Staying active with some limits

 You do receive quite a lot of advice as a cancer patient. Mostly this comes from people trying to be positive and sympathetic, and is very welcome. Sometimes the advice veers into unreality, notably with the story that so many people have about their granny who lived to ninety after being told they had only months to live, and who by the way carried on smoking two packets a day until they finally died.

 

Most of these conversations are about morale and support rather than anything practical. But there are recurring themes, and one of those is about staying active and continuing as much regular activity as possible. We usually receive this message not as advice but as admiration. Staying positive, though also realistic, has been a mantra which many have noticed and praised. And there is similar common ground about staying active. In general we agree with the attitude and try to follow it. But there are limits, because activity does entail risk.

 

At the beginning of this month we took our first trip out of Portugal since we arrived in October, attending a music holiday in Granada, Andalucia. As has often been the case historically, I sang as a member of the group while my wife came along as a non-singing participant. We have enjoyed these weeks roughly once per year since my first one in Rome in 2009, and we love them very much.

 

Musically, the week turned out very well. My voice has almost returned to its historical level, most of the time. The group was relatively strong and the direction and repertoire were excellent, and efficiently handled to make good use of everyone’s time.

 

The week demonstrated the value of staying busy and following established holidays, and I am grateful to the leadership and fellow choristers for letting me take part. But the week also reinforced the fact that most activity outside of normal parameters does carry some risk, for both me and for my wife.

 

Firstly, we had some trouble with our car on the journey, when it started to struggle to climb hills. We were happy to make it to Granada at all, and very relieved to learn the next day that the car was mechanically sound but merely lacked clean oil and other necessary liquids. The extra maintenance need for preparing journeys should probably have been made clearer to us when we bought the vehicle, but I guess that is predominantly our responsibility.

 

As usual in our new roles, the one who had to manage this mini-crisis was my wife. Instead of enjoying the magnificent city in peace, she spent many hours walking around looking for places and finding mechanics and negotiating, all quite stressful, even without the worry of the initial journey and fear of further issues on the drive home.

 

There was some inconvenience for me as well. Afet arriving in Granada, we ended up taking quite a lot of time waliking around, first for parking, then locating our Airbnb, and finally locating the meeting point for the opening group dinner. In former days I would have led all of this with ease, but now I found myself becoming tired and a little unsteady on the cobbles and eventually with unpleasant back pain. Luckily this discomfort only really persisted for the first night, but perhaps next time we will not be so lucky and hospitals might have to become involved. We were surely lucky in Granada, with its slippery streets and cobbles and late winter conditions and venues with awkward steps too.

 

The experience called to mind our trip to Europe last June. That was also a great pleasure in terms of music and family, but, it is now clear, did entail risk. I managed to pick up Covid on the way home and had quite an uncomfortable week. That precipitated a couple of difficult months with an operation, radiation and many side effects. I don’t believe that the Europe trip or its aftermath actually caused or worsened any of these problems, but I can’t rule that out. 

 

It certainly feels true that bad things, and good things too, tend to arrive in bunches, and probably that is not solely due to coincidence. When we are vulnerable, more can go wrong, and probably more will.

 

It happens that another singing holiday is available in early June, this time in Italy at a venue we know well. Unlike Granada, once at the venue in Italy there is little reason to leave the hotel area. It is hilly and may involve some steps, but that all feels manageable. But I must remain cognisant of the risks, including those related to travelling by air, and take careful note of my state of health and vulnerability as the time for travel draws nearer.

 

Despite the need for some extra caution, we are generally managing to stay active, engaged and positive, and my wife is making new contacts and trying out new projects regularly, which makes me feel very happy. With dancing of many varieties and volunteering at a food bank to add to singing and church, her agenda is filling up nicely. As well as singing, there are also many activities we can still share together without taking inordinate risks. We walk on most days the weather suits, often quite long distances on the boardwalk, though I do get tired a bit more quickly than I used too. Then we have restaurant date nights once or twice per week, an activity offering many pleasures. We are optimistic that there will be visitors to entertain too.

 

I am more cautious than before, but that part of my routine does not often frustrate me. I am a little bit obsessed with the risk of trips and falls, having got this far with an unblemished record. I remember from the old folks home in New York how accidents often started a progression of declining health. A lot of those accidents occurred in the bathroom, so I take extra care when showering. I remind myself frequently that I do not need to subject myself to much extra inconvenience, and am lucky to have remained so capable for as long as I have. We believe that we also have extra help ready when we will need it.

 

The balance between staying active and positive on the one hand and avoiding reckless risks on the other is one that will continue to evolve. We face such trade-offs throughout our lives and there is always much to learn. We have short- and long-term goals to consider, both as a couple and individually. As usual, we have managed most of the challenges quite well so far, and in general we feel ready. But of course we are never really ready, and adaptation will remain high on the agenda.    

Second Fiddle

 Partnerships are important in all our lives. Many of our activities we complete as a pair. For most of us, most significant are our marriages or other life partnerships, but other partnerships can be important too, whether at work or with a hobby or vocation or simply as buddies.

 

In any long-term partnership, roles tend to emerge over time and these roles often become critical to the success and the longevity of the partnership itself. We all have roles that we gravitate towards, roles that suit our personality and skills and come most naturally to us. The roles tend to become more established over time, so that each partner can find it easier to be comfortable with the other to the benefit of each of the couple and of the pair.

 

Both of my marriages have shaped my life, and I consider both as successful partnerships even if one did not survive the test of time. In both cases, roles emerged that made everybody concerned stronger and more resilient. During my first marriage we had a dominant hobby of playing championship level bridge together. Developing roles, unconsciously, within a competitive context went to along way to refining our personalities. The same thing has happened in my second marriage, though we might argue that there is a bit more balance and maturity in our lives.

 

In a life partnership there are many areas where partnership roles can emerge and become established. Hobbies and activities can be part of this, but more important than those are usually in bringing up children and in managing finances. In both these fields, roles emerge and persist, though they are also the areas where serious disconnects within a partnership can develop. 

I have always made many mistakes, but I do feel that the roles I have gravitated towards in the major partnerships in my life have generally worked out well for all parties. I can extend that thought beyond partnerships, to include tight-knit teams of more than two people. Those teams could refer to an extended family, a work team or even a choir, but in all cases I found it relatively simple to establish roles for general benefit that utilised my strengths.

 

But now, with cancer and its likely outcome, I have been forced to embrace new roles in responding to my new situation. In simple terms, in many aspects of life, but most notably with my wife, I am learning how to play second fiddle. There are areas where I would habitually take the lead but where I am no longer reliably competent. There are other areas where I retain the capacity to take my traditional roles, but where that division no longer matches the needs of the partnership.

 

I can attest that learning to play new roles in an established partnership is difficult, when the situation involves responding to dramatic or sudden change. If the context is relatively slow-moving, as it usually is, we can muck along and use our experience together as a useful set of guardrails to help us. But sudden changes to context will challenge even effective partnerships, even with abundant goodwill on all sides.

 

We each spend an unhealthy amount of time making assumptions about our partner. What do they want? What do they need? Why are they taking on their familiar role in a particular situation when it is obvious that something new is required? Why are they forcing me into a new solution when the old one has worked so well for so long?

 

These are all symptoms of the partners trying to adapt to a change of context that is unfamiliar. My wife and I have come at the issue with love and goodwill and relevant experience, but we have struggled mightily. We had somewhat similar experiences when navigating other changes, notably as empty-nesters, but the current challenges seem to be tougher. We should not be too tough on ourselves – a terminal diagnosis, a major change of work situation and a choice to move between continents are all large changes, sure to challenge established partnership routines. On balance, we have probably handled the situation as well as any partnership could, but the mistakes have been frequent and will no doubt continue. As and when my health deteriorates and some pain and lots of frustration re-enter the equation, the challenges will probably only intensify.

 

Just because I am the one with cancer does not make it tougher for me, indeed I suspect the opposite is true. I am having to learn to play second fiddle in many aspects of our partnership, and that does entail frustration when my capacity is compromised and where I can’t be as helpful or as independent as I would wish. But I recognise that I have no choice in most matters, and adapting to the new roles feels quite natural in our situation. For my wife, she has been forced to step up, and has generally responded magnificently. Perhaps I am also now enjoying one more benefit of my early retirement all those years ago – a rather sedentary life does seem to suit me, and the soporific aspects of my second fiddle part do seem to suit me well.

 

So, compared with other couples in our situation, perhaps we are quite lucky. We have been given plenty of time to establish our new roles and to adapt to them. No doubt much more adaptation will become necessary in the future but, as usual, we feel quite well prepared. Except that, every time we have felt prepared so far, reality has come to bite us. It will do so again. We will do our best, and I am optimistic that our curve is quite a positive one, with our new roles becoming progressively more comfortable and our teamwork intact. 

Ordinary Love

  

I have never been a big consumer of movies. That is probably one of the many legacies from my mum, who would reach to change channel anytime BBC or ITV would deign to broadcast a film in the 1960’s or 1970’s, announcing how she hated films for being too long.

 

I have a very clear criterion for a film I am likely to appreciate, that it is about plausible people in realistic scenarios. Sadly, that rather mild stipulation rules out almost anything that comes out of Hollywood these days, so I tend to steer clear of that material.

 

The exception arrives around this time of year, when Oscar nominees are announced and then awards given out. Last year I made a point of watching nearly all the nominees for best film and I ended up enjoying most of them. We have a good TV package here in Portugal so I am looking forward to repeating the positive experience over the next couple of months.

 

This year we stumbled into an early start, thanks to a bunch of content provided by my sister after her visit at New Year. That led us to watch a 2019 movie starring Lesley Manville and Liam Neeson called Ordinary Love. The experience proved very gratifying.

 

The context of the movie could almost have been created specifically for my wife and me. The title suggests real people in a real scenario, and the movie delivered what it said on the tin. The real scenario was that one of a long-term couple contracted cancer. Inevitably in our predicament, we do find ourselves attracted to stories about cancer. Sometimes these stories make us tearful, but they also have potential to teach us lessons and help us respond to the challenges we face.

 

What I loved the most about the movie was the way it focused on the couple and how they navigated their new situation. There were no huge plot twists or surprise revelations. The cancer and the resulting treatment were not over-dramatised, but felt completely typical of the experience of millions of couples around the world at any time, including my wife and me. The couple stumbles along, cancer is discovered, treatment results, the future path is left open. The only thing slightly unusual in the plot is that the couple had already lost their only child, perhaps to another illness or something like a car crash. That extra dramatic dimension was an important element in understanding the couple, but the film-makers did not let it distract from the main theme.

 

That theme was how the couple responded to the cancer diagnosis of one of them. Smartly, the focus was more on their emotional responses and less on the medical details of their particular case. Hence the beautifully conceived title of Ordinary Love. This is a story of an ordinary situation, exploring the responses of characters facing that situation, unique and life-shaping for them but, sadly, all too common around the world.

 

The medical details and experiences were not entirely absent from the drama. After all, this is a story about cancer. I found many parallels with our own experiences in these aspects of the movie. We have had times when we have questioned the medical service we have received, especially near the start when my wife campaigned to transfer our care to a facility she trusted more (a wise move, as it turned out). There are many scenes where Neeson and Manville are sitting together in soulless waiting rooms, making wild insinuations about what was really going on, and drawing unreasonable conclusions about the possible paths of progress of Manville’s cancer. We have had many similar thoughts.

 

The most interesting part of these aspects of the movie, to me at least, was trying to understand the thoughts and reactions of the couple, including their common and separate motivations. Like all such couples and like us, they are enduring parallel journeys to what may be separate destinations. Through these journeys they try their hardest to act as a team and to support each other, but individual factors intrude from time to time. Like us (I think), they show a lot of love and each displays impressive courage. But their unity does come under pressure at times, despite their best efforts. Sometimes a well-meaning intention to help actually becomes a problem. These scenes are wonderfully conceived and executed.

 

There is not a lot of interaction with other patients, as indeed is the case with my own situation and probably most others. But a bond gradually builds with one fellow patient and with his husband. Their diagnosis is more terminal and indicates a shorter survival time. The drama is, once again, understated and intensely believable.

 

Many things about cancer can make me tearful, and it came as no surprise when the film tugged at my emotions. This occurred whenever there was a poignant private scene between the two lead actors. I would project our own situation onto theirs and notice all the pitfalls and challenges, as well as a few rewards. Each would fall into the trap of assuming the thoughts of their partner and then acting on those thoughts. They believed they were acting in the interests of the couple and carrying out what their partner wanted, but this method is far from foolproof. As well as misunderstanding, it can lead to resentments and frustrations.

 

We make this particular mistake all the time, sometimes persistently and with lasting damage. For me, observing this was the most powerful takeaway from the movie, because I know I can improve and the film gave me some extra incentive and tools to do so.

 

So I am very happy that I saw Ordinary Love and could celebrate its excellence with empathy. Perhaps its most powerful message comes from its title. We all tend to classify our own experiences and predicaments as special and unusual but, in most cases, reality is much more humdrum. Everyone’s situation is indeed unique, but most elements are shared with countless others around the world. Cancer has changed our lives and many of our perspectives. But cancer is, until now, also an ordinary occurance in life. We are special, but add up everything special and the result is all too ordinary. And the emotion that can cut through the ordinariness with most effect is love. Flawed, flailing, imperfect love is the greatest weapon that we can deploy in tough situations. Those of us surrounded by love have the best chance of coming through challenges in reasonable emotional health. I am so grateful to my wife, and to many others, for powerful loving support during cancer, and Ordinary Love served a useful purpose too. 

Another Year to Celebrate

 

We are continuing our good start here in Portugal. We have now spent three months residing here, and my health has remained consistently strong through that time, with no new symptoms or recurrence of previous symptoms to report. My medication and treatment list has been consistent since we arrived here and seems to be working for now.

 

This good health is a blessing in so many ways. Looking back on the period just before our move, I can’t imagine how we coped and how we have somehow emerged on our feet.

 

I started this piece with something of a plan to document the progress of my cancer during 2024 and how we responded. 2024 did feel like a year of decisions. But how many of these decisions really were milestones involving genuine choices?

 

Throughout my illness, and probably for most others facing similar situations, there have been apparent choices, but I now suspect that mostly these are not real choices. Partly we may instead be using our thoughts and the opportunities for consultations to help us face up to new realities. Partly the illusion of choice may be to support a feeling of agency, convincing ourselves that we are active partners.

 

Upon reflection, it feels more accurate to characterise these milestones as events or developments rather than choices. Mostly, we listen to our medical advisors and accept what is usually an obvious path, even if this advice is often presented to us as a choice.

 

There have been many developments but arguably few true choices. The initial diagnosis took time to come into focus and remains incomplete. The major operation and initial radiation and chemotherapy all involved choice but felt more like mere acceptance of a clear reality. There seemed only one logical way to respond to the infection of October 2023.

 

There was more apparent choice during the summer of 2024 once the first chemotherapy lost some of its effectiveness and MRI’s started to show more tumour growth. But again, as things developed, were we making choices, or simply allowing medicine to take its logical course?

 

Looking at the medical history in this way, I can really identify only two major points of decision. The first true choice was in November 2022, when my wife campaigned aggressively for Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York to replace our initial providers. It feels like we ended up in the best possible place with the best possible care.

 

I believe the second true choice occured much more recently, in fact during our last week in New York during our final consultation at MSK. I had endured a difficult few weeks of symptoms and side effects, and at this meeting we learned that the most recent MRI revealed substantial swelling and probably an acceleration of tumour growth. We were warned not to be surprised if episodes and symptoms cropped up more regularly from now on.

 

A little to my surprise, we were then offered a genuine choice. We had previously accepted that the windows for operations, clinical trials and experimental treatments had probably closed for us by then. Useful treatments remained available but effectiveness would reduce, perhaps quickly. Now we were informed that Dr Brennan would be willing and available to operate one more time later in the week.

 

The implications and possible outcomes of accepting the operation were made clear to us. Risks would be high, recovery slow and beneficial outcomes far from certain. Steroids, chemo, and immunotherapy still had some useful road for us to travel. But the operation had considerable upside as well.

 

We made our decision within a few minutes, and a lot of the decision was driven by non-medical factors. That coming Saturday we were booked on our one-way flights to Faro. Taking on the operation would have delayed that for months, and probably forever. We declined the intervention. Dr Mellinghoff steered us through the moment with aplomb and wonderful sensitivity. The die was cast, and here we are in the Algarve.

 

Reflecting more, the decision to come here looms larger and larger, in some ways overshadowing everything else in what was already an eventful year. And the main outcome from these reflections is how ill-prepared we both were.

 

We have had chats for many years about my wife taking retirement and us coming to live here, but until cancer came along there were valid reasons to defer any decision. Then came cancer, and a year ago we came up with the ABC concept, where A was healthy time together, B was a period of caring and C was widowhood. We still find this to be a helpful model.

 

In January of 2023 my wife declared that she was ready to stop work and come here at some point in 2024. June solidified the intent, and we went ahead with it in October.

 

But how prepared were we? On our parallel journeys to different destinations, what were the pros and cons for each of us? Did we need contingency plans? If we chose to stay in New York, what would that mean for each of us? How could we make our ultimate choice work best for each of us? Did we really understand the issues from the perspective of our life partner? Our recent beachside walks suggest to me that the answer to many of these questions was a resounding no. This was one of most consequential decisions of each of our lives, yet we stumbled into it.

 

I could quote many examples of how we were misleading ourselves and each other. One powerful one from my side was finally accepting that Portugal is not nirvana. Previously, I suspect a part of me felt that nobody in their right mind and given the option would ever choose to live anywhere but Portugal. Well, it does have its advantages, but it has challenges too, in A, B and C. I undersold my wife with my sloppy thinking. She was similarly influenced by her own blind spots.

 

We can deepen these discussions further as things develop. It does feel now that the decision was final, for my lifetime at least. We will hold each other close, celebrate each day and be thankful for the time we have. There is always ample opportunity for gratitude. Walking by the beach and working to understand each other better invites gratitude in abundance.

 

We have already enjoyed family visits here and are getting to know good, rewarding people. We hope we can look forward to more of the same. Perhaps stumbling into such a huge decision will continue to play out well for us. But I have to accept that the process involved was highly flawed. So be it. 

Pottering in the Morning

 I recall quite clearly when I retired, from Shell in the Netherlands, at the tender age of fifty. I have never regretted that decision for an instant. The quieter life of a retiree suited me immediately, and it opened up a number of fresh pathways which ultimately transformed my life, from helping to raise two more kids to an extended adventure in New York to a much more expansive relationship with choral singing.

 

Some may wonder if my cancer diagnosis became a source of delayed regret about early retirement. Actually, the opposite is true. I look on it as having given me twelve years of a satisfied retirement that I otherwise would have sacrificed. The thought of still struggling through a corporate life and its requirements and then one busy day told that I had a terminal illness does not induce regret, only relief.

 

Fed perhaps by fear, envy, judgment or mere curiosity, I was often quizzed by people about how retirement changed me, especially in its early years. I found myself extolling one particular aspect of my altered life and would talk with special joy about the first 90 minutes of each day. Far from the former routine of an early alarm call, rushed preparation and a strenuous commute to an office waiting with dozens of e-mails to answer, I could now follow my own clock. My wife would get up even earlier than I used to, but when she left the apartment for her bus then the world was my own, and I cherished that time. I could linger in bed, then deal with the (many fewer) e-mails while enjoying some TV and the pleasures of tea, coffee and cereals. I could achieve all this without any rush at all and still have plenty of time to complete errands before noon.

 

Now history is starting to repeat itself in our new circumstances. We are in a new country, in generous surroundings with benign climate and peaceful atmosphere. It is my wife who has retired and has the chance to witness and to create change in consequence. I can find my new morning routine, with the added inducement of sharing some of it with my life partner.

 

Buoyed by an enduring phase of good health, and by the smartness of my wife, I have settled quickly into what I am calling my morning potter. Here I usually wake around 8.30AM (still earlier then my wife, who most days can potter even more languidly than I can. I put on a bath robe and immediately take my morning pills, before drifting into the kitchen, starting tea and orange juice for two, opening the sun room, checking the weather, and starting up my laptop.

 

Juice, tea and perhaps a croissant close at hand, I find a good spot with a lovely view and potter away for the best part of an hour. E-mails do not take long to handle, and my new phone does not usually have much to disturb me either. I get myself up to date with any US sport that took place while I was asleep. Then I can play my five morning games on the computer, Worldle, Nerdle, Wordle, Byrdle and Connections. One benefit of feeling well is that my game performance has been restored to its former level – perhaps this is a reminder that good times cannot last for ever and I should cherish them even more.

 

After the games, I can turn on my pride and joy, my beautiful De Longhi coffee machine, and make a delicious cup for each of us, so my wife will have three liquid joys awaiting her when she rises. Next for me on the computer will be my daily fifty Portuguese words and phrases and perhaps a few irregular verbs. That study certainly pays off and progress feels rapid just now. After the language work, I might read a section of this week’s Economist online.

 

Now I’ll shave and dress, trying to get that out of the way before my wife needs the bathroom, and surely it is also time for some more delicious Portuguese breakfast food. I have recovered a childhood love of Weetabix, but it is also hard to walk past a pile of famous Portuguese Pasteis de Nata, and the fruit is rather wonderful too.

 

By now my wife will be in the bathroom, so I can cross the living room to my electronic piano and play there for twenty or thirty minutes. That is another skill that seems to be returning, and surely another one to embrace while health and coordination allow. Luckily, this habit is a popular one not just with my wife but also with the neighbours, so I can spread a little joy while partaking in it myself. Afterwards I might return to read another Economist section if time permits, or otherwise I can shuffle money around or do some other administration to prepare for the day ahead.

 

We have been blessed with many warm and calm and sunny days, so my morning potter can sometimes be topped off with a quiet sit down outside in the sun, soaking up warmth and view. My wife can at last catch up with me. The bathroom part of her morning potter is longer than mine, but just as pleasurable. I have a new pride and joy in the form of a steam shower in the bathroom, and my wife might enjoy that in the morning, though my emerging habit is to enjoy that at night.

 

We have been quite busy so far, even if the pace has started to slacken. Once we are both fully up and ready, we can head of for a beach-side walk, often in parallel with some hospital or other administrative errand and some grocery shopping. We are discovering that it is hard to get out of the villa before 11.30, and then that it is hard to complete our daily tasks and joys and return home before 4pm. That squeezes lunch and also delays my time for a nap before we settle down to evening TV, but I am fine with that. Still, I might still have time for an early evening potter (more Portuguese, anyone? Or write a blog post?).

 

I have little fear now of my wife missing work and becoming bored. She always loved a morning potter even when it was only available to her on Saturdays. Now she is starting to cherish it, and also to embrace an early evening routine of home improvement and sometimes nipping out to buy something for a current project. I sense that she loves it. We do not know how long this grace period of good health will last, and both our potter routines will become tougher when it ends, but we are at least creating a good starting point for that time, and perhaps parts of our routines will still endure even if my health is less robust.

 

The daily potters are far from the only joys that we are discovering in Portugal. The beach-side walks are wonderful, and we are making sure that we treat ourselves with food and wine often enough. Our church and our choirs bring us joy, as does frequent contact with friends and family.

 

 One winter project involves installing some solar and perhaps finding a way to heat our pool. The only way I can think of that would make my morning potter much more enjoyable would be a swim, and at the moment that is not a practical option for five months per year. Perhaps we’ll also get in the habit of spending more time on our roof or balcony, where the views are at their finest.

 

It feels wonderful to have discovered a new morning pottering routine. It feels even more wonderful to observe how my wife is achieving the same. Many find that retirement is not an easy transition, and that is far from the only transition that she is facing just now. But I do believe that a morning potter can be of immense help. I certainly value my own mornings more than ever.

Algarve Impressions

 We have now been living in the Algarve for five weeks, and things continue to go well. The longest we had ever stayed at the villa beforehand was about seven weeks, during the pandemic, so our stay now is already approaching that duration. In December we will have more quiet time to settle in before a flood of visitors at new year, when hopefully most renovations will have been completed and much of our shipment unloaded.

 

Recently I have been writing mainly about emotions, often tough emotions. Those have not gone away, but the balance is quickly veering towards the tranquility we seek here. That is only possible because of continued good health. Indeed I still seem to feel better day by day. Long may that continue.

 

There are various ways I judge my own state of health. One very encouraging sign is a sort of recovery of intelligence. When labouring under treatment side effects, I was certainly physically wobbly but my mental acuity may have suffered too, much though I tended to deny it. For many weeks my morning puzzles seemed more difficult than usual, but now I am back to my previous form. I sense my memory is stronger too. This positive period surely cannot last for many months, but I will certainly accept any time offered. Perhaps the current cocktail of treatments and meds can be effective for a sustained period of time.

 

So, for a change, let us think and write less about cancer and more about impressions of our new place of abode. There are certainly many such impressions to share.

 

One of the first things that struck me as soon as we arrived was how quiet the Algarve is at this time of year. The end of the tourist season almost works like a switch, and peace and regular living reigns. There is occasional traffic but most journeys are stress-free. We have noticed that several restaurants have already closed or reduced hours for the winter, and some choose this period to do renovations. Luckily, we will always have enough good choices, even if fewer than we are used to. And a peaceful, regular life has obvious attractions.

 

My next reflection is quite how international the resident community is, perhaps even more diverse than New York though in different ways. In shops, you hear as much English spoken as Portuguese, blended with a smattering of French, German, Dutch and Spanish. The locals seem completely happy with this colonisation of their home region. It is an unusual community, rather white and affluent and of advancing years, blended with a local community, golfers and other tourists. Perhaps elements of that blend will become annoying over time, but for now it suits us very well.

 

No reflection of the Algarve can ignore the food and drink. Eating and drinking here is a pure joy. Nothing is over-processed or over-sweetened. I have still yet to taste a glass of bad Portuguese wine, and the food is consistently wholesome and tasty. I happen to be going through a period of high appetite, so there is plenty to appreciate. It is no wonder at all that a so-called Mediterranean diet has so many proven health benefits.

 

Another reflection is about the green energy transition. Even if utilities are expensive here and it costs a lot to fill the car, it appears as though the public have embraced the new global realities. On the roads, Dacia and small Chinese EV’s proliferate and charging stations are ubiquitous. Solar panels are cheap and widely available, and indeed will be an element of our next improvement project. Separation of trash is well-established. This is all encouraging to witness.

 

The social system in the Algarve is also impressive. My wife put in a request last week, and this morning we were visited at home by some palliative care experts. The need has yet to arise, but, when it does, we will be well provided for. We are still finding our way through the options of the medical care here, but the initial impression is one of smart use of limited resources to achieve the best possible outcome for citizens.

 

Portugal is certainly having a moment. The Algarve was in vogue when I first bought the villa, but the area suffered, along with the whole nation, during the financial crisis. The slow climb back has accelerated over the last few years. Lisbon must be one of the top ten city tourist destinations just now, maybe only behind Venice and Barcelona. And Portugal has become an investment opportunity of choice for many, including a growing cohort from the USA. These trends can only be good ones for our own presence here: the villa has probably appreciated in value a great deal, for the first time since I bought it.

 

Our appreciation of the Algarve has only grown during our first weeks here. No doubt complaints will set in over time, but hopefully we will still feel positive overall as we start to put down more roots here. We feel blessed to have the opportunity to build a fulfilled life here. We hope many friends and family will visit to share our joy.    

More Miracles Achieved and still more needed

 I cannot imagine our first month in Portugal going better than it has. We have been lucky and we have been smart. Yet despite all this success, the month has opened my eyes much further about the challenges still ahead for both me and for my wife as we continue our shared journeys to different destinations.

 

The first week in Portugal almost felt it could have come from the creation story in Genesis. Every day brought fresh major challenges and opportunities to fail and jeopardise our entire project, yet every day we managed to step up to the plate.

 

The primary blessing during our creation week was that I felt so well. Indeed I still feel very well nearly a month later, perhaps even a bit better each day. If I had been a burden during that time then even my splendid wife might have buckled under the strain. As it turned out, we were quite an effective team and equipped to benefit from the good luck that perhaps a higher power chose to gift us that week.

 

On the seventh day God rested, and I wonder if we will also look back on our first Sunday as the most significant day of that frenzied week. For it was on the Sunday, thanks to a kind a diligent contact, that we discovered the church community that should serve us well in Portugal. The church is a drive of three quarters of an hour, one of so many burdens I impose on my wife, and is Anglican rather than Catholic, but the community is surprisingly vibrant, the location wonderful, and the service gratifyingly spiritual. Their choir is also quite active and well-led so Genesis Sunday also re-started our choral singing.

 

During that first service I could not prevent my mind from wandering forwards in time. Despite having so long to plan our move, how is it that I had completely overlooked so many key aspects? Of course I need a place to die and be cremated that will be suitable for others to gather, even if I have no pretensions of grandiose funerals accompanied by choruses from the Duruflé requiem. My emotions swung in waves between fear and dread, worry and pity for my wife, and the potential for peace. Since then, the emotional balance has gradually become healthier. What a large step forward Genesis Sunday gave us.

 

My emotional burden has continued to ease as we head to the conclusion of our first month in Portugal. By now I suppose we are well into the Pentateuch, yet our luck continues to hold. We have managed to balance more successful administration with starting to relax and enjoy ourselves. It has helped that our younger daughter has visited us not just once but twice already, for she can help both practically and emotionally. We have enjoyed many long walks by the beach already, and rediscovered some of our favourite Algarvian restaurants. We have greeted other relatives and friends, some established and some new. We have even discovered what seems like a very suitable community choir to enjoy together.

 

All the way through this month, the potential for disaster has lurked but somehow been averted. How I have stayed so well has felt like one miracle. The opportunities for being denied entry owing to some non-compliance or error, a calamitous breakage, a fall, a major setback to the renovations, a refusal or deferral of medical treatment or revelation of inadequate competence to meet our needs, something failing at the bank or the car showroom, all of these were events of high jeopardy that somehow worked out in our favour. And now we are surely past the worst and can approach what remains without so much dread.

 

Despite these successes and the peace they are gradually helping to build, of course the fundamentals of our situation have not changed. I have had several weeks of wonderful health, but Dr Mellinghoff was clear that we should be ready for more episodes and permanent unwelcome changes, perhaps quite soon. I suspect that he may have been even more open with my wife.

 

We have made our choices and for me I am grateful that we made the choices we did. I am confident that I will be able to deal with my own future. For my wife I hope it turns out the same, but, prepared though I thought I was, I am not sure that I was fully attuned to the scale of change that our choices will impose on her over the coming months and years.

 

It is worth remembering once again the old adage about the three toughest changes commonly faced during a lifetime. They are dealing with a death or divorce, dealing with a major change in employment and dealing with a change in place to live, especially one involving long distances and multiple continents. My wife is already facing up to each of these three changes, in as stark an environment as could be imagined. Caring for a terminally ill husband and what follows, retirement from a gratifying job, and moving across the world to a place where she has few roots: each of these three challenges are monumental. I pray more than ever that we have as much time, and especially as much healthy time, as possible to give her the best chance to prepare and face up to this cocktail of challenges. The social aspects of this are as important as the technical ones. Giving up work, attractive but leaving gaps in everyday life, may be one of the toughest parts.

 

So far she has been magnificent. Challenge can bring out the best in us. An example is driving a car. It is now nearly two years since I could not safely drive any distance. During that time my wife’s driving has progressed from tentative to confident so that she is now a very effective road warrior. Practice makes perfect. The same is true for some other life skills, especially those ones which I formerly dominated in our marriage such as managing the finances. Sometimes it is not easy to give these things up, and I do become frustrated and interfere on occasion. I suppose my own burden is not trivial either.

 

As usual we know where to find solace. Some fear can be healthy and we do well to accept and embrace it. Prayer is helping us more than I ever previously imagined. The companionship of friends and family is a wonderful comfort. And we have as much to be grateful for as ever before. As we start to settle into a more relaxed routine, hopefully in reasonable health, thankfulness can permeate all we think and all we do.