e is away....: Força Portugal!

An alert blog reader has informed me that there has not been a blog since January. Since it is now July, I will try finally to write something down. First stop after crazy town Miami was Comporta- a chic bohemian beach town about an hour south of Lisbon with very attractive architecture: contemporary takes on straw huts, and houses filled with African art. It has none of the Mc Mansion vibe of Quinta do Lago where I am now.

In Comporta there are lovely dunes with beach restaurants, and fewer golf courses or tennis centers. Last time we were there (see previous blog with green pool), I remarked that the visitors were chic French people or middle aged Lisboners who seemed to be in love after many years of marriage.

We rented a nice house last year with the idea of quarantining here before seeing the Wehlens; they did not take a refund, so we went this year (ACB had business in Geneva so the whole gang came along). The house overlooks these large rice fields- a 10 minute bike ride to the beach. Our basic routine was no routine, eight people all of whom woke at different times, ate different breakfasts, exercised at different hours, and had widely different opinions on drip vs espresso. F and Hanna seemed partial to a quiet relaxing breakfast a deux in town charged on my card, while Kate and Charlie played things more by ear. I don't have much to say on Comporta other than it is stylish and wonderful and you should all visit.

Everything was made more poignant of course by this horrible pandemic, and we all noticed little things more acutely: Margaret said after she heard us laughing as we played Around The World ping pong, that she thought every mile of the 6,000 miles traveled was worth it. I began noticing how little birds hop instead of walk, and that seemed to me as good a reason as any to get up in the morning.

I had plans to really hit the vacation ground running post vaccine; but the truth is it really won't be a hot vaxed summer for any of us. There are too many people dead to forget, and so many who can't get the shots, or worse, think it will interfere with the reception on their tin foil hats. In addition, it seems that staying inside for 18 months has aged most of us quite a bit and I am not sure the strength is coming back. So here chez Wehlen we are moving very slowly- as we hope liberal applications of sun and movement will coax us back to the way we were.

Thomas and I have a tendency to try to get people back up on their horses, to "force people to their happiness" as the Germans say. Many of our people do not appreciate this; but we are not deterred. Four out of five of us now go to the physical therapist twice a week. (C is the only abstainer); Thomas makes protein smoothies for his mother and makes her do her homework from the physio. In the evening we have "concerts" in the car to keep the synapses firing-last night was Paul Simon (whom they loved), followed by Eminem. They say they don't understand what Eminem is saying, but "he seems serious about it". Every evening we say to each other that we should leave them alone and let them live their day without our coaching; and every day we forget.

As usual we play tennis and go to the gym (hence the need for physical therapy) and I have added lap swims in an attempt to get better at swimming. Thomas agreed to look at my stroke and just couldn't resist walking back and forth along the pool like the coach he is. As happens every year, I worry that we are supposed to be in Portugal but see mostly tennis courts. All this constant activity is very un-Comporta where the ethos is more geared toward long lunches and fewer knee bends.

The two big changes we see around here are there are noticeably more rolls royces and padel tennis is now the thing the hip elderly are playing. The cars are difficult to explain- there was always the occasional Lamborghini driven by a soccer player, but now there is one after the other of these ridiculous Rolls Royces- they seem so out of place by the beach. I guess enough people came down here during Covid and the cars (and dogs!) came too. The padel tennis is not the same sport that one plays on the roof of the QM2; that is paddle, and this is padel. This kind is played in mostly Latin countries and the ball can be played off of the glass wall. It looks ridiculous, but the players are mucho serous about it- and have headbands and fancy rackets cases like a professional tennis player lugs around Wimbledon only these are tiny. We are both very tempted to try it and happy scoffing at them from the sidelines.

We are hoping to put a few pounds on F after his last hellish semester in which he took four classes (the average number people take is three) while doing his research project. Margaret was quite astonished at the sight and set about getting calories into him even if it meant taking food out of her own children's mouths. Below is what we will refer to as the "before" photo. I shall post an after if any progress is made.

Is any one else suffering from existential dread this summer? (Asking for a friend). Uncle T seemed sure this would be like the summer of 67 in the Haight Ashbury- all joy and babes from out of town.

I feel more like the ground hog who is not sure he wants to come out. Outside is so bright- the earth is either burning or flooding, and everyone seems so fragile. Were human bones always this breakable?

I want to be like those suburbanites in the 50s who were happy mowing their lawns; not a thought given to heat waves or cancer. But because this blog aims above all else to raise the level of its readers sleep quality; it will henceforth add a section: "Tidbits of Astrophysics that are so mind bending, one cannot help but think it is all going to be ok." (TFATASMOCHBTIIAGTBO; aka: TFATOK).

Stay tuned loyalists...In the meantime. just concentrate on the very smallest things- not the backhand but the angle of the wrist while hitting it; not the flower, but the cute bug walking on it; not the bird, but its song.

TFATOK!