Dangermond.org

When we arrived at the Ambassador’s house, his housekeeper greeted us to open the big wrought iron gates. She was confused at first and said to us in perfect Spanish, “There is only one bed?” and we said “Great!” Till that moment we had been sleeping in the typical European king which is two twins pushed together and a crack the size of the Grand Canyon in between. In Lisbon, the front desk clerk had said in Portuguese, “Duos camas?” – and I said no, one bed. But what she meant was a king is two beds and that is what we had.

I was walking this morning in this marvelous weather we are having in New Orleans right now – a welcome cool front – through City Park looking around, enchanted by the moss on the trees. Grooving to the light and feel of being back home. Keeping my eye on Loca who had been at super sonic energy speed since I went to see Mom first at 6AM and Loca had to wait an hour for me to come back.

I kept saying over and over, “A rose by any other name is still a rose.”

I don’t know why I was saying this but I was thinking about how people react to seeing two women together. The rasta bartender in Bairro Alto in Lisbon whose name was Ruir kept telling us over and over how many lesbian friends he had and how happy he was we were in his bar and how nice looking we both are – he was being genuine and not creepy. We went into the bar near midnight, he was just unlocking it; all the other places were packed with people spilling into the streets; it was his Cuban Afro music that drew us in. We sat near the entrance in cool modern white chairs and people kept cruising by and looking in at us and doing a double take. One guy stopped and asked if he could take a photograph of us. We smiled for him and raised our glasses in a toast.

Love by any other name – lesbian, homosexual, same-sex – is still love.

We got a call about a potential baby while we were on our way back to Spain. Another family had dropped out and the woman is due in a month. Our hearts swelled and then before we could respond she had chosen another family. I read a Saramago book on the way over – All the Names – he’s a Portuguese author and I’ve missed his other books that I’ve been meaning to read. I then moved over to Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar – which I thoroughly enjoyed. I bought his newer version of the same travel in the airport in Chicago on the way home. But in the first, while he is in Vietnam, it is 1975 and the war is still going – we forget about these major events in light of our recent major events – Vietnamese women kept trying to give him American babies that were left behind – spoils of war.

People are trying to give babies to people who don’t want them. People are having babies who don’t want them. Those who want them walk around with light arms, waiting and waiting. Someone in my family called me today and said, “I don’t know why you want one of these.” She has two who are giving them hell.

Whatyagonnado?

Down here in New Orleans we used to have Hurricane Parties – these were when a hurricane was approaching, everyone would bring all the food from their refrigerator and eat and drink and make merry. We don’t do that much anymore. In England, I heard while traveling, they are having Swine Flu parties – where everyone comes and someone who has it comes and they all get infected so they can build up immunities.

There are more Spanish visiting Spain’s coast this summer than ever! 300,000 Brits stayed behind. The recession is the reason. Hail hail the recession!

I met a woman who was thrilled to meet me. She’d never met a Jew she told me. She said she heard we don’t go out at night. I assured her we do.

Tatjana tells me a shortcut to get back to our town. She is a backseat driver. We are 8 kilometers away and I pull off to her shortcut. She’s proud of herself since she can’t read a map and is geographically challenged. (I am too, but she makes me look good.)

An hour and a half later through an overgrown tree-covered winding road up and down and around a mountain we arrive to our town on the coast.

This scenic route, beautiful, undiscovered, fecund and pleasurable – much like our journey, which is the trip.

Upoznaj svoju zemlju da bije vise volio.

In other words, learn about your country so you can love it more.

In the square in Caminha, we sat having a beer and a glass of vinho verde at a cafe at dusk and watched people and read. Two girls of around eight were chasing pigeons near the fountain. They looked almost like twins as they both had waterfall ponytails in the top of their head. One picked up a feather and stuck it in her hair and the other followed. Then they marched all around the square cupping their mouth and blowing as if they were Native Americans. Tatjana looked up from her book and said, “How much pleasure can one feather bring?”

Sitting at a cafe in Ceivera, north of Caminha. I was enjoying a glass of vinho verde made by the owners brought to me in a small glass carafe. It was crisp and delicious the way all wine should be that is young and of the region. All around me were families eating – Portuguese both local and from other parts. They all drank from cans of Lipton Iced Tea.

I left New Orleans after mom had been in ICU for a month because the prognosis was she was going to have to go into a long-term care facility and that was only after she had been on the acute floor, the skilled nursing floor, the whatever floor and I knew that it was going to be a long haul. Wow, I still can’t believe I left, but it was so good I went. For me, anyway.

We were scheduled to return on the 22nd and I had been receiving email updates from my family, phone messages from the doctor, and I had routinely called in. Mom was progressing – not greatly, but not poorly. She ended up needing a trach, but she was able to wean completely off the vent except for it being used to help her expand her lungs. But the thinking was she would get stronger and eventually not need the vent and the trach could be closed.

She was transferred to the acute floor out of ICU on the 19th. On the 20th, calmly in her room, her heart went nuts and she basically died on the table until they shocked her back to life. Code Blue. She went back to ICU and I saw her this morning and she was doing remarkably well but still has so much ahead of her.

She mouthed many things I couldn’t understand but she kept saying Jose, Jose, Jose. My father’s name. And then she’d open her eyes real big in a weird way. I asked, “Did you dream of dad?” She shook her head no. Then she opened her eyes real wide and mouthed “JOSE” – and I said, “Do you see Jose?” She mouthed with big round eyes, “NO, HE’S DEAD.”

My father died on August 20th – twenty four years ago. He wanted to be buried in Israel – my brothers refused to comply – at the synagogue for services, the torah that my brothers had paid for tumbled out of the arc from behind thick velvet curtains and rolled down to where the rabbi was speaking at the bima.

Freaky weird stuff goes on.