Sand Storms & Spring Cleaning

clay rain, no fun

You’re about to read life: examined. It’s an invitation to curiosity, a collection of ideas, and thoughts about living a creative, intentional life—all from my perch in Portugal.

—> Thank you for your support <—

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Looking out the window, I see sands from the Sahara desert hanging around in the atmosphere. 

My balcony, the chair, the table—all covered in a fine layer of dust. Parked cars look like they just returned from Burning Man, coated with identical silty powder.  

“Clay Rain” is not uncommon, though these sand storms usually happen later in the year. However, this incursion is reported to be the worst since these phenomena have been tracked.

This storm has colored the skies an apocalyptic shade of orange-grey, and the resulting air quality is horrible.

Not quite Mumbai-like, but bad for those with respiratory and heart diseases, and honestly, bad for the general population. The cloud of grit has found its way as far north as London and Sweden. 

And now this, from the department of the obvious: breathing quartz silica, the main constituent of Saharan sand, is a bad idea. You’ve heard of silicosis, right? 

If there’s a good time to wear a mask, now is it (especially youngers and olders). 

Let’s Clean

While the Clay Rain makes itself at home, an unwanted visitor over-staying its welcome, I dwell mostly inside, just like the good ol’ days at the height of the pandemic.

So I ask you: Does the fun never stop?! I think not. 

What to do when your superpower is procrastination and you have client deadlines looming? You clean! I mean, I do—don’t you?

Deadlines equal dusty baseboards.

Trust me, they go hand-in-hand, especially when the Sahara desert falls all around you. So, with an inward attempt at metaphorically scrubbing the skies outside, I set about sorting through the flotsam and jetsam of my life. 

I’ve been in Portugal for just three years—where did all this crap come from? 

How did I go from arrival with three suitcases, a backpack, and a dog, to a houseful of stuff? Am I a magnet for material things? 

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One Foot in California, One Foot in Portugal

As I mentioned in a recent issue of life: examined, I had eight plastic storage totes and, admittedly, a gallery’s worth of art (a SMALL gallery, okay?) still in California. 

The totes have been in my brother’s storage shed, numbered; I keep a tidy spreadsheet with the contents of each noted.

Every time I’ve been in the presence of the storage totes, I go through them, carefully updating the spreadsheet by deleting line items of things I’ve decided to let go or that I’ve packed away in the carryon to come home with me.

I’ve curated the assortment to a manageable quantity, yet it’s still too much. 

Now I’ve cleared out the bins, except for a few things, including three memorial boxes of pet cremains. I’m at a loss as to what to do with them. The memories of Murphy, Lola, and Hamlet live in me—not in those boxes.

What Next?

Cleaning and decluttering are indicators of something new to come. We all have our rituals; this is mine. 

When changes are on the horizon, I make way—new things need room—even if those things aren’t things. Ideas, perspectives, changes of heart—experimentation needs breathing space to flourish. 

And perhaps that’s why even just a smidgen of material possessions makes me feel anxious.

I need space around all things visual, aural, or introspective. I do my best thinking and dreaming when there’s room to roam, unconstrained, through the labyrinth of the what-ifs and maybes in my mind. 

So, I clean the house and rearrange furniture, with Miles Davis as my soundtrack, busting spontaneous dance moves when the mood strikes. My dog Milo looks on, wondering what’s coming next. He’s smart—he knows the signs. 

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A note about spring cleaning: In keeping with my current clean everything blitz, I’m going to remove subscribers who haven’t opened an issue of life:examined since March 2021. Think of it as me helping you clean up your inbox (although those who don’t read life: examined won’t know about this notice).

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Favorite Portuguese to English Auto-Translation of the Week:

A new restaurant is in town—check out this menu!

In addition to the versions of shoe rack, octopus and shrimp, one of the novelties of the new spot will be the surf & turt burger, and cod turt. Each of the options is served on beer bread and always brings sweet potato chips.

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GOOD LINKS:

• A Plant-Based Contestant Just Won MasterChef Portugal (pretty astounding for such a meat- and fish-loving country)

• Archaeologists Now Believe That 8,000-Year-Old Human Skeletons From Portugal Are the World’s Oldest Mummies right in my backyard!

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Thanks to these generous readers for their support:

Ken, Patricia, Bernie, Brian, Eliza, Flip, and anonymous humans for supporting life: examined through Buy Me a Coffee. Not expected, always appreciated!

Whether it’s a coffee, a comment, a like, or a share—I’m grateful for your support!

Until next week—be well, stay curious, and thanks for reading life: examined.