise and about how to overcome the disturbance. I found an article in New York Magazine, written by a woman who shared my very same idiosyncrasy. Also noise-sensitive, she oftentimes would become crazed when she heard even the smallest amount of sound that did not emanate from her own apartment, one she had recently leased, in Manhattan. 

Night after night, the author experienced angst over an unidentifiable noise. Carefully checking nooks and crannies in her new apartment, she was unable to locate the exact source and her anxiety over the predicament continued to rise. Try as she might, she could not explain the cause of her growing hostility to whatever or whoever was producing the noise and she steadily became angrier and more anxious with the arrival of each evening.  The joy of being in a new home diminished as quickly as it had arrived. I identified with all of this. While I was never bothered by "city sounds" as were my country life friends, the lowest levels of sounds beyond my control drove me mad.

Naturally, there was a point to the article. Just as there will be to this one. The author had a lesson to teach. One about turning something bad and annoying into something good and acceptable. One that I have referenced on many an occasion. A technique that I have used, and in my healthcare profession, taught, to a host of anxious people. The "noise" that she heard, the one that annoyed and angered her, she was soon to discover, came from the theater that was housed on the ground floor of her apartment building. Each night, during a performance, the rousing sound of applause, clapping and shouting, found its way up into her space. Of course! Bravo! The sound was identified and immediately became acceptable and joyous. No longer was she bothered by it. No further annoyance or angst. Things turned around in her mind. Problem solved.

I was not "disappointed" in the results of our recent presidential election. I predicted the outcome during the inauguration of Mr. Biden. I recall telling my husband that Trump will "run again" and "win". To this, I was resolved. The January 6th events clearly showed how ugly things were already in this country and the next four years only served to heighten the hate and discord. So, in my estimation, the choice of leader would naturally match the mentality of the people. How could it not? Sure, I was angered like half of the voters in the country were. And sure, I am fearful but.....I have turned it all around. I learned a great lesson from having read the magazine article about the New York woman and her new love for the noise that had once bothered her so much. Once she located the source, she was not bothered. A bad noise became a good one.

The past week has been a good one. I love a good laugh, have a great sense of humor. Our president-elect has not let me down yet. He's doing a great job of selecting his loyalist cabinet members. Each selection is more of a joke than the next. Who doesn't enjoy a good circus? This is fabulous for those of us who relish a great show. It gets better every day and I look forward to hearing about the next person to enter the ring under the "Big Top" (that's my new phrase for  the White House by the way). 

Oh, the lesson. I've turned the bad noise into good fun and it's so much easier to deal with it. This is the most entertainment I have had in a long time and I'm savoring every minute so far. Please Mr. Trump, please appoint RFK to some very high healthcare position. He's right up there with those who have already been promised jobs and let's face it, the "worms" in his brain will make for many, many a good laugh over the next years. 

Turn it around. Don't be mad. Be happy. This noise is not in your control so sit back, relax and have a few good laughs!

THIS IS WHO WE ARE

 I have exercised an abundance of restraint over the course of the last several months. For a person who has maintained a writing vehicle that is part of the public domain, this has been especially challenging but I chose to not be one of "those people". For the most part, my personal views have been in the closet, my opinions, hushed in the name of better manners than I have observed, especially from those who were in the process of seeking office. Those who wanted desperately to be heard and respected for their opinions. Those who wished to represent the people of their communities, states and above all, this country.

 Lies. Backstabbing. Name-calling. 

Misogyny. Blasphemy. Homophobia. Ethnophobia. Cowardice. Prejudice. Judgemental. Hopeless. Uncaring. Rude. Criminal. Psychotic. Blasphemous. Despicable. Deceptive. Crude. Wicked. Mean. Cruel. Unjust. Dishonorable. Deplorable. Nasty. Ugly. Unfit. Unhinged. Uneducated. Bloated. Power-hungry. Childish. Moronic. Dumb. Dumber. Dumbest. Pajama-bottom wearing. Swearing.  Cursing. Disrespectful. Argumentative. Clueless. Harmful. Armed. Gutless. Felony. Rapist. 

Numb

They are "just" words. Aren't they? 

The morning after the election, we went for a ride to a favorite beach and we listened to the words of Jim Braude on GBH Radio. Jim is a highly-educated, well-spoken and highly credible program host. We know his political beliefs and we were eager to hear his first words following the catastrophe of the day before. What we did not expect was a cool, calm and collected Jim. Respectful. Polite. A different Jim.

From his mouth came the words that I had, myself, used several times since Donald Trump stormed the media. He artfully composed one very meaningful sentence which resonated. He used his words to summarize the results of the latest election. He didn't recite a diatribe. Instead, this is what he said.

"Folks, this is who we are"

Yes, my fellow Americans. This is who we are. There just aren't enough words to describe us and I have to thank Jim Braude for the accurate description of the people of this country. This is who we are. All of the above and oh, so much more. 

You voted. You spoke. You chose your words. And, to those who chose your new leader. Shut up now. You've already re-defined the vision of America and, sadly, the way we Americans will be perceived the world over.

This is who we (YOU) are.

 

Coffee Date

This morning, I had an inter-continental conversation with Dolores, an American friend who, along with her life-partner, Scott, became expats and have made Assisi, Italy, their permanent home for the past two years. I had received a text from one of my dearest local friends just moments before.  My friend wanted to know of my "schedule" for the next week so that we could set up a date to have coffee together. I cherish times with this beautiful woman and of course I will set something up. Do not get me wrong, I am not finding fault in her quest. It's lovely to know that someone wants to share time. But, I did comment to Dolores about how odd this request would be in a small Italian town such as Assisi. Her answer was one that affirmed that I live on "Italian Time", yet another reason why she and Scott think I am away from home, most of the time.

On Italian Time, pre-arranged coffee dates rarely exist. If they do, the occurrence will most likely be happening very soon. Perhaps tomorrow morning, or maybe this very afternoon. But, to look at next week's schedule, that would not make sense.  To actually write in an agenda book "Have coffee with so-and-so at such-and-such time",  ehhh, no.  The selection of a venue also would not be considered.  One knows these things. And rarely does one have to assign a time in advance. One also knows this.

My ex-pat friend reminded me of that sweet part of life in which things are simply assumed. Coffee in the morning? Just find us at "The Sisters" (I know who she means) and join us. No need to ask about time. I know, you know, and everybody else knows. Time hasn't the same meaning. Or, is it that the reference point is so very different. Want coffee? We're there. I love not having to get into a car for a "coffee date".  If later in the day, an aperitivo might replace a coffee. And we all know where we all will be. No need to rush to or from. Today, you pay. Tomorrow, I pay. And if that doesn't happen. So what? Bene bene.

I live in an area of the country that is heavily populated by people who have retired from their life's work.  Bragging rights seem to emanate from the ability to announce that one is "happily retired" and that alarm clocks are no longer needed. The words "what I want" and "whenever I want" seem to dance out of mouths of the newly-no-longer-employed. Yet, it doesn't take very long for the very same people to acquire new bragging rights. "I'm so busy" seem to be the words that everyone wants falling out of their mouths within a month of kicking their way home from the Rat-Race. Very soon, they enter into yet another race. The "Who's the Busiest" race. They also alter the whole perception of what it means to be "busy" and tend to start in some fashion, to make judgement calls based upon who can be the busiest. They even stop their impulse to spend un-scheduled time with a friend who has been assessed as "very busy"to the point of never being invited to do something considered mundane. That friend, who may be so, so busy, would not possibly want to take five, right? The wheel spins on and on. And, who would want to be thought of as "un-busy"? Must be something terribly wrong with that person.

There have been lots of studies surrounding the question of why Italians live longer than Americans. Certainly, the Mediterranean diet gets a lot of credit but, it's not the one specific factor. So much is being written about the other key factors, the contributors to a longer life expectancy than we have here in the U.S. or in the U.K. In the literature, decreased stress and increased physical activity or small-town Italian residents factor as huge contributions. Having stated that, I will venture forth with a guess that the lack of schedule-induced stressors might very well be part of the equation and that simply being available to spend time with a friend, old or new, might be one of the ingredients that our American diet is lacking. 

Food for thought.

To Sintra We Went A-Touring

Up and out early yesterday for a small group tour.  Group touring never was my cup of tea but......since I have aged and had a whole lot of cups of teas, I have grown accustomed to the notion of tours, guides, rides in cars and allowing someone, anyone with the license to do it, do it. So, Gustavo picked us up before eight in the morning and we picked up six other lovely American people for our journey to first, the cold and windswept Cabo da Roca which is the most northeast point one can step on.  Following our beautiful time there, we traveled on to the heart-stoppingly beautiful town of Sintra where we picked up the local pastry and Lucy visited the local Starbucks just to make sure they had it right.  Our next stop.....the Pena Palace.

The Pena Palace and Park was the creative project of and home to King Fernando II and his wife. It was at her begging that he, following the earthquake of 1755, added and added and added onto what was left of their home (a chapel) and, mixing Moorish and Manueline (after King Emanuel) architecture, he built what can only be described as a fairy-tale in the Sintra Mountains. It's way up there. In fact, it is miles up there, past lush and incredibly beautiful gardens and forestry. Probably would take four whole hours to walk up there if you were crazy enough to try. Lots of people wait in long lines for literally hours to enter the Palace but we zipped right on by the lines and entered with time to gaze at the opulent rooms and take in the commanding views. 

After our time at the Pena Palace, Gustavo drove us to the to-die-for town of Cascais. Think San Tropez or Beverly Hills by the beach.  High priced homes line the coast of aqua-colored sea and it's all about the beach and the good life in Portugal. Lunch was at a locals-frequented cafe. Piri-Piri Chicken for me (it's coated with that spicy oil) and octopus for Lucy. Okay, here's the thing.....I haven't really had any outstanding meals here, much to my surprise and easy on my diet. I'm still looking. Last night, we had amazing sushi, local fish was involved in the meal and it was wonderful but....I'm not going to oogle and oggle over the food here. 

This, being the big holiday of Santo Antonio, there are lots of people in Lisbon. Everyone is happy. Life is good. Today,we play catch up. Lucy is tired.  It isn't easy keeping up with a hyperactive grandmother. 

Beach Day

A major highlight of the enchanting Setúbal Peninsula south of Lisbon is the long stretch of sandy coastline known as the Costa Caparica. It's about a half hour drive away from the city, one that includes a trip over the bridge known as the 25 April, a copy of San Francisco's Golden Gate. The beaches are absolutely gorgeous, the water is turquoise-colored and the waves attract surfers, both experienced and brand new learners. 

Now, those of you who know me will be a bit shocked to learn that this is where I spent the greater part of my day today. Under a thatched umbrella, on a lounge chair, with the breeze blowing in from the sea. I, who thinks of a day at the beach as punishment, found joy. Hard to believe but true.

Lucy had this little field trip in mind from the day we planned our excursion.  I knew it and I also knew that if I didn't make the effort, if I failed to make this dream a reality, my life would not be a good one from this day on. After all, where better to get those Instagram shots of your behind in a bikini? Not mine. Hers. And so, we packed up, got an Uber, and made our way to one very big surprise indeed. I plunked down the chair and umbrella rental and sat at the beach for a few hours. Along the shore line, for miles, runs a walking, biking, anything and everything else paved path. After lunch at a beach cafe, I headed down and enjoyed not only the view of the beach, but the people who also came for a relaxing day out. Nice people. Just enough of us. I imagine that the weekends find this place packed to the nines but this, being a weekday and the day before a national holiday, there were wide, open spaces on the beaches and lots of room to breathe the sea air.  

After a million photos, (oh, I did manage to get one of myself....a selfie), it was time to go. Honestly, I could have stayed much longer but it was time and so we left. Know what I mean? 

Teenagers, well, they rule. But sometimes, they force our hands and sometimes they save our much bigger, saggier, butts. I got enough sun. Just enough, but I could really have gotten way too much. My body parts are  not accustomed to the exposure. 

Walk, Walk, and Walk Some More

Phil, feeding Phil..........

Following our walking tour and lunch yesterday, we did what all self-respecting teams of young adults and senior citizens do, we came back to our apartment and took a rest. Well, at least the younger part of our team did.  If you know me, you know that I have a rather high level of energy and rarely get tired. Sleep is not something that I need or do with ease or joy.

In case you're wondering, my sleep habits abroad mirror those at home. Nuff said.

The afternoon mission was to find some of the highly recommended places that dear, sweet, but oftentimes silly-boyish Philip Rosenthal, points out in his Netflix Series entitled "Somebody Feed Phil".  In the Lisbon episode, Phil takes viewers to the large, modern Time Out Lisbon Market and he enthusiastically (in his silly-boyish style) devours the country's famous pastry (you see these EVERYwhere in Lisbon), pastel da nada or, in multiples, pasteis da nata or, little custard tarts that make one cry with delight unless you are on Weight Watchers (as I usually am and will be very much but that's next week.....)

The walk to the market brought us through some interesting neighborhoods which on our return, we savored more. But, the market itself left me unimpressed.  I've been to Time Out Markets in Boston, New York and Florence and can honestly say that if you've seen one, you've seen them all.  Yes, the foods are different in each, but the ambiance is the exact same and I find it way too confusing with the vast array of little take-away restaurants.  While there are lots of tourists here, Lucy and I have remarked to each other many times about the fact that there aren't many "crowds" and there's a lot of space to be enjoyed. The Market, not so much. And, sadly, the one place that I wanted to target, the tinned seafood vendor that Phil highlighted, might be gone.  Not to worry. Tinned seafood is a big Portuguese specialty and not that hard to find. Price is exorbitant so I'm hoping Joe won't hold me to my promise of a few cans. We did try a  can of sardines that we found in a shop nearby, and while it was tasty it certainly was not worth 15 euros! My grilled sardine sushi tonight was a hard one to beat. At least that is what I thought until I had my sea bass sushi rolls and decided that they were the best thing I have ever eaten. In my entire life. 

Sonnet to the Portuguese

 Ever since my young adulthood, I have been secretly dreaming of Portugal.  I don't know, maybe this has to do with my introduction to the culture during a very impressionable part of my life, my teenage years.  Trips from our home to Provincetown where we spent three weeks each Summer, brought so many memories and I truly wanted to visit long before it was considered to be an "in" destination.

So, here I sit, on a little balcony, outside of the apartment that is home to me and my eighteen year old, newly graduated from high-school, granddaughter. When I asked if she might like to travel as a special gift, she didn't hesitate and when we wondered where we might go, Lisbon came to both of us immediately. We agreed that Portugal was the place for us and that together, we would learn. 

After a comfortable flight from Boston on Sunday night, we were collected at the airport by Jorge, and driven to Rua do Crucifixo.  Our little apartment is on the 4th floor of a traditional low-rise building that is located in the part of the city known as "Baixa". It's lively but not crowded and very conveniently located for foot travel. Lisbon is a city of hills and commanding views thanks to those elevations. We're in a flat neighborhood. I'm not accustomed to that, being a part-time resident of one of Italy's hilliest little cities. But, we have mounted a few inclines, and, so far, have enjoyed gorgeous views of the entire city. From where I sit at the moment, I have a lovely view of the Rio Tejo, a river that has a bridge in the distance that bears a resemblance to the Golden Gate in San Francisco.  Lisbon's charming system of cable cars also brings San Francisco to mind. Sister cities. This one's a bit older however.

This will be a week filled with moments that will have so much to do with being eighteen and at the same time, being fourteen all over again. We're sharing stories, we're laughing and touring and getting into the swing of it all. Lisbon is loaded with interesting nooks and crannies, streets made of mosaics, and the best part is that it is not overcrowded as many other European cities are this time of year. The weather is perfect, the sky, blue and cloudless.  

Lucy is taking a power nap at the moment. We had a city tour this morning with a small group and an excellent local guide and by its end, we had learned Portuguese history far better than we could have in a text book. That history is filled with  quirky facts about young kings, baby queens, dictators, fascists and one very, very strong earthquake that decimated the city and most of its inhabitants.

As I gaze down to the harbor now, it holds so much more meaning for me. The "Great Lisbon Earthquake" struck on Saturday morning, November 1, 1755.  Because it was a holy day, churches were filled with people who were observing "All Saints Day" and candles burned. Earthquaking and candles make for heightened disaster and fires broke out throughout the city. People fled to the harbor for safety. Earthquakes also cause another type of disaster, tsunami. Those who survived the rubble and the fires probably met their end due to the tsunami which came as sudden as the quake. It is said that between thirty and forty thousand residents perished that day and the entire city had to be rebuilt. As a consequence, the buildings in Lisbon are not higher than four or five stories and have been constructed with future quakes in mind. The next one is due in a hundred and thirty years. I'm not going to worry too much about it. But, the king  of Portugal at that time, Joseph, did worry about it. Lots. 

On the day of the earthquake, Joseph, at the invitation of his daughter, left the city for a celebration at her country home. He missed all the excitement despite the fact that he wasn't all that far away, in Belem, an area that is now part of Lisbon. He was so terrified of all that occurred and was, from that time on, determined to never live in a place which had walls! So, from 1755 until his death, Joseph lived in a tent.  Enough history for today. There's a glass of vinho verde with my name on it and there's not a tsunami in sight for the time being.