At the intersection of Wills and Wells Fargo

Do you know when it's hard to write? When you don't feel like yourself. It's hard to write when you can't put words on a page that reflect who you are in your heart. And since August there have been very few moments when I actually felt I could write. (In stark contrast, June and July contained some of my life's most amazing moments, which perhaps makes this all the more intolerable.) That is why I have been keeping myself so far away. I'm estranged from my life and to write only makes it that much clearer to me. There's a throb, a heavy thud of a tug in my chest that makes that cavity where my heart sits seem vacant and hollow and the word hurt keeps coming to mind. I believe in a combination of Destiny and Free Will and the older I get the more I see that Free Will is Destiny's gift. I used to say, "One has to embrace Destiny for Destiny to get a part in one's life." And to me that meant that I had to make space for Destiny in my life. I had to decide that I wouldn't make every choice and I would leave room for Destiny to lead me. My role was to follow signs and wish and release. That is still a large part of my belief system. I sometimes think that I had certain topics figured out early on in life and it makes me happy to realize that this heavy thought I indulged in has served me well. It has served me happiness. So, here I sit now- on 12.26- wondering what the hell I did, or rather, did not do, that has led me to a perfect storm of chance and limbo and uncertainty. The very things and moments in my life that I gave thanks for so many times are beyond vanished, they are so out of sight that I feel my spirit clawing from the inside of me. I feel fingernails scratching with desperation, trying to shred this new skin I have on and reclaim my life's peace- my life's place.

On my way to work this morning (there will be many topics I owe explanation on, and will get to in time, but it will take quite a bit of time. Many things have changed.) I was struck by a song I've heard hundreds of times but it sounded new to me and the reason why is because I connected with its main projected thought. It was in the form of a question and the question is relevant in so many ways. "What's going on?" I usually, as you know, would be asking the question directed to the world at large. But, not now. Even though I have many people, places and systems to ask that question, I am bringing it in to my microcosm and asking in a loud voice "What's going on?" I'm asking myself, yes. I'm asking the Universe. I'm asking God- although, my tone sweetens as I do. And I want to know, what was my thought pattern that has served me with such chaos. Was it the fact that I moved so quickly? (We are back in Atlanta, GA.) Was it because I moved so quickly and in that short time of packing we experienced 4 natural disasters, producing a feeling of chaos that has yet to expire- and in turn keeps giving what feels like a perfect storm of a scenario to live in day in and day out for the 4 months since? Did I really opt so far out of the peace zone that I'm projected into this much muck?

Most of all though, I ask "What's going on?" to one particular entity: Wells Fargo.

In August, we entered contract with Wells Fargo on a bank owned town home with a 9.18 Closing Date. It's pretty humorous considering that this listing advertised "Must Close by 9.30.2011" and after we entered contract and set our Closing Date for 9.18 Wells Fargo very authoritatively issued a prospective penalty fee to us for each and every day we went past deadline. Nick and I immediately wrapped up our life in Edenton, NC.  He got all things in order at work for his departure. We secured our finances to meet our end of this arrangement in a perfunctory manner. We got Mayflower Movers from Athens, GA , our trusted moving company, in line and ready to haul our belongings and store them for the two weeks between our move and the Closing Date. We packed EVERYTHING ourselves. I wrapped every item, taped every box, labeled thoroughly our possessions in as fast of a manner conceivable. Meanwhile, an earthquake rattled our state randomly. My china was shaking behind me in the china cabinet as I wrapped the Waterford goblet in my hand and I thought "Why, it's the strangest thing, but I think the Earth is moving." I turned and asked mom, who drove 13 hours with my father to come help us meet this very definite deadline of a date, "Mom, is the Earth moving?" Indeed. We experienced an earthquake. It was all okay at that point. No harm done and we actually got to ask ourselves that question which ranks pretty high on a "Can You Believe This?!" story-telling list. Days later, as we continued to haul ass packing up our entire life, a hurricane came knocking on Edenton, NC's door. It was a doozie. Mayor Bloomers issued a mandatory evacuation for the humongous city of NYC (Which is a really dominating move if you ask me. What if you are 80 and have no car and no where to go? Mayor Bloomy gets to kick you out on the street for your own welfare? Wouldn't an indoor facility be safer than that?) Our own neighbors were leaving in droves. I wasn't so sure. Unless told where this gigantic storm was going exactly, I preferred the 100+ year old brick, steel, and beamed building to hide in as opposed to my Audi A4 on an open road sitting in the middle of other scurrying souls. So, we continued to pack. Well into the storm, we wrapped, and taped and smooshed and categorized. The hurricane hit and I laid still in bed watching the silhouettes of trees swaying on my wall in front of me. I listened to the high pitched whistle and howls of the wind. Our pooch Tea' came up to my bed and issued a wolf-howl to me and touched my leg so I followed her downstairs to a hallway, where she sat with me until finally two hours later, she left me and went back to her resting spot. Not so surprisingly, my phone alerted me of several tornadoes that had touched down in that exact time frame. The last one occurred moments before Tea' finally left my side. She sensed the chaos. She sensed it perfectly. As the wind sprayed the rain and the hurricane raged, the tornadoes touched down, spinning off from the funnels, and the waters rose flooding Edenton's streets. The Sound came across the street. Queen Anne's Creek was now in our parking lot. All this time, we packed. We risked a pretty good bit to meet this deadline in our contract with Wells Fargo. I can't come close to saying they treated our agreement with the same respect. Where were my senses in all this? I could learn from sweet Tea'.

We got to Atlanta safely. And we have appreciated our generous friends and family who have let us stay with them in their homes during our wait. Our Closing Date came and went. Over 6 times. It is the day after Christmas Day and I am now beginning a new search for homes. Our town home is still waiting on us. We are still waiting on it. And we are still waiting on Wells Fargo. They haven't communicated. They haven't honored one portion of our agreement. They haven't resembled a respectable institution with which I would ever recommend doing business. They have created a perfect storm that has affected my life in a much more dramatic fashion than the hurricane, tornadoes, flood or earthquake did. Comparing Mother Nature and Wells Fargo is a disrespect to our Earth. There is no rhyme or reason, no purpose served, no higher sense or logic to Wells Fargo and this company's actions. Do they deserve the high quantities of mortgages they are stuck paying with foreclosures? Why yes. I think they do. Because I've been begging them to take one in particular off their hands. They would rather be negligent; lie to keep lives in limbo as they continue to ignore their responsibility, their business. And for every answer I do happen to get this is what is said "It's just the process." No. It is not a process that is to blame. And yes. I am blaming at this point. I am pointing my finger and I am blaming Wells Fargo for being a sorry establishment that fails at its job. But a process? Don't get yourself off the hook so easily. A process is a string of actions that people put in place. A process is an inanimate thing. People are the problem. The people that put this string of nonsense actions in place is to blame. And the people who choose to not perform those nonsense actions and just GET IT DONE are to blame. Wells Fargo. You suck.

I flip them off every time I see one of their ugly yellow and red signs. I cuss at them every time I see one of their ugly bank buildings. And I smile whenever someone tells me they've left Wells Fargo because Wachovia was so much better and they aren't happy since the take-over. I embrace this immature streak because they deserve every bit of loss they get. They aren't good at business. This behavior is unacceptable. Since when do contracts mean nothing to one side of the deal only? Since when do you get to ignore an agreement to the point of non-communication and blatant, knowing lies?

So, 4 months of Wells Fargo is enough. I'm not giving any more of my precious time in life over to an irresponsible bank. It's a great town home, but ultimately- I don't care about that. I care about my peaceful life that I want back. I care about my family: Nick, me, my 3 pups. I care about our music and stories and conversations, our quiet moments together. I do not care about any set of walls enough to postpone my time with the above a moment longer.

So, the hunt is on again. Nick found one fantastic option in a better location, but I found out it sold this morning. It closed in 3 days. So, apparently the process works for some agreements. I choose to put myself in an honored contract such as that. If I had anything to do with this set of circumstances, then okay, I accept that maybe chaos breeds chaos and that is what happened here and I obliged. But, I grasp serenity and order in this moment. I will rely on my Free Will. I will myself to let go of Wells Fargo and not consume myself with their toxicity of a business. I will myself to allow Destiny to take me down a calmer path.

I mentioned signs earlier as one of my life's responsibilities. Back in November, I was in a state of worry and struggle with my lack of the life I had worked to create and I was driving my car. I heard a song that came on and this song reminds me of my angels every time I hear it. I said aloud, "Thank you. I so needed this song right now." I stopped at the light. As the light turned green and the car in front of me eased forward, I was smacked forward. I got rear-ended for the first time ever. The car in front of me was gone so I didn't hit it. I wasn't hurt. The guy who hit me looked genuinely startled when I asked him "You didn't see me?"  He blinked hard and deliberately as if he were checking his eye sight. "No. I didn't." he said with confusion. As I got in my car to drive out of the intersection, I looked up to see where I was for the traffic report. I was at the intersection of Wills Rd.. I had been screaming for help. I had a sign from an angel sound loud and clear. Then, I was thrust forward into the intersection of Wills.

I ask myself now, "Which way will I go?" "Do I choose Will Power (never been a favorite)? Free Will? Destiny?"

It's something I will consider, but for now I can say that I will probably go with what has served me best my entire life before this storm of a mess. I'll resort to my hard thought and philosophy from childhood and I'll intersect two.  My life's Free Will chooses to include Destiny and I'll read the signs along the way. Did I need to be reminded about signs and the collision of causation? My new direction will begin with this choice and the additional choice to release a negative catalyst- the oddly placed enemy of mine: Wells Fargo. I will make my wish again for a beautiful and perfectly suited home for me and my family. And I will let Destiny help run my course. Take me home. 

It's true I had a calm before the storm. I had a great summer. I've since had the mother load of the Perfect Storm. What has it felt like? A rebirth. A difficult renewal. Now, I wait for New Life. I'm here in this location- a decision that seemed to evolve naturally by means of uncanny opportunities. Since then, an immensely unnatural set of results has occurred month after month. There is no more energy for the storm. I am brewed out. So, I wait for the sun to peak through. I say the words I opened my prized possession of a book with: "Lord, Let the Sun Shine on Me." It is the end of 2011. This special year that represents my birth to me, 2.11, is nearly over. And my wish is similar to the story my mother told me of how I was born. She said there was a dark, cold, windy winter outside, the coming Winter Olympics and all the heroic stories of athletic triumph were on the television when I decided to come into Earth. She said she delivered me (naturally- drug free I'll add, bravo mama!!) at 1:55 AM (= 11 :) on February 11, 1980 and when she held me in her arms the very first morning of mine that a tiny slit of sunshine beamed through the blinds of the window on a grey, cloudy day and that it showered my face and nothing else in the room. She told me that she gasped and put her finger on the tip of my nose and told me then and there as an infant that I was special. I visualize this with such detail that I can see myself as a baby in my mother's arms, fresh to the world- just having made it through a Perfect Storm of sorts. (A story like that will get you through anything in life. If you don't have one, promise me you'll make one up for yourself.) It snowed in South Georgia that winter. Unheard of. Since that story, I always walk into the fresh day and say to the sky, "Lord, Let the Sun Shine on Me." or I say it when I feel a sunbeam of light upon my face- but I've forgotten to lately. I've been in a whirlwind.

Free Will, meet Destiny.

This is my fresh day.

He Means Ways of words.

He steeps like tea over the page.  The words that would flow like water have evaporated to steam.

Why can I not think?
Why am I at loss?
When my mind was mine I came across sharp from the tongue.  But now all I can think about is the trigger on my gun.
When they came calling, I answered back.  And my enemy's wrath has a strong lash.
Where did the time go?
Where did my mind go?
I'm shocked my mind turned to mush.  I'm shocked my life has amounted to such.
And if I do not finish the deed what will be done?
Will they come and claim me and worse than my own be shown?
My name is my face now.  I will live on- and in that name is what will see and what will be seen.
Time can come to show my love of all that I do.
With time's ticket I gain entry to the demise of my enemy.  When the clock goes tock and the day is done- my enemy's deeds will unravel him until he's undone.

These words are stuck within him.  They don't fall down to the page.  The plug is pulled and cold steel is felt between his finger and his thumb.
He and all his words fall down onto the page.



(~a small tribute to a literary great.)

Show, not Tell

Today I thought, since I'm limited on time, that I'd post some photos and keep the writing to a bare minimum.  That way I can show and not tell and you can come up with your own impressions of this (my) city named Zurich.  It's a real gem, a beauty, and part of me wants to keep it a secret.  I think, "Oh no, what if I'm not the only one who thinks of Zurich as ideal and everyone rushes in and the madness that has enveloped the world at large pounces on Zurich too?" Then I think, "Oh yeh, Switzerland already thought of that and they aren't taking new citizens very easily."  I think that a person seeking Swiss citizenship must live in Switzerland for 13 years before they become eligible for citizenship. (I'll fact check that later and get back to you.) That's a long time.  I guess they figure if you have lived in and contributed to Switzerland for 13 years, then you deserve her recognition.  I don't blame them for that.  In fact, I'd like to learn more about how they have collaborated and created this place I witnessed and revere.  

 Here are some pictures... enjoy Zurich!

Looking up at the elegant balconies.
In the balcony world, these are roses.

Outdoor Seating.

Nick and I walked by the water before weaving through alleys.
He has told me how much he loved Switzerland since childhood and now I see why.

I'm so happy here in this shot.

Nick and I watched the swans and the water is very clear so their cute webbed feet put on quite a different show than the smooth gliding happening on the skin of the water.

One of MANY pretty structures.

I hold strong affection for birds.
I could watch them and talk to them all day.

I did a lakeside waltz for Nico.  I think he's beyond being embarrassed when I do these things.

Passion!

Majestic.

Life happening in the alleys.

I love YOU too! What a happy city!

I wonder what lucky kid gets to sit in that window seat?

Landing in Swiss in Bliss

Deboarding the plane-getting through customs-exchanging currency-catching the train-waiting on the tram street side. It was all as seamless as the marble floor that I admired as I strolled my bag through the Zurich airport. I made sure my admiring scope of the floor fit Nick's feet in too. I do this cop-out of a thing when I am traveling with him- I follow. It's just so easy. I know it's horrible that I'm not more of an upfront thinking, directing, commanding co-traveler... but, then again... is it after all?? Nick is a seasoned globe trotter. I exit any building or vehicle and just head right, thinking I'll sort all kinks out along the way. Do you see the difference? I am presented with this option: Be a leader. Be an individual traveler. Be lost. OR Be... behind Nicholas. & Hey. That's not a bad position to be in if you get my drift. I lead in some areas, but this area is his forte.  I can do it by myself, domestically or internationally, I'm not a moron, but he leads us effortlessly and allows me to marvel and ooh and aah. I love that about our relationship!

Sheep. Check. Marble. Check.
Happy to be in Zurich. Check.

Did you notice my city?  Did you catch that or did you skim right past it? ZuRiCh! zUrIcH! ZURICH!! ...oooh... aaah... Zurich has wrapped me around her little alp.       

So, the first impression of Zurich was from the air, out the window, over my Portuguese friend's shoulder.  Crisp is what it looked. Someone has ironed beautiful sheets of grass in all different shades up and around and smoothly down the Swiss landscape.  Meeting this pressed patchwork pattern is a silky greenish blue swirl of water winding along the way rivers like to do.  It has come from the most dynamic of zigzags, the Swiss Alps, and this silky river borrowed the ice from the zig and snow from the zag and breathed on it like a pane of glass until that steamy breath made one trickle, then two, then three and then from the fourth flowed a river as pure and crystal as the ice from which it melted.  And this I saw from the air and how the clarity of its own character fed and nourished the earth and its people and animal life.  Life.  This place radiated in a beautiful and vibrant way and that looked like the word Life.  And that was just my impression from the air.

The best shot I could get out the window.
 I was practically hovering over  the neck of the man in the actual window seat!

Entering the society that has flourished in this setting was remarkable easy and comforting.  Like I already mentioned, the airport was pretty darn awesome with its shining marble floor and modern EVERYTHING.  The only odd thing I remember seeing is a Starbuck's.  I thought, "for real?" But, it was limited to the airport.  

Waiting on Nick in Zurich's
airport, people watching.

Most everywhere we went during the entire trip, these chains were given assigned seating and it was the Stations. Train, plane... that's where they think their market is and they are right.  Americans will be at these locations and so their food is too. (I say their instead of our here because I'm not claiming that sad, sorry, pathetic habit.  In Zurich someone wants a Whopper? Give me an effing break! In Italy, someone requests Burger King because they "don't trust foreign food"? First of all, I want to say to them, "You're stupid, go home." Italians KNOW food. And then I want to say to them, "Did the potato and cow you are devouring come from Kansas? Are you in Rome and eating an American cow or an Italian one? And if you want frozen, shipped, old food... you deserve all the yuck that's in your mouth." That's what I want to say to that person, but I don't because that's really mean.) But, Starbuck's is in the airport and it's okay because it's coffee.  Not the best coffee in the world, but it is not a terrible cultural trademark. I got to observe these things as I waited on Nick to get whatever he was getting and then come back to me.  I stood in the middle of the floor with my suitcase and his and watched all these really good looking people walk around.  And, one cute girl stuck out.  She had a southern accent and was dressed like a Polo ad.  She was marching around looking at signs and telling her husband what she was reading.  I thought, "Do I look like that?  Do I sound like that?  I don't think I do, but do I?"  She was precious and I was happy to see someone repping America without a fanny pack, but I wondered if I looked neon in the black and white photo too.  By the time Nick came back I had already decided I loved this place I was in.  It was just Marble-ous!

Nick waiting with me to get on the train.

Who cares that I got zero sleep?
Not me!
Let's go see the city!

Now, how do we get to our hotel?

Oh! Look! Right outside the airport is an electric tram system that you simply purchase a token for from a conveniently located machine (On the honor system btw! What? No one shoots you in the back five times here like they do in San Francisco because you don't have a ticket and that must, well, be considered the most criminal, death-deserving thing in the modern day world!? No, they don't do barbaric things like that over this tram. You may live... and board the tram.) and then you just get on it and ride on it until it stops at the location nearest your destination. So simple it made our heads spin. Brand new and up to date was everything in this city. I watched the floor of the tram pivot and swivel under my left foot while the floor under my right foot remained still.  I was half in the bend of the tram and half out of it.  So cool.

This city is full of clever ideas like electric trams 
and diesel cars!

When we got off this tram we walked over a block and then down a block and checked into our hotel with an English speaking desk manager. Note: Switzerland has three different language speaking regions. French, think Geneva. Italian, think Lugano. And German, think Zurich.  But, all of those regions have one language in common and that is English.  Everyone I met spoke English like a professor.  

Just one clipping of the pretty streets we walked
to make our way to our hotel
in Zurich, Switzerland.

Happy already and yearning to explore, I voted nada to nap time and yes to getting changed and walking the streets to find dinner beats. Check in.  Change.  Check this place out.

As I took my awesome key and inserted it into my deep cobalt blue lacquer door, I felt like I was unlocking the one item left in Pandora's box, the good one, the one called Hope, and fairies and gnomes were waiting to poof magical dust on me and shout "Surprise!!" "You're here!" "You made it!"  I sigh as I write this and remember the instant pleasure I had in Zurich over just being alive and able to see it.  I was thankful to just BE THERE. (I see my name in that. neato.) I was finding treasure.  I was in the treasure.  And in Zurich I felt I was treasure too. Which makes this sentence round out like this... In Zurich I found myself. 

Portugal's Portion

Is it any secret that I look for signs in all things and like to follow life like a scavenger hunt? Nope. This trip, especially this segment, was no different.  

When I sacrificed my own seat and my own leggy joy for my husband and sat in the very middle of the entire airplane, I assumed it might be a discomfort that would pass before I knew it.  I assumed I would be asleep. That didn't happen.  Even when the captain turned the lights off so that all his little duckies could catch a wink as he flew threw the night and over the Atlantic Ocean, even when all those around me snored in unison after their Ambien released its comatose inducing substances into their tummies simultaneously, even when the elegant flight attendant cocked her head in a way that said "Really????" when I handed my red wine glass back to her after declining a refill and then reconsidered based on her professional opinion that I should partake in at least one more drowsy glass of red wine, even after all of that I could not fall into a slumber. I was uncomfortable and staring into a mini television screen a foot away from my face that revolved from a map and flashing, moving airplane (that's us) to Vince Vaughn shouting in Portuguese to a cartoon and so on.

My view

I managed to pass the state of tired into the state of bodily auto-control. Nick reminded me that "At least you're not flying to Australia.  You'd still have 15 hours left.  Imagine that with a reclined granny on your lap." (His last trip to Australia- and probably the reason it was his last- was disastrous. The seat in front of him had a witchy old lady in it and she lucked up getting a broken seat that reclined REALLY far.  Nick was the unlucky passenger.  He was seated directly behind her. And what can you do? You can't get snappy on a granny no matter what, right?)  He was right.  That was a good point.  I only had to stay up a little longer. I closed my eyes anyway- hoping sleep would sneak upon me. Instead I got subconscious picture shows of things like two red balloons positioned in a staggered way floating up and past me. Other things that were vivid at the time but more cluttered than the balloons entertained me, but I can't remember them.  The balloons were simple.  And I saw them again later... 

This is the deal. I find that almost my entire adult life the following question has loomed above me: "Where is it in this world that I want to be?" I want to find my perfect place. Ideally, see it ALL and find my place along the way.  I have found some that are perfect already, I adore what I have seen of France. And who in the world doesn't think Italy is perfetto? I love certain parts of California.  New York City makes me feel alive.  And Georgia is "home"- my roots, South Georgia pines to Atlanta's tree top canvas to the Coast's haunting mossy oaks- "home."   There's more to see, obviously. But those are my favorites so far.

from our seats at
Portugal's Airport

Nick and I sat at the gate looking out the airport windows and we both knew we were flying to that spot.  We sat down on the smaller plane that was going to zip us right over to Switzerland from Portugal and we buckled our seat belts.  I said "I hope we love it. Because I have that feeling this is it." I was all-senses-go.  I was ready.  I didn't know what to expect because I hadn't been to Switzerland, only over it, but I knew I was on my way to my wish come true.  Finding my desired home.

This is melodramatic... it may seem I am exaggerating a lot, but I'm not.  To me, this was big.

Beside me was a Portuguese man.  He was of medium build, had strong and useful hands, and a simple, quiet, friendly demeanor. He ate his meal served to the passengers methodically and carefully, not making a mess with crumbs.  He was invisibly chewing... eating like a cat drinks milk.  When he turned to us to speak to Nick, after hearing some of our conversation about me being the language dummy, he had almost-hidden passion in his eyes.  This tidy man was probably a physical labor worker, one of a trade that takes care but is demanding- like the person that makes a perfect stone wall.  This man that so many would look right past spoke 5 languages.  Common.  Not common for me, not common for my country, but common for those living in countries that aren't gigantic and isolated and forgetful that others have languages too. I wished I retained those languages.  He and Nick conversed in Italian, laughing some.  And then, this man included me with a separate, universal language.  When the plane landed and we rolled down the pavement in our new location he started humming a song that means a very specific thing to me.  Fur Elise.  Do men normally hum Fur Elise when their plane taxis?  Honestly, I didn't think they did and hearing it sent tingles down my spine.  This song means one thing.  I have an angel.  And I think she brought Nick and me together.  Her portrait hangs over my (our) bed and I see her and smile everyday.  I never met her, but I feel much from her.  I think of her when I hear this song.  (And after a chilling instance in my house, my friend Arin does too!)  Considering the number of times I have looked at that portrait and asked, "Where do I want to be?" this hum was more like 'dong'. I gasped a little meek gasp and looked at him with childlike curiosity and tried to find mutual understanding of what that meant.  Silly, because he didn't pay mind to me and kept humming away. But this meant I was getting a sign.  This meant "I'm here. I'm giving you sweet signs. You might be right..."  

Gotta Go Keep Urban Village.  Didn't proof.  Don't be mad. I'll tell you where I've landed tomorrow.

City Sights and Late Night Flights

Trip continued...

New York City- fantastic!  We walked the streets, checked out a few stores, ate picture-perfect food, and we sat and absorbed Battery Park on a perfectly temperate and sunny day.  Delightful is the word. 

Enjoying Battery Park on a perfect NYC day.

Balthazar

To recap- We woke up feeling perky and we got dressed and concluded that my choice of a brunch spot was the winner.  Balthazar on Spring Street.  I love the atmosphere... and the food is notable too!  We caught a cab there because my feet said "no" to that many blocks of walking and in ten minutes we were sitting and observing the cozy, yet bustling energy that really special city restaurants claim.  The feeling of walking in off a busy street and being sucked into a comfortable setting of pleasing light, toasty aromas, and the clinking of flatware and glasses is one of my first memories of New York City and I have really held that feeling close to me.  I captured it so well that I revisit it frequently.  Balthazar grants me that feeling. 


We sat at a table that was positioned so that we could see the SoHo streets and its walkers and riders.  We could see the booths filled with intriguing socialite type people eating eggs in 'silver cups' with mini spoons, something I adore seeing and refuse to do.  I am uber particular about eggs. And I am not fooled by calling something fancy or a delicacy... foie gras is not appealing to me considering that someone force-fed a duck until its liver exploded and they decided to serve it on a porcelain plate and label it special. That's nasty and cruel and shameful. The egg in a cup thing started from people copying English royalty's preferred manner of putting an egg in a cup and "beheading the egg" before eating it with trinket spoons. Louis XV should have recognized he was focused on beheading too much and creating a bit of bad karma.  (Actually they found egg cups in the ruins of Pompeii so it must have made sense to them also.)  The mirror above these socialite-esque, delicate egg eaters was aged and enormous and tilted downward so that the floor and action of waiters' feet, the daylight streaming through the windows, and even the people like us sitting at tables across the floor were reflected.  Nick immediately noted that this effect made him feel dizzy and like he was sitting on a ship.  Our waiter, who had only recently started working at the restaurant agreed and said he hadn't yet adjusted to that detail.  

Nick and the bread rack.

Not only was that feature of the restaurant worthy of talking about... there was a tall rack of bread on the other side of Nick's head and it was quite difficult for me to focus on his eyes as we were chatting about this and that.  It was crusty bread that begged to be clinched and broken and stuffed into a watering mouth to satisfy a starving tummy.  Fangs were forming- I was transforming and had to concentrate on remaining seated.  Deep down I wanted to hurdle Nick Olympic style and full body thrust myself into the bread rack.  I was imagining the loaves falling on me and me tossing them around like movie characters do so annoyingly with money. (I hate that. Who tosses money around on hotel beds? Count that shit and stash it! That's what I'm sayin'.)  Luckily for me, and Nick, the waiter returned with cappuccinos and our order was filled and placed at our table soon after.  Nick's choice: Omelette with Gruyere and Potatoes. My choice: Roasted Pepper and Caramelized Onion Quiche with Mixed Greens.  It was an appropriate start to the day and to our adventure that was going to be jammed full of deliciousness and ambiance.

For me!

For Nick!

For both!

After shopping in the standards like Banana Republic and Anthropologie (where I found the cutest journal- leather free!) we moseyed through Dean & Deluca to admire things like olives, chocolates, and the largest assortment of salt I've seen to date. 

Nick perched while I shopped.

Even Aveda made our shopping list as we thought it very important to not discriminate genres- mainstream retail to one of a kind boutique, clothes to food to shampoo.  We are equal opportunity shoppers. Hey, we even eyed a SoHo Psychic offering a 10 dollah special and considered it!  I took a peek in the door and there she was (the psychic) giving her reading at a round table draped in fabric (she was draped and so was the table) looking exactly as you imagine she would look- sans the crystal ball.  I walked out and giggled and we passed the offer.  Tempting, but no thanks.  I'll stick to John Edwards.  Who knows though... she probably has a 100% accuracy rate considering the real estate she keeps!  But, I could have told her my future and been correct.  I was beginning my trip of dreams and it was going to rock my world!  I was going to meet the city I want to live in.  I was going to cry happy tears simply because my body, my mind, and my soul was in a location on Earth that offered what they craved.  I was going to feed myself, all of myself, all of my senses and relish in every aspect of information I was bringing in being beyond my expectations of what I considered beautiful in life.  (That will be 10 dollah please.)

Salt selection at Dean&Deluca. 

Later in the afternoon, when we decided it was time to dine again, I sat next to some children eating sushi with chopsticks and enjoyed my mixture of greens and sprouts and all sorts of raw, probiotic goodies I didn't know how to pronounce.  It felt like life-giving richness with every bite.  Honestly, it was better than chocolate.  It met a need for organic, natural foods in my body.  The day was going to continue into the next without sleep and I was fueling up on the good stuff.  I admired the children by me too.  Their habits and healthiness was refreshing compared to so many kids filling up on fast, fried food. I nearly hugged them from pride, but realized how inappropriate that would be and smiled at them instead.

loving life!

After our day on the streets in SoHo and TriBeCa (where we tend to spend our days in NYC and usually stay) we headed back toward our hotel, Marriott Downtown in the financial district and right by the World Trade Center Buildings past and present, stopping to hang out in Battery Park first.  Here we yacht gazed, watched frolicking people, playful children, many runners, many dogs and lots of financial people going about their business.  We laid on the ground to absorb the weather like the New Yorkers and I played with a flirty butterfly.  Who outgrows that?  Nobody.  When they come a dancin'... join.  The butterfly's wing beat is like the human's heart beat.  Just ask Deepak Chopra.

Butterfly!

  

To the hotel.  Talk to this one, tip this one.  Talk to that one, tip that one.  Sit.  Retrieve bags, tip for bags.  Bag man hands bags to doorman, tip doorman.  Doorman hands bags to driver, tip, tip, tip.  Better have cash in the USA.  Jobs based on tips exist everywhere.  And I am a sucker and feel like a grade A ass if I have no cash.  That's my rap.  Eminem, you can have that paragraph.   
(But, I shouldn't have to write these words in a rhythm for him to know it's a rap, right? haha. I'm not afraid. (Hopefully you know I'm semi-quoting him.)       


The nicest man drove us to the airport from our hotel.  It's often easier to take a car, in this case it was a suv, rather than a taxi to the airport.  Especially depending on the time of day. I've experienced the taxi shift change exactly when I needed to get to the airport.  Not a good feeling.  I finally found an empty cab and the driver broke his rules and took me all the way out to the airport any way.  Wouldn't you know that on that occasion my flight was late, then later, then finally cancelled and I had to get another taxi to a hotel.  I went back to the SoHo Grand and they presented me with champagne (I think it's standard) since I was checking in so late and getting up so early and had that look on my face.  But, I gulped that sucker and walked the streets... they're always awake.  I also shared my table during that delay in the airport lounge with a Ford agency make-up artist that was trying to get to Miami.  He gave me the scoop on Oil of Olay's huge transformation prior to the marketing campaign.  It was interesting.  He also told me that jump roping was his biggest beauty secret. All in all, it wasn't a terrible evening.  Anyway, we chatted with this driver about how he lived in New Jersey and how he knew no one wanted to live in New Jersey, but the difference in real estate prices isn't a matter of wants for him.  He was pleasant and our commute was swift.  We exited the vehicle curbside and we were so early we cruised through to the security scare tactic area that I so vocally find absolutely wasteful seeing as it doesn't work- statistically- and only causes paranoia and cancer.  Get a couple of dogs and use metal detectors.  That will do the job better than these expensive and toxic machines that only fill orders for some Washington homeboy and his company.  They use K9s anyway on planes and when they are serious about finding anything.  In war they use them, in emergencies they use them.  They are the best.  They do not discriminate.  And they are intimidating.  A criminal cannot fool a dog because they sense and reason and use their intuition like a laser beam. Like I said in the entry prior to this that story-line-wise backs up to this one, the lad next to me at the gate found his kitchen knife in his backpack and almost threw up.  It was a mistake and here he was, dressed like a gothic punk, sitting on the other side of mostly uneducated, unreasonable, power-tripped-out "officials" that would lock him up for days and probably ruin his entire life with secret asterisks next to his name on his passport.  What was he supposed to do now?  He went to a police man, not the security man.  He tried to find someone who was hopefully trained in dealing with citizens in a respectful and peaceful way.  I should've kept up with him to see if he made it to his plane, but I got sidetracked with my own attempt at noise control from airport chaos.  Later I will give my international airport/customs review report.  Now, I'd like to remain positive, so I'll promptly board the plane with you.

Air Portugal!  It was splendid.
The stewardesses and stewards were over-the-top nice.  I had forgotten what that felt like on an airplane.  They used words like please and thank you very much and welcome.  We boarded when our zone was called and I watched Nick's seat-finding anticipation fizzle as we located our row and found.... the middle three seats of the plane... and he has the middle seat!  Hahaha.  I told him I'd win the aisle seat and I did.  I totally made him suffer too.  He sat down trying to invent room for his body and trying his best to laugh and not scowl at me.  He looked uncomfortable (understatement).  Then came the kicker.  Another Nick-like, young guy came to our row and confirmed his seat was the one on the other side of Nick's elbow.  You should have seen Nick's face when he turned to look at me.  He mocked what this guy was thinking aloud to me, "Really?  Really?  You're going to do that?  It's going to be you I sit by and not her? Nice."  His sarcastic tone is one of perfection, by the way.  I just shook my head as a reply saying, "Yeh, that sucks.  I hope you don't fall asleep on him."  Both of the guys formed a DaVinci 'V', leaning away from the other so obviously.  It was priceless and I made him sweat it out past take off and until I needed to use the restroom.  His glee over my offer to sit in the middle was cute.  The other guy on my left was nice too.  I gave him my chocolate bars that came with our dinner and we were friends from then on.  

More distinctions about this flight.  Europeans, from my experience in observing them, stand up and socialize on airplanes.  They do this and walk around for exercise and laugh and make friends.  No one tries to tackle them and demand they sit or else. And not only are the plane employees kind, but they give you wine and encourage many refills at no charge.  Then, they give you edible food!  I am a fan of Air Portugal.  Even though I did not sleep a wink and my feet had stingers in them (something I had never experienced before. ouch!) I liked the flight.  Their instructional videos were funny and instead of avoiding cliché's of certain personality types they poked fun at them and exaggerated them to make points while being funny and light hearted. I got the impression that no one was going to file a law suit too- that's a plus.

Sneaking sips from Nico's wine glass.

Fast forward to landing.  
Smooth  Easy.  Clapping all around.
Porto's airport was modern, clean, and hassle-free with pure water dispensers for your enjoyment. Little things like pure water go a long way, don't they?!

This is as far as I got in Portugal, unfortunately.  It was a connector.
I sat looking out at the runway and the docked planes with Nick by my side.  Neither of us had sleep and neither of us felt really tired.  The next stop was our most anticipated of all.  I was prepared to fall in love.