Haunted? I don’t know. While I have a flamboyant imagination, my actual paranormal senses are probably as blunt as they come. I don’t disbelieve, but I’d make a terrible ghost hunter.
I’d make a terrible ghost hunter, or maybe a really good one
A Bee Redux and thoughts on Picking Up Where We Left Off
We all do what we can and hope for the best, but we’re ultimately guessing at all of it, knowing there will be wounds even if things go as well as can be expected. “Adventure,” after all, sometimes means snakes on the plane.
Share this:
Lisbon: Portugal’s newer old city
Legacy residents of Alfama are tight knit, with their own dialect of Portuguese. As per tradition, the primary source of news in this region is via the older women who hang out their windows and keep track of the goings on below.
Share this:
Sintra: wine, castles, coastline, and a near death experience
I can’t imagine even Madonna having it any easier with remodeling a UNESCO site than anyone else, but she’s purportedly living in an already remodeled Lisbon castle in the meantime with all her kids, so maybe she’s not in a hurry.
Share this:
Our brush with revolution in Coimbra
Samantha was able to point out locations for a free Fado show, her favorite restaurants and markets, and her experience moving here as an expat from Italy. Also the significance of the artwork we found in our flat.
Share this:
More Porto, a little Braga and a Bishop maybe too big for his britches
If Porto is any indication, humans have been working on the proper stair height for more than 2,000 years, and only just recently agreed upon a standard.
Share this:
One day in Portugal: 300 stairs, one life lesson, and a sandwich bigger than a human head
“Most 15-year-old girls around here can finish one of those. As a snack,” which is when we learned that Portuguese are into food shaming, and also that Mike is susceptible to double-dog-dares from tour guides when it comes to his gastro-fortitude compared to that of a 15-year-old.
Share this:
When is a dream a dream, how many should one person have, should you even call them that maybe, and what’s with the mice?
This post isn’t about throwing off machines by nonsense monologuing or whether I care about what grade some stupid algorithm decides to give any post of mine. It’s about dreams.
Share this:
Dark Secrets and Hot Sauces
With my poor eyesight, I now have a deep distrust of items that look anything like little pinecones or dirt clods abandoned in the middle of the living room.
Share this:
A post that’s a little like speed dating, but with more frogs
“Are you even writing anymore?” as if it’s something like a tree falling in the forest: not really there unless someone is able to respond to it.
