My Last Night in Lisbon

This evening, my last in Lisbon until early next year, was spent consuming pizza, red wine and a sunset from the balcony of a penthouse apartment overlooking the 25 de Abril Bridge and the Santuário de Cristo Rei monument with some of the lovely people I work with and a gorgeous Golden Retriever named Mopac.

I’m ready for home, but Lisbon’s not making my exit an easy one.

Porch Coffee

After five draining but delightful days spent in Portugal’s capital city, we head back to the States tomorrow morning.

Although there are a great many things I’ve enjoyed about Lisbon, the thing I’ll miss most is what Laura and I have come to lovingly call “porch coffee”. Both of our hotel rooms, one stacked on top of the other a single floor apart, have balconies that open out toward Avenida da Liberdade, a main boulevard in the center of town. Every morning since we arrived we’ve taken turns hosting the other for morning “porch coffee” on the balcony, a tradition consisting of tiny cups of Nespresso, whatever miniature pastries we can abduct from the lobby’s stash and sleepy small talk.

One thing I will not miss, however, is my balcony’s alternate use: laundromat.

In Defense of the 30-Second Dance Party

I was experiencing a fair amount of dread about heading back to work after a gloriously chill long weekend on Tuesday so I decided to stall said return, albeit briefly, on my way out of the house.

“30-second dance party?” I asked Bevan, who was nestled on the sofa reading the paper, Buddy and Ellie asleep next to him.

“Okay,” he responded, no questions asked.

A moment later Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” was spilling out from the living room speaker and Bevan got up and we got to it. For the half-minute that followed we busted moves and belted lyrics, scooting to the side whatever the day had in store for us. When the 30 seconds were up we were both breathing a bit harder but grinning pretty damn hard, too. Off I went then, out into the world feeling those fresh-off-the-dance-floor feels.

It Never Changes

Jamie sent me these yesterday.

They were snapped at her wedding reception, which took place at a lodge on a mountaintop in Oregon on the first day of June. Initially I looked at the pictures and thought “My head looks huge and shiny, probably cuz my shirt’s so tiny.” (Yeah, I think in rhymes, what up?) But someday, likely far sooner than I can even fathom now, I’ll look at them and think “Wow, I had hair! And teeth! And no gut! And oh my goodness that baby blue suit! God I loved that suit! I got it on that rainy day shopping adventure in London with Bevan and Chris! And there’s Jeremy and Saph! Goodness it’s been forever! I really should give them a call!”

I also appreciate how well the photos capture Bevan, like really capture him, even though they only show part of his face. When he and I are on a dance floor together, any dance floor, he gets this full-body smile and I can tell, even without seeing it, that he’s wearing it in those pictures, that smile he reserves just for me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

“The best thing about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people in it do.”
Andy Warhol

Also, I don’t have a butt. I’m saying that, too.