Coffee Afternoons

We do love a good cup of coffee.  Timberyard is new and lively and perfect in every way (as long as you get a window seat and aren't forced to the basement.  London does basements well: they're always warm and well-appointed, but a basement is a basement.  I don't like 'em).

A Return to Love

I still watch Oprah as much as I possibly can and when she interviewed Marianne Williamson about her book, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of a "Course in Miracles", I was drawn to her.  The Kindle edition of the book was about £10, which is an insane price to pay for any book, but then "miraculously" went on offer for some ridiculously low price.  I'm sure this meant it was meant to be.  I snapped it up and didn't put it down for some time.  I made some notes on what I felt were the key points and would like to share what I learned...

Four golden nuggets:

"You are a magnificent creature with an abundance of love and power to give."


"You awaken to your own perfection through your desire to see the perfection in someone else."

"I could choose to see others through a generous, trusting nature."

"Forgiveness is the only sane response."

About living in the past (something I always so earnestly try not to do, but find it so, so comforting):

"Past, present, and future are not continuous, unless you force continuity upon them."

"By bringing the past into the present, we create a future just like the past."

About listening to the right part of yourself (and trying to quiet the voice that does not serve us as much):

"But the ego is relentless--it is capable of suspiciousness at best and viciousness at worst."

About my greatest fear in relationships (because if this isn't me all over, I don't know what is):

"I'm afraid to show you the real truth about myself --my fears, my weaknesses-- because I'm afraid that if you see them, you'll leave.  I'm assuming you're as judgemental as I am."

But then there is this, which I'm starting to wholeheartedly believe, though a bit later in life than I am proud of:

"If my husband or boyfriend heals with his past relationships, it only increases his capacity to love me from a healed and whole place.  The last woman in his life is not my competition.  She is my sister."

And in those moments when someone says something that's your trigger...something that boils your blood, isn't this precious to keep in the back of your head? 

"The devil does not lie in what he just said.  He is not the enemy.  The enemy is this feeling, which in the past has led me to attack or defend enough to make him feel exactly what I'm feeling he's feeling but he really isn't.  I can choose to see this differently.  This is my wall.  'This is it.  Right here.  There is where the sword enters my heart.  This is where I blow it every time.'"

About all those things you were never shown, never given as a child and how we use it as an excuse to never manifest those things in our lives NOW:

"If you recognise that something was not GIVEN to you in youth, GIVE IT TO SOMEONE ELSE now.  The choice to give what i haven't received is always an available option."

Leanne has this aversion to the expressions, "good girl" or "good boy" (similarly adverse to the opposing "bad girl" and "bad boy").  I'm not sure if it's only me now that has come to internalise this and make this my strife as well, but it's come to annoy me just as it has her all these years.  My interpretation of the disdain is that an action, a feeling, an emotion does not dictate who we are intrinsically.  If I do a good deed, that does not make me a good person.  My worth is not tied to an action.   

Likewise, a bad action, feeling, emotion does not make me a bad person.  Indeed, we are all intrinsically good: we are all born good.  It's true that a slew of bad actions, bad emotions, bad feelings can turn one into a bad person (after a loooong time), but a one-off certainly doesn't necessitate this same truth.  Thus, reading the next passage confirmed for me that my authentic self is not a nasty self; not an angry self; not a righteous self.  My authentic self is nice.  When I have moments of "bad feelings" they are only that: I've not morphed into some bad person.  Without further ado, 

"Just because we have an honest feeling, that doesn't mean it's who we honestly are.  My angry self is not the real me."

The book ends with a whirlwind of discussion about parents, Christmas, and Easter (what a mish-mash) and what these people and holidays symbolise in our everyday lives.  It was hard to follow, truthfully, and deeply rooted in Christian ideology.  I did, however, find this particularly interesting, as I've been a part of and have witnessed my family live this truth.  I suppose that as I work to become more enlightened, a process Williamson argues most of humanity is becoming more comfortable with, I shall bear this in mind, too:

"If we hold grievances against our mother, we will not be able to escape self-condemnation as we grow into womanhood."

Hope your summer reading is going well!

Summer Lovin'

This summer has been amazing.  On the last week of vacation, I can reflect back so fondly on the last six weeks.  We own our own house now, which means we're committed to ensuring that things keep improving every month or so.  The summer has meant time out on the back patio, reading and soaking in the sunshine.  It's been glorious.  Sometimes we get time off together...

But even in the rain, this guy is happy to be the king of his own castle ;)

Portuguese Tart

A few days before we left for Portugal, our long-planned summer vacation, I was entering our passport information on our flight provider's website.  Steven and Calum were up in the Lakes on a father-son trip and I noticed something horrendous: Steven's passport had expired in June.  For the love of God.  How many incidents surrounding visas and passports can one couple go through?!  

In a fury of activity, I called every agency and institution that I could think of: surely the fact that he's a UK citizen, an EU citizen means something?  Nothing.  It means nothing.  Grrrrreat.  

We rescheduled our flights for later on the same day we were originally scheduled to leave and he got a last-minute appointment for a new passport.  All went as it was supposed to and at long last, we were away.  Phew.

We stayed in Sao Rafael, a suburb of Albufeira.  

We traveled to Albufeira central on our second night and were not fans.  We opted to rent a car (thanks to the hotel across the street that sorted us RIGHT out, the Sao Rafael Atlantico), throwing my dreams of zipping around on a scooter into the wind.  On day three, we hopped over to Portimao for some fish dinner.     

...and popcorn ;)

We walked through the darkness to this local beachfront bar for a nightcap.  What a glorious place.

The next day, after a pair of workouts, we headed to Sagres, "the end of the world" or the most westerly point in Europe.  Good shout...

The man Steven is pointing to had a cat in his arms at the water's edge.  For some time.  Naturally we coined him Mr Bigglesworth.  

On the way home, we went to Salema for some dinner.

The next day, to Lagos, our favourite city visited together thus far, by far.  

Admittedly, we do love a shameless selfie.  Why not?

The next day, the mountains of Monchique.  Breathtaking.

The site of our first (and only) Portuguese tarts:

It was here that I decided I'd pluck a "raw olive" off the tree and see what it tastes like.  I bit into it and pulled it apart, keeping all the fruit out of my mouth.  Strange...it looked more like a grape than an olive.  Perhaps it was divine intervention that a German woman approached just then and shouted, "No!  These are not for eating!  They are poison even!"  Right.  Cue the drop of the offending "olive".  Steven's reaction:

Later though, my lips swelled up and a distinct red line could be seen just above my upper lip.  Perhaps not poisonous, but certainly reactive.  (Who eats things off trees when she doesn't know what kind of food it is?!  Lesson learned.)

On our way down the mountain, we popped into Caldes de Monchique, a little resort tucked in a scorching valley along the mountainside.  Amazing.

The service was terrible, as the place was overrun with tourists and the staff couldn't keep up.  We opted to leave and stop at a restaurant that had the following criteria:

• If its only patronage was by the elderly
• If when we walked in, everyone ignored us
• If the specials on the board were all in Portuguese
• and if the beer was €1,

this was the place for us.  We found it.  We had the best salad and Peri Peri chicken EVER, left feeling like we'd finally cracked the "dining out in Portugal" riddle: eat by the roadside.

Since we only rented the car for three days, it was back to our local beach for the remainder of the holiday.  

This little bar was part of the hotel I mentioned earlier.  A wedding marched right by us as we sat here.

 Finally, Portugal.  

Lagos, we'll be back.