I Had a Zero Percent Chance

Life can be amazing and awful at the same time. Between sunny beach shots and ferry rides showing dolphin splashes, I’m literally just out living life in Portugal. I post more ups than downs, good than bad. Though, really, such two-sided simplicities are rarely true for anyone.

On more than one occasion here, I’ve cried myself to sleep at night. Mostly, recently, it happened when my nephew and his new wife, plus longtime friends from Illinois, all wrapped their visits and left within days of each other.

Saying goodbye to people who live an ocean away, not knowing exactly when’s the next time I’ll see them again, made me feel sad, lonely, and abandoned. Yes, I have friends here. Yes, I like it. Doesn’t matter. It’s still sometimes hard being a single woman, without family nearby, living in a new country where English isn’t the dominant language.

All of that aside, my main point is that what I share publicly, even here in Tiny, Private Love Letter, is only a thread of the whole fabric of my life here. Today’s letter gives you a few more threads. These are a bit more jagged.

Rewind. I’m looking at a gold dress.

I catch her from the side because she, the mannequin, faces folks already inside. Many walk past her after only glimpsing. Others stop and gawk. No one ignores her.

From where I’m standing, outside the exhibit, I can’t even tell what the fabric is made of, or what pattern is on it. Not even if I squint.

Her dress is part of the exhibit, Art & Fashion. It’s closing today. Sunday, June 21. I shouldn’t have put this visit off. I’ve come on the last day of the last weekend, so this is my last chance.

Because it’s moving on to its next stop, they didn’t extend the run. (I checked.)

If I want to see it, it has to be now.