Life's a Stitch

Porto is a charming city of 235,000, but if you count the metro region it has a population of 1.5 million. Although it attracts throngs of tourists, it's worth a visit. Still on vacation we ate our way and drank good wine through the historic areas of town. 

We stayed in the highly recommended "Trendy Oporto Apartments," about a 12 minute walk to the Cathedral, where we obtained our pilgrim passports and located the first arrows of the Camino. 

 C was in his element touring two port caves, one better than the other. The Callem cave is supposedly the only Portugeuse founded brand, and their product is excellent. Then we visited the Real Companhia Velha caves, founded in the 1700's, also Portugeuse owned. 

He still sports his Hemmingway persona from last year's Camino, wearing the winter liner from my Dad's WW2 navy hat. It would have been perfect in Basque Country last September.

I judge port by its flavour and character as well as headache potential and Callem was high on the first two qualities with no after effects. Mind you, we were given a limited amount of 3-4 ounces at each winery. RCV, on the other hand, rated lower on the first two and for me, had a higher headache factor. One difference bwtween the two is that RCV's grapes are totally crushed by human feet rather than machine. Coincidence? This is written for Blogless Marsha, who given her limited, but negative history with port wine, would never cross the threshold of a port tasting room. Hmmm, maybe grape crushing technique makes the difference,

We have a tendency, when spending multiple nights in a city, to patronize a good restaurant on more than one occasion rather than take our chances on others. This time it was Estrela de Orient. After a long day and approaching the hangry stage, we saw what we thought was a Chinese restaurant. Appearing to be family run, the menu was not what we were expecting, definitely more  Portugeuse in style. We feasted on duck leg with fire roasted fruit for the bargain price of e9.50.

Back we went for takeaway the next night, then to be disappointed when they were closed the third evening. I guess they deserve a well earned night off. 

We agree that we are now ready end our stint as tourists and begin the pilgrim phase.

The packed red eye flight out of Toronto put us in Lisbon, the oldest European city, even older than Rome. A charming touch are the buildings sided in hand painted ceramic tile, many intact over centuries. I wonder why North America hasn't adopted this building material rather than siding that needs eventual replacing. I remember seeing undamaged ceramic tile in the Roman Forum, a testament to its durability. I guess we've taken it a step closer at home with the popularity of fibre cement boards. Not quite the same charm factor, though if it were on my house, I'd probably choose a solid colour, but that would have looked out of place hundreds of years ago. This church, actually in Porto, is an extreme example:

These are the houses outside our window in Porto:

Those first 24 hours were spent in a haze of heat (102F/39C) and jetlag. Glad we had visited Lisbon before and seen the sights, as this time was just a stopover.

Stop two was Fatima, on our way to tiny Serra Santo Antonio, where we stayed in the house of a friend's mother, located on the fringe of a national forest. 

The shrine on Fatima is the location of a series of apparitions of Mary, the mother of Jesus, to three local children in the 1920's. The story is complicated, but the actual site, home of the documented miracles, is a place of emotion and deep faith.

The town of Fatima thrives on the vast site of the shrine, which includes three large churches, the chapel of the apparition and a huge enclosed fireplace where people place candles or wax figures in hopes of their own miracle, healing or as an act of thanks. Outside the gates you can buy many forms of wax figurine or body part. 

Although the endpoint for Fatima pilgrims, it was a perfect spot to begin the contemplation in preparation of a second pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago. The first mass I attended included a pilgrim blessing, although in Portuguese, it was a nice way to begin this journey. 

With limited wifi access, I'm writing with the intention of posting when internet is available, please excuse the delay. This was written on September 4th:

We sorted, disposed of, or packed everything we owned. We boxed most of our lives into storage jokingly agreeing to be nice to each other because a packed up house and money in the bank might provide an easy exit strategy for those so inclined.

"Camping" for a few nights in our crumbling and leaky new home, it took a total of three hours to come to the realization that it was worth the effort to land in the town of our long shared dreams. A walk score of 92, most everything we need can be found on foot with far fewer rainy days than in the rain forest location of our previous neighbourhood.

We celebrated with friends, inviting them to view the "before" house. And now, on a soon to be demolished water stained wall, hang our floor plans, the collaborative effort of our naive ideals and realistic but accommodating and very talented local builder and designer. 

So, to put an end to the madness of moving, I'm writing this while flying over the Atlantic to hopefully complete our second route on the Camino de Santiago. All the stress of the past months assuaged by the opportunity for another pilgrimage of gratitude. 

As soon as you seal a box another item will appear that belongs in said box. Wait for me, wait for me, says the reference book, I don't want to go into storage with the kid's books.

After the garbage is collected, the one with that bin that holds a beloved children's book missing a few pages, those pages will reappear, neatly stapled together having waited years to join their book. Oopsie.

And immediately after the Big Brothers donation truck comes to pick up reuseable items, stuff appears to fill another half dozen cartons.

I've kept U Haul in business. I found a receipt, dated in March, for packing boxes. Have I really been doing this for six months? A major move goes through phases: in the first you methodically sort like items for packing. By the end you shove anything together into the same box, only requirement being that they fit. We're also at the end eating-wise, dinner is carry out, salad from a bag, or fast food. Every night.

I remind myself this is the privilege of the first world. An embarrassment of riches. A 24kt problem. I remember the book, Material World: a Global Family Portrait, that featured photographs of families from over the world, standing outside their dwelling with all their possessions. That was an eye-opener. I have no room to complain, this  being culturally and self inflicted.

Today I packed up the art supplies, a small amount to accompany me in our next 18 months of drifting. This is the last painting I finished, a portrait of dear Ms. Gracee. We had many good times in this house. 

The majority of our possessions are going into a shipping container for at least 18 months, while our "new" house is waiting for permits prior to being rebuilt requiring a huge amount of stuff sorting. For me the items that are hardest to leave behind are made of paper: photos, letters, invitations, announcements, tickets, programs, the kid's artwork, my newspaper columns, certificates and diplomas… These minuscule pieces of paper, toted along for over 40 years and now in the trash, gave us an moment of entertainment particularly in regard to the pricing:

 Two things have aided in this monumental task:

1. I allowed myself a treasure chest, a rubbermaid container that I can fill with whatever items of paper deemed keepable.
2. Take a picture: some things are easier to get rid of if I take a photo prior to discarding.

Here's someone we're leaving behind: 
C had warned me that there was a bear wandering around. I had my phone for an impromptu photo just in case, but I didn't expect to meet him so up close and personal when I went out the front door. He wasn't interested in me, but I could see and smell his breath while he lumbered past, down our walk and up into the neighbour's yard. 

As our house is being torn down shortly after our exit, we have permission to take the plantings of our choice. Our new location features an easy care lot, perfect for our retirement, but sadly there is no room for our 12" tall palm trees. In anticipation of an eventual move we planted two Japanese maples in containers, easier to transfer. We've found a unique way to take items from our garden while repurposing small items that we technically need to get rid of. Two things in particular were difficult to throw out: a chipped mug I bought my mother while in Rome when I was 14 and a teapot, also bearing chips. Chuck dug up some of our dependable hens and chicks and voila, the damaged containers as well as part of the the garden will accompany us to the new place:

And then things keep arriving, just prior to our exit. Bryant has brought home a replacement for the huge motorhome of two posts ago. 

This one consists of an ex-RCMP truck: a 2000 Chevy with 137,000K and a 1978 camper, manufactured before his dad and I met. That puts it into perspective. At least it's going in the right direction in the spirit of downsizing as well as motherly anguish.

Moving after 18 years in our home, raising kids and providing living and storage space to many of their friends, is a full time job. I told C that at times I've felt far more stress in this experience than I ever felt in the job from which I retired. It's almost enough to send a person back to the land of the employed.

This post will cover the top three highlights, all of equal importance:

Daughter M, between jobs, came to our rescue accompanied by partner KC, and roommate, Devin. They commandeered plans for a garage sale. sorting through closets and setting up the 10×30 pink party tent as a mini department store: health and beauty, toys, clothes, housewares, books… Fortunately there was no maternity department as, unlike other items, I was wise enough not to hang onto those clothes for 26 years. My stuff busters changed the online ads daily, afterwards getting most of what remained hauled away for free. All in all a successful process.

Next, we were visited by a member of our Camino family, fellow pilgrim, Diego from Mexico. 

A chef with a high end cruise line, this is the guest everyone loves to have. He and KC worked together on a fabulous meal of Indian food, starting with Diego's Whisk-tea, black tea, clementine and peach juice, fortified with whiskey:

The next morning he cooked a fancy version of huevos rancheros, complete with roasted veggie salsa:

Notice the vintage Corelle dish? I threw out all my chipped and scratched good dishes and am filling in with old Corelle, pulled from the garage sale. Love the weight of them.

So sorry to see him go, but Diego renewed my Camino anticipation and I'm looking forward to the next phase of the pilgrimage in Portugal. 

Finally, remember B's RV from my last post, the one that was causing me considerable maternal angst? It's been sold!! Excuse my enthusiasm embellished with double exclamation points. In consideration of their future plans, and working on all the interior updates, B and S decided that the beginning of the summer provided the best opportunity for resale. It was sold in two days proving any type of residence is a hot item in the Vancouver market.

Tomorrow we get the keys to our "new" house and on Tuesday we meet with the builder. Way too much excitement around here. 

I've written about my variety of roles since my girls moved out, leaving me in an house of men. From fraternity house mom to Burning Mom, I've now been dubbed the Trailer Park Mom. I try not to let it get to me as there is a natural end date to this predicament and I'm sure the neighbours have not called bylaws with complaints because they, too, are aware of our moving date.

It gets worse, as C, in his paradoxical energies of frustration with packing and wanting to support his son's creative endeavours, pulled out B's effects from the shed and laid them across that part of our yard, a carpet of junk. 

As of this evening the art car is gone and the RV leaves shortly, destination Merritt's Bass Coast festival.

They did do a good job pulling the RV's interior together:

I don't like living in this mass disorganization coupled with the fear that they don't have a clue what they are doing, somewhat balance by a sense that the end in in sight. A vicous cycle of terror vs relief, but isn't that what being the mom of a creative type boy is all about?

It's happening again. We are grateful to be able to be dreaming about our second Camino route this September, after the house is sold and we begin our phase of drifting. This time it will be the Camino Portugues, walking from the north of Lisbon to Santiago, Spain including a side trip to the shrine at Fatima. Hopefully, a pilgrimage, just in time for a necessary boost to our sense of patience while waiting for building permits for our house and the next stage of our retirement. 

We'll walk from south to north instead of east to west. We had read this about the French route we walked the first time: "The popular Spanish name for the astronomical Milky Way is El Camino de Santiago. According to a common medieval legend, the Milky Way was formed from the dust raised by traveling pilgrims. Compostela itself means "field of stars"." What an appropriate introduction to one of the little Milky Way paintings I recently finished:

Time for these feet to create more dust although the Camino in Portugal involves a lot more cobblestone and boardwalk as compared to the last one.