The first morning in \u00d3bidos, I woke up before sunrise.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I didn't know where I was.<\/p>\n
Then I remembered.<\/p>\n
Portugal.<\/p>\n
The little house.<\/p>\n
The blue shutters.<\/p>\n
I lay in bed and listened.<\/p>\n
There were footsteps outside.<\/p>\n
A door opened.<\/p>\n
Someone called to another person.<\/p>\n
Then I heard the sound of a cart rolling over the cobblestones.<\/p>\n
I got up.<\/p>\n
I made coffee.<\/p>\n
I ate a piece of bread with cheese.<\/p>\n
Then I stood beside the kitchen window and looked out at the courtyard.<\/p>\n
I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.<\/p>\n
I had spent so many years waking up with a list of responsibilities that an empty morning felt almost uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
I thought about Derek.<\/p>\n
I thought about the children.<\/p>\n
I wondered whether Cassandra had managed to organize Christmas dinner.<\/p>\n
Then I stopped myself.<\/p>\n
I had come all this way.<\/p>\n
I wanted to enjoy it.<\/p>\n
I put on my coat and walked toward the bakery In\u00eas had recommended.<\/p>\n
The streets were narrow.<\/p>\n
The buildings were white.<\/p>\n
The shutters were painted blue.<\/p>\n
I passed a little shop selling postcards.<\/p>\n
I passed a woman carrying a basket.<\/p>\n
I passed two men standing outside a caf\u00e9, talking.<\/p>\n
Nobody knew who I was.<\/p>\n
Nobody knew that I had spent Thanksgiving cooking for twelve people.<\/p>\n
Nobody knew that my son had looked away when his wife insulted me.<\/p>\n
Nobody expected me to prepare dinner.<\/p>\n
I was simply a woman walking through a Portuguese town.<\/p>\n
I entered the bakery.<\/p>\n
The smell of fresh bread filled the room.<\/p>\n
I ordered coffee and a pastel de nata.<\/p>\n
Then I sat beside the window.<\/p>\n
I watched people come and go.<\/p>\n
A man greeted the woman behind the counter.<\/p>\n
A child pointed at something in the display.<\/p>\n
Someone laughed.<\/p>\n
I took a bite of the pastry.<\/p>\n
It was warm.<\/p>\n
The coffee was strong.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
Nothing special.<\/p>\n
But it felt special to me.<\/p>\n
I spent the rest of the morning walking through the streets.<\/p>\n
I photographed doorways.<\/p>\n
I looked at little shops.<\/p>\n
I stopped to admire flowers growing beside a wall.<\/p>\n
I bought a small notebook.<\/p>\n
I had brought a journal from home, but I wanted something that belonged to this trip.<\/p>\n
That afternoon, I sat in the courtyard and tried to paint the view from my bedroom window.<\/p>\n
I had packed watercolors.<\/p>\n
I hadn't used them in years.<\/p>\n
I dipped the brush into the blue paint.<\/p>\n
Then I looked at the window.<\/p>\n
I tried to draw the shutters.<\/p>\n
The first attempt was terrible.<\/p>\n
The lines were crooked.<\/p>\n
The colors ran together.<\/p>\n
I stared at the page.<\/p>\n
Then I laughed.<\/p>\n
It looked as though someone had dropped a blue towel into a bowl of soup.<\/p>\n
I turned the page.<\/p>\n
I tried again.<\/p>\n
The second painting wasn't much better.<\/p>\n
But I liked it.<\/p>\n
I liked sitting there with nothing to prove.<\/p>\n
I liked making mistakes without anyone watching.<\/p>\n
I liked the fact that nobody was waiting for me to finish.<\/p>\n
Over the next few days, I began to feel more comfortable.<\/p>\n
I visited the bakery every morning.<\/p>\n
I walked through the old streets.<\/p>\n
I read in the courtyard.<\/p>\n
I took photographs of things that would probably seem ordinary to someone who lived there.<\/p>\n
A window.<\/p>\n
A flowerpot.<\/p>\n
A cat sitting on a wall.<\/p>\n
I sent pictures to Joanna.<\/p>\n
She replied with little messages and questions.<\/p>\n
She wanted to know what I had eaten.<\/p>\n
She wanted to see the paintings.<\/p>\n
She wanted to know whether I had found a place to buy groceries.<\/p>\n
I told her about the bakery.<\/p>\n
I told her about the courtyard.<\/p>\n
I told her about the terrible watercolor.<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
I could hear it through the phone.<\/p>\n
I hadn't realized how much I had missed talking about ordinary things.<\/p>\n
A week before Christmas, Derek emailed me.<\/p>\n
He confirmed that he had transferred the subscriptions and arranged to pay for the storage unit.<\/p>\n
He admitted that he hadn't realized how many expenses I had been covering.<\/p>\n
I thanked him.<\/p>\n
Then I asked about the children.<\/p>\n
He sent me a friendly reply.<\/p>\n
For the first time in weeks, our conversation didn't revolve around something he needed me to do.<\/p>\n
I read the message twice.<\/p>\n
Then I closed my laptop.<\/p>\n
I was beginning to understand that loving someone didn't mean being responsible for every part of their life.<\/p>\n
It meant allowing them to live their own lives.<\/p>\n
And allowing myself to live mine.<\/p>\n
On Christmas Eve, I walked through \u00d3bidos.<\/p>\n
The streets were decorated.<\/p>\n
There were lights hanging above the narrow roads.<\/p>\n
People were carrying bags of gifts.<\/p>\n
I stopped at a little shop and bought a few small presents to bring home.<\/p>\n
I thought about my grandchildren.<\/p>\n
I thought about Joanna.<\/p>\n
I thought about Derek.<\/p>\n
I missed them.<\/p>\n
But I didn't regret coming.<\/p>\n
That afternoon, Cassandra sent me a message.<\/p>\n
"We're doing a smaller dinner tomorrow. I ordered the turkey from a local place. It's not the same as yours."<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
I wasn't sure whether she was complaining or offering a compliment.<\/p>\n
Then another message appeared.<\/p>\n
"I probably shouldn't have said what I said at Thanksgiving. I was trying to be funny."<\/p>\n
I read it carefully.<\/p>\n
It wasn't a complete apology.<\/p>\n
But it was more acknowledgment than she had offered before.<\/p>\n
I thought about how I wanted to answer.<\/p>\n
I didn't want to start another argument.<\/p>\n
I didn't want to pretend the remark hadn't hurt.<\/p>\n
I wanted her to understand why it mattered.<\/p>\n
So I wrote:<\/p>\n
"I appreciate you reaching out. What you said hurt because cooking is something I do for people I love, not all that I am."<\/p>\n
I sent the message.<\/p>\n
Then I put my phone down.<\/p>\n
I didn't expect an immediate reply.<\/p>\n
I didn't need one.<\/p>\n
I went outside and sat in the courtyard.<\/p>\n
The air was cool.<\/p>\n
The lights from the street reflected against the white walls.<\/p>\n
I could hear church bells in the distance.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I thought about Leonard.<\/p>\n
I wished he could have seen the little house.<\/p>\n
I wished he could have sat beside me in the courtyard.<\/p>\n
I wished we had been able to travel together.<\/p>\n
But I also knew that he would have wanted me to enjoy the life we had saved for.<\/p>\n
I sat there until the air became cold.<\/p>\n
Then I went inside.<\/p>\n
I made a simple dinner.<\/p>\n
I washed my plate.<\/p>\n
I put the kettle on.<\/p>\n
And I waited for Christmas morning.<\/p>\n
Source: lessoninlife.net<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n The first morning in \u00d3bidos, I woke up before sunrise. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. Then I remembered. Portugal. The little house. The blue shutters. I … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10835,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10839","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-sharestory"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10839","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10839"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10839\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10852,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10839\/revisions\/10852"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10835"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10839"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10839"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10839"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nClick here to continue reading: PART 5: Christmas Was the First Holiday I Had Ever Spent Alone, and I Was Surprised by What I Missed Most About Being Home<\/a><\/strong><\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"