The Cats Meow

Meow.  When did I ever say that I listen to what I tell  other people?

Live life in its fullest.  

Haven't, I always said that. How many times did I say that. Thousands of times. Over and over. Millions times.

When, did I stop listening to myself? Did it happen during the ten year period before I retired  when I was forced to work government temp jobs. Jobs from hell each of them. Rude bosses, lots of yelling and screaming, learning new jobs, new policies, and new people. Boy, it was really the pits. But, I don't think that is the time I started to unlisten to myself.

What it The Change of Life??
That fun time of feeling like your body was totally out of control, you know what comes next. The feeling that you are totally out of your mind. I did talk to myself alot during those lovely years. 

Was it being in pretty much constant pain and muscle spasms? Think you are getting closer. I don't like to dwell on this subject. No one knows what it is like when your entire body, section by section is destroying its functions ... like... walking, sitting, standing ...that's a bad one and sleeping....oh yes that is a good one. 

It is depressing when you are out with a friend and you knee stops working like it alway has. It is painful. It is sad.  It is a huge challenge to even the most optimistic people. To put it bluntly, it is a HuGe  Deal!!! It is a deal breaker, a nut cracker, a  strike to inner self.  

Stress Reduction with Hummingbirds Early in the Morning

I have added a new morning routine to my morning. After watching the am news, I take my second cup of coffee out onto our deck. Damn the bugs, mosquitoes, and green heads and full speed ahead. I need to spend my morning time with my hummingbirds.
Faster than a speeding bullet. Flying around my head. These tiny creatures fight for the golden nectar in my hummingbird feeder.
The young males chase away their sisters and harass  the girls nonstop. It is a male thing.
They learn at an early age that their sex is  all powerful and to be obeyed. At times they are cruel, unrelentless, and just plain mean.
Their sex only mates with the females and then their life's work is done. Off to play they go.
They do not help the females raise the babies.
The females make a nest out of small leaves and ties it together with spider's webs.

They are truly nature's miracle. They lay tiny, tiny eggs and raise the babies alone.

Home is Where My Heart Is

Sweet Dreams of Amsterdam

Subway Ride to the Airport in LIsbon.

It was 6:30am and I was sitting in a noisy Lisbon subway. We were on our way home. Two subway rides, and then the airport. The subway was pretty crowded at this hour. People going to work. We needed to make a change of trains, and most  subways stops have only extremely long stairs to their trains. We have all our luggage with us. It will be our morning exercise. I sat across from an African man. I look like a tourist. Camera bag over my right shoulder. Small purse over my left shoulder. Small canvas bag in my lap. I am wearing western clothes. My hair is still wet. It was not my best look, but, for the time of day, it had to work.
After a few stops, I look up at the African man. I notice that he has been staring  at me. He does not move, he does not blink. I watch him as his deep brown eyes examine my soul. Stop after stop, he continues to watch me. I say nothing. But for the rest of the day, hours after the subway ride, I feel his eyes examining me. Hs intense eyes were not kind, his eyes were judging me. Those eyes had only hate in them. If his eyes could talk, he would be telling me that I do not belong in his county and to quickly go away.
I have other experiences with African men on the trains and subways. One man purposely cut in front of my as I made my way to the escalator. These men were proud men, and you could tell that in their culture that I was inferior to them.
At the airport stop, I watched a very tall African Man walk in front of me. He wore a long sand colored dress, and wore hand made sandals on his feet. He had a long stride of a walk and his dress flowed open as he walked to his gate.

Food in Portugal

A Walk up hill in Porto, Portugal and a visit to Photographic Museum (Prior Ancient Jail)