One woman's ceiling is another woman's floor . . .

We live in a fabulous neighborhood. It's along the coast and we are about a 15 minute walk to the beach. While we do have lots of hotels and visitors, this neighborhood is nestled between two bigger and better-known tourist areas so it's relatively calm for a holiday destination and traffic is not a problem. This community has more of a "village" feel to it, which I really enjoy. We have everything you need within walking distance: restaurants, coffee shops where the waiters know me and say "bom dia" and bring me my bica and mini bola berlim sem creme without my asking, banks, grocery stores, post office, dry cleaners - all the necessities of life.

This area was once full of wealthy people living in stately homes with plenty of room for the live-in staff. While only a few of these mansions remain (even after having been converted into apartments), it's still considered a good neighborhood and is full of charm. (You can just imagine that I like a bit of that!) And almost everyday I actually say (out loud), "I love it here!"

So it is coming from this perspective that I was surprised to see a "for sale" sign on the balcony of one of the upstairs apartments in my building. The woman whose apartment is for sale said that she hasn't been happy one day in her apartment or this neighborhood. She said that she is a "simple person" and that most of the people who live in this neighborhood are snobs.

I'm shocked. She's lived here for 23 years - that's a big chunk out of one's life. As I thought about this, I can only hope that she somehow feels that she "needs" to find a reason to move closer to her daughter. Oftentimes it's hard for us to make a change and we feel that we have to "justify" our choices so we indulge in negative thoughts which then warrant action. I hope that her flat sells soon, that she settles somewhere near her daughter in a neighborhood full of friendly faces and that one day she can look back on her time spent here in Mt. Estoril and smile.

In the meantime, I'm repainting the built-ins that I never finished painting before we moved in, and I'm listening to Jimmy Buffet, grinning ear to ear, and feeling lucky to be here!

Go figure - one woman's ceiling really is another woman's floor . . .

How does your garden grow?

Remember this old nursery rhyme?

Mary, Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow?

With cats, of course!

To Catch A Thief. . .

In 2008 I was fortunate enough to travel to 2 amazing places - Dubai (UAE) and Morocco. This Dubai thing was a once in a lifetime work opportunity and Morocco, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Portugal, has been on my list for quite some time now. But life is full of lots of ups and downs and when I returned home from Morocco last July I discovered that I had been robbed. Any jewelry that was valuable was taken, including Luis' watch. While there weren't any Fabrege eggs among my trinkets, I had a few nice pieces including a ring that my mother had left me. All gone, just like that.

The pisser is that we had had the locks changed earlier in the year and NOONE had a key to the apartment. We didn't have a housekeeper or even a friend or relative who had an extra key (just in case we locked ourselves out). Nor had anyone been left alone in the house long enough to rummage through our things - no painter, cable guy, chimney sweep, delivery boy/girl, repair person, NOONE. There were no signs of forced entry either. We live on the 2nd floor so it would be pretty tricky (not to say conspicuous) breaking into a window that high up on a quiet residential street.

Nope, it was someone we knew (I knew) and (for all intents and purposes) trusted. It was someone who I invited into my life, into my home. The only person who had the occasion was a work colleague who lived nearby. When the need arose we fed each other's cats, watered plants and brought in the mail as "neighbors" often do. She had full access to my place while I was travelling. At some point during my absence she had the time to calmly and quietly rifle through my belongings and help herself to pieces of my life. There was a story and a memory attached to each article that made it a treasure.

The policeman we spoke with said that most burglaries were committed by someone you know and most cases remain unsolved and unpunished. We confronted the person we suspected and she denied any involvement. As we had no concrete proof (who would have thought that I needed a nanny-cam), we chose not to pursue the matter legally. Gotta say that that didn't make it any easier though. It was hard seeing her at work and I am glad that she will not be returning to school this coming year and is moving out of my neighborhood.

There's no moral to this story. There's no happy ending either. There's no advice that I can offer to guard against this. But while I do know that you can't live your life protecting yourself against all of the what if's, I still haven't haven't replaced any of the missing pieces . . .