Papagni Pages

Author: CP

  • Measuring Success Later In Life

    Notice I said later and not late; it isn’t over yet. When you get older you begin to reflect upon the things that truly matter. It’s actually one of those positive life epiphanies you wish had happened sooner, but alas, like so many things, take it when it comes. So I thought I’d share some of these thoughts with you while I have the nerve to do so.

    None of it is gospel or written in stone. One’s truth sometimes only applies to the beholder. If any of this pig’s dookie resonates or seems reasonable, then I’ve met my expectations. If it leaves you feeling confused or pained, then I was right all along.

    Pleasing other people while neglecting your own wishes, is foolish

    This is a silly example, but it’s the one that comes to mind. I like sparkling water when I dine out. Many times when dining out with friends the waitstaff will ask “sparkling or still?” and a friend will answer for the table and say, “we’ll have still.” There was a time I stayed quiet and just drank still water. Now when this happens, I say, “I’ll have sparkling please.”

    When I’m going to dinner with a friend or with family, I try to get consensus for where we will be dining. If we’re in their hometown, I will acquiesce, thinking they’ll know better. In general, I think it’s only fair that there is some equality in the type of food and the place. There are times when someone will need a gentle reminder about who gets to choose. I’m afraid that I’m not always gentle. If you love food as much as I do you’ll understand.

    Denying yourself certain things that make you truly happy, is bad for you

    I know people that deny themselves all that is good because they think it’s bad for you. Of course, there are many things that are bad for you and should be avoided, but . . . there are other things that might be okay in moderation. I will avoid writing about alcohol or marijuana, which might be triggers. I’ll just mention a few things I will never deny myself unless I’m told they will drastically shorten my life: chocolate, snacks while watching a good film, flying to a place I love (I believe if I deny myself the pleasure of travel because airplane fuel is destroying the ozone, then I am a fool. I have tried saving the planet and have discovered it doesn’t work), and buying a movie ticket in a real movie theatre.

    Trust me, if you completely deny yourself that snack or small thing, you will want it more. Moderation.

    Ignore aches and pains and they will eventually go away

    Last year I had a nagging pain on my right side not too far from my stomach. I thought it was bloating or a muscle sprain from the gym. I had other minor issues that I thought may or may not be related. For months I just ignored it — don’t ask me why humans do this. One day the pain lasted the entire day. I knew it wasn’t my appendix because that’s been removed. If it was my pancreas, I didn’t want to know. Well, it was my gallbladder and I had to have surgery. Once I healed, I felt so much better. If something is wrong with you, it won’t just go away. In fact, if an illness goes untreated, it will, more than likely, get worse.

    Having “things” does not necessarily make you happy

    We have been programmed to think that shiny, pretty things will give us happiness. We often believe that if it’s more expensive, it will give us even more happiness. It might be true for a brief period of time, but this kind of happiness doesn’t last. For most, you quickly become bored with whatever it is and you subconsciously desire the next shiny new thing. Except for iPhones, they don’t count. Mind you I’m an Android user with a four year old phone. For some, the newest iPhone is a religion.

    Fussing with your appearance isn’t a bad thing, especially if you do it for yourself

    This is one of those topics that can really piss people off, so I’m going to play chicken and avoid it. But . . . there is one thing I truly believe, if you do anything at all to change your appearance or improve your looks and you’re doing it because it makes you feel better, that’s a good thing. If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, fuck ’em.

    If you say or do something embarrassing, people will forget quickly

    We’ve all been there. Open mouth, insert foot and a big piece of humble pie. Every time I do this I die a little. The curious thing is, that people quickly forget whatever it is you might have thought was going to cancel you. I’m not talking about something so horrendous you couldn’t possibly show your face again. I’m talking about a minor faux pas, like calling someone by their wrong name or asking an unmarried person about his or her husband. In your mind you messed up big time, but the person on the receiving end will usually just shrug it off. Hey, we’re all human. I take that back.

    Worrying about what people think is a waste of time and energy

    Oh that I could shed this awful habit. I’ve learned that no matter who you are, what you say, what you do, you will piss people off. Those who will think of you, and it should be said that most do not, will often find a reason to dislike you. I am not so virtuous to claim to have never judged or misjudged another. In fact, I believe I’m as guilty as the next guy. All the more reason to believe this truth: the best you can do for yourself and everyone else, is to follow your own path. Be who you want to be and do what you want to do. Those who like, or if you’re lucky enough, love you, will accept you for who you are. When you catch a glimpse of this reality it’s both freeing and comforting. As I stated earlier, I’m only partway there.

    What does success look like?

    I recall sleepless nights cramming for exams at university. Sitting in my dorm room poring over notes while my friends were out partying. When I think about my youth, my one big regret was not having more fun. I do think getting good grades is important, but getting into the “right” school might not be. In fact, I interviewed with several employers who specifically avoided ivy league graduates. I don’t think it’s important to guess why that might be. I won’t lie, my New York University Ph.D. opened doors, but I’m fairly certain other lesser known, less expensive schools would have been good enough.

    Back then, success was all about prestige, a high salary, and a title. I wish I’d known back then, that a mid-management decent salary would have meant a less stressful, possibly happier life. Spending time with people I loved and enjoyed, would probably have provided more meaning than twelve hour workdays. And emailing my boss and co-workers while on vacation didn’t make me a better person. If I could reset my career, there are two major things I would change: first, I’d do more research on my potential employers, and second, I’d leave the job as soon as it became intolerable. The only thing I gained by staying was stomach issues and prolonged resentment. And co-workers who judged, shunned, or betrayed you? Let it/them go.

    Older man measuring a tree with a portrait and journal tied to its trunk

    If you’re thinking, “Why is everything one big joke with him?” Well, for me, it is. Half of what I’m thinking is bullshit and the other half is my shit. It’s my coping mechanism to keep it in perspective. Do what works for you.

    State-of-Mind

    It’s taken me weeks to state this with confidence: I’m in a good place. I am still grieving over Paco, but now my thoughts are mostly pleasant memories of him doing the things he loved most. I’m back to traveling and making good choices. A clear head is a welcome state indeed.

    I go back and forth with regards to my beliefs about people in my life reading my posts. I want so badly to say it doesn’t matter. I guess, in part, because I believe it shouldn’t matter. But then I consider how I am toward people in my life I care about (very dangerous thoughts) and it leads me to believe that people that have the capacity to support you, should support you. I add the “capacity” caveat because I believe there are times in our lives when we deserve a pass from everyone. If you’ve lost someone in your life and you’re grieving, if you’re very ill, if you just lost your job, if you’re in the middle of a massive move, and other stressful or traumatic experiences, then in my mind (and heart), you deserve a pass. Writing is my passion, self-expression, my way of sharing my beliefs and feelings. If you say you love me or care about me, show me. The people I’m speaking to are not reading this and that my friends, is one of the riddles of life.

     “We rise by lifting others.” – Robert Ingersoll

  • When Wanderlust Starts to Fade

    Wanderlust (often misspelled as wunderlust) is a strong, deep-rooted desire to travel, roam, and explore the world.

    If you know me, you know that I spend way too much time analyzing my thoughts and how others react to me. Why am I anxious about this, why did she say that, should I speak to him about it? Overthink much? Sixty-seven years of manic thinking is exhausting and unnecessary, but it’s my reality. Lately, the subject of travel has occupied way too much of the space between my ears.

    I’m sure many of you have experienced the following:

    Airport and Airplane Angst

    The business of arriving hours before a flight, sitting idle at the gate or spending way too much money for a cocktail, makes me crazy. I’ve actually done all that, was first on line for boarding and then refused boarding because there was an airplane change and the entire row of “C” seats no longer existed. It cost me over 1,200 euros to get home that day and I was not reimbursed a single penny. Now if that doesn’t make you want to stay at home, I’m not sure what would.

    I don’t mean to be overly dramatic, however, it feels like every time I fly, I shave years off of my life. The baby crying for eight hours as we cross the Atlantic, the guy who smells like he dumped a bottle of cologne over his head at Duty Free, the woman sitting by the window who has to pee every 30 minutes, and the drinks cart that’s been slammed into my left shin three times on a single flight. One more thing before I leave this topic:  whenever they announce quarterly profits for the major airlines, I lose my cool. These days you buy your ticket and then they nickel and dime you for everything from water to a seat on the airplane; then you learn they added billions to their coffers. Aren’t we all so pleased for them?

    Hotel Room Regret

    Have you ever checked into a hotel room and discovered the shower stall was designed for small children? You book the room on a site with photos of the rooms, listing different categories. You make sure you’ll have a decent size shower and what you get is a miniscule stall or a bathtub. You know asking for another room is out of the question, so you squeeze into the stall and proceed to wash only the upper half of your body because your arms can’t go further than your waistline. My favorite is when they have a sink big enough for a pig bath and a teeny tiny shower. Sometimes, this is the smallest of your grievances.

    In Europe, you can count on two twin (or smaller) beds that are pushed together. God forbid you move in the middle of the night, you could end up on the floor or hanging on to the edge for dear life. Even better, when the bed is so soft you cannot move left or right or worse, when the sheets actually scratch your skin. I once had a hotel clerk tell me that it’s been proven that polyester is better for a good night’s sleep. I rest my case.

    Travel Scams

    Scams of all kinds exist everywhere. This is unfortunately a by-product of the digital world we live in. The problem with scams in another country is that you are unaware of their existence. For example ATM machine scams. There are multiple ways you can be cheated at the ATM machine, causing you angst whenever you dare to use one and of course, it would be difficult not to use one when you travel.

    There are also credit card and debit card scams and that too is something to watch out for. And nowadays, nobody takes cash. You can’t use your credit card and you’re shit out of luck.

    I’ve heard of people renting rooms or apartments online using various booking sites, only to arrive and learn that the booking was an on-line scam. You’re standing there with three suitcases and the apartment doesn’t exist. It’s really important to use a reliable booking site.

    Unfortunately, the number of bad actors out there is only growing. Taking precautions and being hyper vigilant, are your only comforts.

    Illness Abroad

    I’m sure people ask themselves why they had to break their leg in Croatia or why Bronchitis welcomes you to Thailand? It seems inevitable that you will end up with some debilitating illness at some point in your travels. I remember missing a bus because of food poisoning in London. It’s a horrible feeling, elevated by your distance from home. How many trips have you had to cancel because you were either ill or a future illness was a strong possibility?

    Irrational Fears Realized

    You’ll know these fears: losing your passport, missing your flight, stranded with no battery life and no cash, no hotel rooms available after a flights been cancelled, a big fight with your travel partner in a foreign country, having your pet placed in quarantine at the airport, the wheel breaking on your bag as you walk the last mile to the airport; the list of possibilities is endless. How do you prepare? How do you respond? Will it prevent you from booking a flight? Will it kill you?

    Joyful Moments and Memories

    There have been moments while traveling when I thought that what I was experiencing was the height of visual stimulation. There are too many to name them. Or a meal that was transformative. I guess as I am typing these thoughts, I have found my answer: Yes, it is worth all of the aforementioned pain and suffering. Perhaps it is all of that angst that led me to that feeling of elation and awe when I’ve traveled. In summary, I guess I will travel until I can no longer travel, but perhaps, staying closer to home most of the time is the best plan.

    Map, compass, journals, and vintage postcards arranged on a wooden table

    “Travel is still the most intense mode of learning.” — Kevin Kelly

    State-of-Mind

    Loss is so fucking hard. It’s probably the loneliest form of suffering. Still, there is a reason they say, “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I’m not even going to bother looking up who this pearl of wisdom came from. What does “stronger” mean?

    Am I stronger? It’s difficult to say. One thing is for certain and that is that I can survive grief. I have lost both my parents, several siblings, close friends, and beloved pets and here I am. They are all a big part of my conscious thinking; my sense of self. They guide me and protect me. So in all of these ways, I guess I am stronger; certainly blessed with incredible memories.

    I have been working on letting go for over 30 years. One has to believe change is possible even when it feels like you’re climbing Mt. Everest and the peak never seems any closer. I’ve decided that I’m not giving up.

    “Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water.”

    — W.C. Fields

    “It’s better to look back on life and say, ‘I can’t believe I did that,’ than to look back and say, ‘I wish I did that.’”

    — Unknown

  • Growing Old Minus the Graceful Part

    Oh this is going to be fun.

    I’ve written about growing older before, but I held back in the past; not this time.

    The most awful thing about being a man and being past 50, is prostate problems. I’m not comparing it to menopause or any other female aging realities, so please don’t throw stones. I understand that prostate issues are extremely common for men over a certain age, leading me to believe that many of you will relate to this. The urge to pee many times day or night; the feeling that you haven’t evacuated completely, the fear of prostate cancer, the taking of meds to get any sort of relief, and the trickling of urine in six directions when you urinate — all horrible and unpleasant. Sleep, when your bladder is waking you, adds complications to an already elusive reality. I’m convinced a scientist or doctor somewhere has found a cure for prostate enlargement and cancer, but big pharma is keeping it from old dudes like me — it’s an industry worth billions; therefore a solution isn’t happening anytime soon.

    The next worst thing is the aches and pain everywhere. Yes, yes, yes, I’d still rather be alive than dead, but that’s not my topic this week. The joints hurt, the back aches, the tendons are tight, the knees click, the hernia causes soreness, the ears itch, the blood in the legs doesn’t circulate, and looking in the mirror at that big bald head hurts your ego. And again, there is little you can do about it.

    One day, can’t say which day; it may have been 200 days in a row that all meld into one. You look in the mirror and realize that the only part of your body not sagging is your pinky finger on your right hand. There is excess skin everywhere and it ain’t pretty.

    It’s difficult to admit this to yourself, but you get tired. I’ve done a personal survey of all the older men I know and they all confess that at some point during the day they run out of steam. It makes sense, you just don’t have the energy of a 25 year old. If you partake in activities that are strenuous, you will get tired sooner than you once did. Naps are great, I highly recommend them.

    One thing that doesn’t happen to all older men, however, it can happen if you fail to do something about it. After leaving your career or job, you could end up feeling a loss of purpose. Doing something meaningful with your life is essential for maintaining the desire to live. Personally, I don’t think watching TV or scrolling social media cuts the mustard.

    Most of the garbage I’m spewing is universally true for many older men, but there is one particular thing that might only be true for gay men of a particular era and/or gay men who were closeted for a good part of their adult lives. If you hid your sexuality from the world for a long time and then consequently came out late or have never come out — more gay men than you’d think — you might be very envious of today’s young gay men.

    From the outside looking in, young people appear uninhibited and perhaps sexually active early on. Obviously not true for some and not prevalent in certain parts of the world. But if you only got to be out for a small portion of your life or late in life, you’d be envious of today’s youth in a large part of the world. This could be a blog post by itself, but I fear that speaking for others might be inappropriate. So much of the activities of this sub-population is kept hidden for obvious reasons.

    The “invisible” factor can be painful if one lacks self-esteem. Studies showing how older people are often ignored or discounted in society, is heartbreaking. I feel it sometimes, but as an introvert, in many ways I welcome the anonymity.

    Some of the annoying things my fellow elders choose to keep hidden: hair that grows in the wrong places, body tags, thinning skin, excess gas (a lot of it), multiple medications designed to regulate all of the functions that are out of control or disruptive, and of course the loss of hearing, sight, and necessary lubrication. And there’s more that might plunge you into deeper depression.

    Losing people you love is a harsh reality as you age. Friends and family who have been a part of your life for a very long time. The feeling of loss is profound and heavy. Does it make you stronger? I don’t think so, I think it makes you sad and sometimes lonely. I recall a conversation with my 87 year old father before he passed. He told me that losing people he loved was the worst part of aging. He had eight siblings and I believe he was the last to go. I don’t know if you can ever prepare for that kind of pain. Losing a life partner or your own child, unimaginable.

    There are a few realities that are actually positive, at least for me. The first is work drama. I don’t miss it at all, none of it. The second is libido, as in there is none . . . gone, zip, only a faint memory. I’d rather this than thoughts of sex all day everyday, don’t miss that.

    Eight older adults seated together around a coffee table in a sunny lounge
    This scenario may be more pleasant than you might think.

    It’s easy to allow all of the unpleasant actualities to ruin your day, but that doesn’t have to be the case. I’m embracing it all; celebrating survival and good health. There will be further posts on aging, as I age further — I guarantee it!

    A friend of mine posted this and I laughed out loud. I hope you appreciate it as much as I do.

    State-of-Mind

    I’m a difficult person, but I’m fully aware of it. I know that I challenge people who treat me poorly. I know that I sometimes lack tolerance and put people off. There are more awful traits I own, that I don’t really need to name, because I know who I am and you don’t have to know everything about me. If I further state that I am working on being a better human, that’s only half true. I know that sometimes I cannot and will not hold my tongue. I know that cheering for the underdog is not always popular or wise. I know that people who I thought were friends, have walked away from me and people who judge me, speak ill of me when I’m not around. I’m so happy to say, these people no longer matter to me (I lie I tell myself). What matters to me are those individuals who love/like me for who I am: the good, the bad, and the pompous. Stick by me and I’ll be loyal and true.

    I’m trying to avoid being an angry, bitter, reclusive old man by acknowledging what has already begun or what is coming. I might be able to develop coping mechanisms, store up some patience, and make the best of all of it.

    No quote this week, I’ll let these be my last words for now.

  • Remaining True to Yourself

    And Enjoying Life

    Warning: If you believe revealing feelings or deep personal thoughts is inappropriate, read no further.

    Those of you who have followed my blog for the past nearly nine years, know that I went from writing about my travels and immigrant life in Portugal, to writing about whatever popped into my head weekly, to most recently, fiction. Because writing is one of my favorite pastimes, I want to continue. But because I easily become bored, I’m going to change things up a bit. I imagine I will occasionally throw in a bit of fiction with the current non-fiction.

    I’m going to cover topics I think might be relatable. Like most people, I suffer from daily ambivalence. One day I know exactly what I want and the next, I haven’t got a clue. I can’t help asking myself why that happens. So, for today, I’m going to be asking some difficult questions. I promise to attempt an answer that will be both authentic and useful. Perhaps helping me and others toward a clearer path moving forward. Always feel free to chime in.

    How can I navigate the difficult days?

    What I have learned (sure did take me long enough), is that when a difficult day comes along, there is little I can do to change things; especially if it’s about my mood, airport issues, illness, politics, etc. The best I can do is to take it easy on myself to soften it a bit and/or go with it. I do this knowing that the difficulty will eventually pass. It’s usually something beyond my control, so rather than fight it, I just try to wait it out. Always easier said than done.

    How honest can you be with the people in your Life?

    This is one of the hardest of life’s dilemmas. What I know to be true is that my truth is sometimes another person’s struggle or pain. People do not always have the tools to face or see certain things about themselves and there are all sorts of reasons for this. I can be thinking, I’m going to be honest so that they can acknowledge whatever it is and respond favorably. This rarely happens, more often than not, the person resents you and puts distance between you and them. In addition, my standards and values may be very different from those of some of the people around me. I have realized that the more grace I extend to others, the more fulfilling my relationships are. I think I may be one of those people who like to stir the pot.

    “Learn how not to be mad at people for not being who you need them to be.”

    – Ancestor Healing Magic, Marva

    What compromises can you make without losing your integrity?

    I once thought that I shouldn’t compromise or budge. Now I know that compromises must be made in order to achieve harmony. There are times when a red line is drawn. If someone wants me to do something illegal or criminal, I usually bow out. I also believe the isms, such as racism, sexism, agism, and several others, are a hard no. MAGA has no place in my heart and/or life.

    Can grief teach you something about your life?

    I have had a great deal of loss in my life. I have come to realize there are many ways we grieve, further, sometimes grief is stronger depending on where we are in our lives or the circumstances surrounding the loss (i.e., the age of the person or the way in which they passed). The greatest lesson for me has been to allow myself to feel the loss. Whether it’s facing a difficult memory or being swept up in your emotions. A good cry can be incredibly healing. Realizing life isn’t tied up in a pink ribbon is also healthy and it can initiate growth.

    Is picking and choosing your vices wise?

    There are things in life that I know for certain are not good for me, yet I partake anyway. I can’t name all of these vices; I’m too embarrassed and by naming them, I would make them too real for comfort. I have a simple philosophy that helps guide me: if it makes me feel good and poses a minimal threat to my existence, I welcome it. For example, I love wine. I don’t drink wine to get drunk, I drink wine because I love the taste and how it pairs with food. I drink it in moderation because it’s high in calories and if I overdo it in the evening, my trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night become disruptive. Another one of my vices is chocolate. I may even love it more than wine. Dark chocolate is my drug of choice and I indulge at least once a day. If I was given a choice to add five years to my life if I gave it up, I’d happily keep eating it. Add nuts of all kinds and I’m pretty happy indeed. Any good vices out there I should know about? TikTok is a social media vice, but I love it and I can’t stop.

    Older man sitting on a park bench with a cane in autumn
    An older man relaxes on a park bench beneath colorful autumn trees (AI generated),

    I stopped at that last question for several reasons: 1) keeping it brief, keeps people engaged, 2) I’ve learned that the difficult questions we ask ourselves can be exhausting, and lastly, I’ve learned when to stop.

    I’m thinking that next week will be about accepting getting old(er).

    “You’ll learn, as you get older, that rules are made to be broken. Be bold enough to live life on your terms, and never, ever apologize for it. Go against the grain, refuse to conform, take the road less traveled instead of the well-beaten path. Laugh in the face of adversity, and leap before you look. Dance as though everybody is watching. March to the beat of your own drummer. And stubbornly refuse to fit in.”
    ― Mandy Hale

  • He Saw Me

    (fiction with a touch of realness)

    ​Turning 60 was a mind fuck, but not because I was older. It wasn’t the aches and pains that were my new constant companions. It wasn’t family, they were as aloof as they’d always been. Friendships had benefited from longevity and a shared history, and for that I was grateful. It was the reality of being a single gay man in a world where older single gay men primarily want to be with pretty young things; arm candy they can parade through high end restaurants. I knew this when I decided to go to a gay club in Barcelona when I was visiting there last month. I knew that I wasn’t 25 anymore, my hair was growing, but on the wrong parts of my body. I still loved music and dancing, but I was shy about the old moves that were no longer trending. I was certain I would walk into that club of 200 gay men and that I’d be completely invisible. It would almost feel as if I were shrouded in a cloak that rendered me unseen. I knew this, but the lure of possibilities was stronger than my fear of being invisible.

    I paid the cover fee and rapidly walked over to the bar. My fear was quickly realized as I stood there for what felt like light years, completely unnoticed. The young, shirtless, hot bartender approached several boys without even a glance my way. I fought the urge to flee and remained steadfast in my mission to finally get the bartender’s attention. I wondered if I should confront him or push my way ahead of some of the boys directly in front of him. I opted to go the martyr route and passively waited, rolling my eyes and sucking my teeth. He eventually saw me and asked me what I wanted. I ordered a double scotch on the rocks thinking that the opportunity may never present itself again.

    Drink in hand, I dragged my wounded ego to a corner of the club that was quieter and darker. Beating myself up came easily, hiding even easier. I sipped my scotch and scolded myself for thinking that there might be even a remote chance of meeting a stranger. I considered leaving several times, twenty times to be exact. My head was bowed, shoulders slumped, and a frown permanently plastered on my face. I was aware of these things, but since I was invisible, it didn’t matter. I took out my phone and read my emails; disgusted, pathetic, defeated. So involved in my own melancholy, I didn’t notice the man standing in front of me.

    “Do you mind if I sit down?”

    What? I asked.

    “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

    Do as you please, I said.

    He extended a hand and said his name was Carl. I looked around to see who Carl was talking to.

    He said, “And you are?”

    I’m David, I replied matter-of-factly.

    “Hi David, are you okay?”

    I was immediately defensive. Why wouldn’t I be?

    Carl was unguarded and looked into my eyes. He said, “Would you prefer to be left alone?”

    No, no, I said, you caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to speak to anyone tonight.

    We spent the next couple of hours getting to know one another. I shared some of my manic thoughts and Carl listened. He listened hard. He told me that he had similar thoughts not too long ago, but felt emboldened after fighting testicular cancer. His cancer was in remission. Realizing how uncertain life can be, he no longer cared about what others may or may not think about him. Carl was free and for a brief moment in time, so was I.

    Older man holding a drink at a crowded, brightly lit nightclub bar
    David finally gets his drink

    I’ve joined a writer’s group here in the Algarve. On my first meeting with the group, the facilitator provided a prompt for our first piece. It was an interesting process of sharing what invisibility means to each of us. We were asked to spend some time alone (in a beautiful and inspiring setting in the hills of the Algarve) writing a piece which we would later share. My group provided praise and support for the draft edition of “He Saw Me,” so I decided to clean it up and share it with you.

    State-of-Mind

    In a pretty good place actually. Still some sad moments, but I know that will be the case for some time. What do they say, “It’s the price we pay for love.”

    Some trips planned for the fall. Still considering there might be a hobby I have yet to discover. I guess we’ll see. I’m looking forward to the fall.

    “This strangely still pause between summer and autumn, greenery and gold, and the heat and rising wind that is once again readying itself to rush it all away in a climactic symphony of color and scent is—in my opinion, one of the best parts about living on earth.” — Victoria Erickson

  • Problem Child, Complicated Adult

    Stevie was never easy. When he was only three weeks old he refused to eat and had to be fed intravenously, at 24 months he decided he would no longer speak, and at 17, he packed a bag and left home without saying a word to anyone. The only reason his parents knew he was alive was his continued presence on social media. Stevie was troubled, he caused trouble for everyone around him, and he got into trouble with the law without much effort to avoid it.

    Anyone who is a parent knows that parenting is not easy; never has been, never will be. Mistakes are made and small victories are celebrated. But what to do about a deviant child; that’s a nearly impossible problem to navigate. Many give-up.

    Stevie’s mother, Lee Anne, was tired of hearing about gun violence, drug related tragedies, and the consequence of street gangs, on the news. She didn’t know exactly what Stevie was involved with, but her instincts told her it was criminal and potentially dangerous. His father Carl was less concerned. Carl was too busy with work and basketball, to be bothered. When Lee Anne tried to talk to Carl about Stevie, he tuned her out. It wasn’t that Carl didn’t care, he just didn’t have the right tools to deal with Stevie.

    It seemed at times that there was hope for their son. There was this one time when he volunteered for an animal rescue shelter. He went to the shelter after school for weeks. Stevie was focused on the animals, finding them a home and their overall happiness. But even that became a problem when he tried to prevent the shelter from euthanizing some of the older, unadopted animals. The shelter had to ban him from volunteering there; it destroyed Stevie.

    When Stevie decided he’d plan and execute a break-in at the Brooklyn Federal courthouse, he knew it would eventually land him in prison. His moral compass prevented that eventuality from deterring him. He knew in his heart that he wasn’t a hero, that he could never take the moral high ground, but there were things that truly got under his skin.

    Stevie was watching the news one day while hiding from the world. He’d seen where this federal judge was deliberately misleading the jury in a tax evasion case. It was really getting under his skin because the defense lawyer, who was court appointed, was ignoring or not calling attention to the judge’s obvious obstruction of justice. The prosecutors were often tongue tied and bewildered. Something had to be done.

    Of course Stevie knew that breaking into Judge Lindell’s chambers wasn’t the smartest thing to do. He’d done similar deeds in the past and hadn’t gotten caught, making him feel emboldened. The problem being, that the more he got away with, the more righteous he became. Stevie convinced himself he could do this, so stopping him would have been impossible. A above the law, assisting the law.

    Friday afternoon at 5:45 p.m. when the courts were set to close, Stevie put his plan into action. He walked into the security area carrying an Uber Eats bag. He knew security would be lax so close to weekend recess. He also knew that they probably wouldn’t bother to check with the clerk; he’d witnessed several late deliveries that went unchecked on days he was observing. He wore a very convincing wig, eyeglasses, and a baseball cap. He looked like every other male delivery person. He scribbled a signature and he was quickly ushered in. He silently laughed about how easy it was to enter the halls of justice.

    Judge Lindell’s secretary was not at her desk, her computer had been shut down. He opened the Judge’s Chambers knowing for certain that the judge had already left for the day. Security was aware of the back door exits. He was hoping the old school judge kept paper files; he wanted to take what he needed and head for home. A pile of folders on Judge Lindell’s desk were neat and in alphabetical order; his secretary was clearly tidy. There it was, Kenneth Jackson’s file right in the middle of the pile. He quickly sorted through the file and noticed ten pages clipped together, marked “omit for trial.” He was disgusted by the judge’s blatant breaking of the law. Stevie photographed the pages and closed the file. Not being able to help himself, he attached a post-it note, reading, “Your honor is cooked!”

    Stevie could barely sleep a wink, he was excited to expose the corruption. He woke early and went straight to the Fedex office to send what he had found to the district attorney. He was certain that even if the DA was in on the corruption, he’d be forced to take action because the evidence was out there and would eventually be leaked to the press. A note Stevie attached to the evidence, made it clear that unless the judge’s cover-up was brought to light, there would be further consequences. The very next day, the New York Times reported on a Grand Jury that would be hearing the case against the judge. There was to be a quick indictment and a new judge appointed to the Jackson case.

    Stevie got to have four days of glory before the police came calling. He was arrested on two counts of illegal entry to a federal office building, and eight counts of the theft of state’s evidence. Stevie’s parents were made aware of his arrest and crimes. A family attorney was hired to represent Stevie. Carl and LeeAnne were of course upset about Stevie’s actions, but they were also proud of their son. They hoped for leniency due to the nature of Stevie’s case. They assured Stevie that once released, they would help him in whatever ways they could. Now that they knew that their son was “on the right side,” their support would be unwavering.

    After pleading guilty, Stevie was given a light sentence of six months, four of which he had already served while awaiting judgment. The mayor of New York was made aware of the case and decided to put Stevie in charge of a corruption task force. That office went on to bring hundreds of cases to trial, with equal numbers of individuals exposed and brought to justice.

    Carl and LeeAnne Page, who never gave up on their son Stevie, created a foundation designed to help young people who may be morally and ethically inclined to justice, direct their energy in a way that would help them change the world.

    Young man wearing headphones sitting on a train, looking out a window with raindrops and countryside view.

    This piece is fiction

    State-of-Mind

    First, thank you to everyone who reached out to me after losing Paco. There have been some really bad days and some upbeat moments. Those of you who have lost a pet will understand.

    I’m not so fond of extreme heat. I feel fortunate to live in the Algarve where we often have a nice breeze off of the Atlantic ocean.

    Loss can help you put things in perspective. I feel like I’m finally beginning to focus on the things that matter.

    I am admittedly hyper focused on managing different aspects of my life. If something is broken, I work hard to figure out a way to fix it. One of the many things coming up for me as I grieve Paco’s loss, is that he had a medical issue and I could not fix it. I was frustrated, angry, and l lived with the inability to correct a problem I was certain could be eventually solved. Aside from the infection Paco was living with, he was fairly healthy. I was hellbent on killing that bacteria. In the end I failed. That failure has been more difficult to cope with than I imagined. How is it that the medical world has allowed many antibiotics to become ineffective? Do people realize that there are strains of bacteria that are killing us? I don’t think humankind understands the weight and scope of this problem.

    I know my writing is weak on this one. I haven’t gotten to a positive, creative place. Time and patience.

    “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes… and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” — Jamie Anderson

  • The Loss of a Family Member and Dear Friend

    His eyes continue to haunt me. The portals to his soul, the way he communicated with me, their intensity. We were a family of two, just Paco and me, and now, just me. Remembering Paco is easy. What is difficult for me is the void he has left behind. He was always there: beside me, sitting on the edge of the dining room rug facing the kitchen watching me cook, hoping I was scrambling him an egg, perched on the terrace in the doorway where he could watch my every move, on the bed at my feet, curled up between my legs on the sofa or trotting by my side on the sidewalk.

    Yes, Paco trotted. People passing us by would notice him and marvel at his skills. He came to me this way. It was a strong, confident, regal trot. Paco was about 10 inches tall, 20 inches long and he only weighed 9.25 pounds. In early days, my fear of stepping on him was ever present. But he was smart enough to stay clear of my big feet. I know, everyone thinks their dog is smart, but Paco had more than intelligence, he had insight and understanding and a tremendous amount of patience.

    I wrote about how I acquired Paco some time ago, so I won’t revisit that part of our history. I will just mention that when he joined me in Portugal he was skin and bones, weak, and fighting several serious illnesses. When Maria, his vet, told me he might not make it, I wept shamelessly in her office. He was less than a year old and weighed under four pounds. I got him home, held his face in my hands, and asked him to fight with me. I said, “If you live, we will have a life of adventure, lots of friends, and good food.” He rallied and fought for six years, until a strong and resistant bacterial infection took him from me last week. Six years that I will forever cherish.

    After admiring how handsome he was, the first thing people who met him would say is, “He’s such a sweet dog.” Paco would give himself over to you within the first 10 seconds of meeting you. He made everyone feel special. He would pass along that contagious joy, lick you a thousand times, and glance over at me to let me know that he could love me and love others as well. One of his jobs (he embraced responsibility) was to greet people at the elevator outside of my apartment. No matter who it was, they were treated the same, with a warm welcome. My Amazon delivery guy looked forward to my stop and specifically asked me to order more things so he could see Paco. He was seldom met with fear and if he sensed it, he just backed away.

    The thing about a dog that is not always apparent to non-dog people, is that dogs see all of you and sense how you are feeling emotionally. If you live alone and have a pet, your emotional needs are often met by your pet — certainly the case for me. Now, I’ll have to rely on myself or close family and friends.

    This has been very difficult to write. I find myself stopping and starting quite a bit.

    As I write today I’m feeling a great deal of anger. It seems very unfair to me that Paco was taken so soon. It was apparent to me early on that he was probably beaten as a puppy. If I went near a stick of any kind, he cowered. If I raised my voice, he made himself very small. And after the abuse, he was dumped in the woods to fend for himself, where he could die of starvation or an animal attack. And then, after being rescued and only a few years later, a bacterial infection he didn’t have the means to fight stole his life. Yes, I am angry; I’m angry at those who abandoned him and I’m angry at this fucking infection.

    But I’m not supposed to dwell on any of those things. I’m expected to just be grateful to have had him in my life and focus on the future. Nobody wants to be around a grieving person. I sense it all around me, just move on Chris.

    I’m not ready to move on, escape, get away, hide my feelings. I want to remember Paco all day everyday until the memories are all beautiful and comforting. For now I need to see his struggle, his cries for help, his pain. I need to see it, so I can understand his absence in my life; so I can accept his death.

    I have had a couple of people suggest that I consider another pet. I don’t want to disparage those who go this route, but that is not who I am. For now, I cannot imagine the ability to love another dog. I would be comparing, resenting, and spending way too much time trying to erase memories. I need time.

    I’ve been told that I did a very unselfish thing by euthanatizing Paco. That stopping his suffering was the most loving thing I could have done. These are nice words; comforting words, but I know in my heart I could have done more. Six vets confirmed his diagnosis, but maybe a seventh vet would have provided another remedy? Maybe that invasive surgery in Lisbon was the answer? Maybe if I had waited a few more days, his condition might have improved? Were the plants on the terrace the source of the infection? Of course I know on an intellectual level, these are not all rational thoughts, nonetheless, it’s where my brain goes these days. Processing a loss is an important piece of the grief puzzle. Allow me doubt, allow me time.

    Another harsh reality: Paco started getting sick 16 months ago. I had just had shoulder replacement surgery and recovery was challenging. His infection was more difficult to deal with because my arm was in a sling — back and forth to the vet; healing, hope, and disappointment, over and over again. And then in November 2025 I needed to have my gallbladder removed, again making it difficult to attend to his illness. Paco’s infection continued to return after multiple antibiotics, other strong medications, several surgical procedures, and again, many trips to multiple vets.

    Over the last few months, when the infection was in his middle ear, eustachian tube, and nose, he had problems breathing at night when the mucous would build up. Early on I could flush out his nose and give him some relief, but after a while, it didn’t help. I was giving him sedatives, steroids, and pain medication. All of these helped in the beginning of the infection, however, they became less and less effective over time. I would have nights with constant interrupted sleep and the pain of seeing Paco in distress. I trusted his doctors, but being a realist, I knew in my heart that this resistant bacteria would eventually take his life.

    All of this consumed me psychologically and emotionally. I talked to friends and family who were sympathetic, but who had no real answers. I also posted his symptoms and diagnosis on several animal help sites. People with good intentions, shared similar experiences or offered their sincere sympathy.

    And here’s where I reveal my real feelings, feelings that continue to plague me with guilt. There were times when I would hope (I don’t pray), that Paco would die in his sleep so that both he and I would no longer experience the suffering. I should add that at times I would have these thoughts in the wee hours of the morning and then see the vet the next day after a flushing procedure under anesthesia, only to be hopeful once again. This cycle repeated four times over several months. There were two times during this period where I considered euthanasia, only because I did not know what else to do.

    I noticed that I was beginning to make some bad decisions about other things happening in my life; my mind was often foggy and a feeling of hopelessness was pervasive. I’m really good at hiding pain and discomfort, but some people noticed my anxiety and would ask me about what was happening. I was reluctant to dwell on the situation; too much sharing pushes people away.

    There were several individuals who were more involved and harder to share the news of his inevitable end. His groomer/sitter has been a part of his life for years. In addition, I have two very close friends with a dog that Paco spent a great deal of time with. Nina (pictured with Paco) loved Paco. They were like brother and sister; respectful of one another, tender, and always happy when they were together. Especially delightful to watch considering their size difference. Nina’s parents were also very much in love with Paco. They were involved in his life so much that I recently named them as his guardian should something happen to me. Sharing the news that Paco was being euthanized was agonizing, but the right thing to do. There were goodbyes on his last day. We’re all remembering Paco together and their presence in my life has made a very difficult reality, a bit less painful.

    Some final words before I go: because of Paco’s serious issues when I rescued him, I was always acutely aware of his compromised immune system. I was often so filled with fear that I’d lose him, it became emotionally challenging. There were a few times when I was certain our time together was over, only to be proven wrong; making me grateful for the time that followed. I’m fully aware of where I am in the grieving process. I know that like Dana, Ashley and Giorgio, my dogs that came before Paco, I will someday just think of him and smile. But like people in our lives, every so often, someone comes along that stands out above the rest, Paco was that someone for me. I know he was a dog, but he was my soulmate and best friend. Knowing that Paquito touched so many in his short life gives me great comfort. Remember him, that’s what will keep him alive.

    “Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

    — Anatole France

  • The Balancing Act: Speak Up or Stay Silent?

    I admit this post is a mind dump.

    I keep a journal. If I were to look back over the past forty years, I have no doubt that I have written ‘keep your mouth shut’ 698 times, at a minimum. At this point I should just accept defeat, but it’s not in my nature to do that. In keeping with my list making proclivities:

    • When you speak your truth you risk having the person you are speaking to declare that your truth is not a shared truth.
    • What you share might be perceived as confrontational, therefore, angering the recipient.
    • Bringing up an issue can cause a problem to explode; becoming larger than intended.
    • Not sharing can cause resentment because the problem will not usually go away on its own.
    • You might share a confidence only to learn the information has been shared with others.
    • Not sharing may mean trust issues with others who sense that you are not being forthcoming about “stuff.”
    • Sometimes small issues fade away and lose their importance. For example, you are upset with someone because you’ve done something significant for them and they have not said, “thank you.” Time goes by and they share their gratitude about something unrelated. You may come to realize that the person may believe that they’ve already expressed their gratitude or they might be so caught-up in major concerns, that relaying thanks unintentionally slipped their mind. Forgiveness is essential, but grace isn’t always easy. A sincere thank you has always been a requirement for me.
    • Your thoughts can become distorted over time. It’s human nature to fill in blanks and see only what we desire to see. Speculation can be a disaster.
    • It’s important to first consider who the recipient of your words is — is it someone you trust and care about? If the answer is “no” for either or both, you should consider keeping it to yourself. One of the reasons I journal, make an entry and move on.
    • Do you have a proven track record with the individual who will hear your words? Some relationships are built on speaking your mind. A foundation can become stronger and more durable (or it can crumble to the ground).
    • Can you live with yourself if you decide not to share? For example, you suspect your best friend’s boyfriend of cheating. You might have irrefutable proof, but you have to ask yourself if you are prepared for the reaction you might or might not get.
    • You firmly believe a friend is an alcoholic. Is it up to you to get them help or guide them to assistance? Is remaining quiet even possible for you? Is it fair to discuss the issue with others who are close to the individual? Are you willing to risk losing a friend or family member? If a person doesn’t recognize that they have a problem, you will probably fail in convincing them. I have always found this to be a difficult dilemma. You can of course apply this to any substance abuse.
    • You may be wrong. You need to be prepared to learn that and make an apology.
    • Politics has become a hot button for many. I don’t mind sharing my POV, but I know my leftist woke values can be controversial.
    • If you know your words will not be heard or considered, why bother?

    Obviously, not an exhaustive list. I’m more consumed by outcomes than I believe is healthy. I admire people who question their thoughts, shrug and move on. As I stated earlier, that’s not who I am. My sister recently told me that she was listening to some great communicator who said, “Don’t spend too much time thinking about what others think of you. These people are more than likely not thinking about you at all.” I’m paraphrasing, but I think I captured the gist of what she was trying to convey. Yes, I do believe there is some truth to this, I think most of us care a great deal about what others think; especially when we respect and value these individuals. As I’ve gotten older, I feel like I care less. Retirement has a way of helping you set boundaries, manage priorities, and dwell on things a bit less.

    This took time: I couldn’t care less what certain faculty members I worked with thought or still think of me, because I have little or no respect for many of them. It’s like believing something a liar says; if a liar lies most of the time, why would you think the one thing you know is probably a lie, might be true just because they said it?You’re giving the liar too much credit. I should also be clear that there were many that I did respect and admire.

    Caring about the little things a little less probably has something to do with knowing that you have already lived more than two-thirds (or more) of your life.

    Please share other scenarios where speaking up or staying quiet might be a consideration.

    State-of-Mind

    I’m not going to lie, I’ve been in a funk. There are several things happening around me that are beyond my control. I’m a fixer. If I cannot fix something or improve upon a situation, it makes me anxious, so . . . I’m anxious now. And this too shall pass.

    I love spring and early spring has come to southern Portugal; birds are singing and flowers are blooming. I’m hoping nature will lift me up. I’ve never suffered from depression; however, I occasionally go down a dark rabbit hole. I know the only way out is to switch to more positive thoughts and practice gratitude. I realize that I have a great deal to be grateful for.

    “The best use of creativity is imagination. The worst use of creativity is anxiety.”  ― Deepak Chopra

  • Night Sweats, Memory Loss & Sterility

    She sits by herself, trying as hard as she can to blend in with the locals. This isn’t the first time she’s escaped her home town; running from demons and ex-lovers. Samantha or Sammy as her friends call her, is often filled with remorse. She doesn’t intentionally cause harm, but when she does it, she leaves a wake of doubt about ethics. When people talk about her, and they do talk about her, it’s always a singular theme that makes her a villain; she’s intelligent, perhaps too much so.

    This time Sammy left in a hurry. She was fleeing a past no one would understand. Evan was not to blame. It’s true he was a Greek god with an ego to match his perfect jawline, but he was flawed and Sammy knew it. She’d warned him to stay away, let her move on and forget him. But Evan didn’t listen and he didn’t care; Evan had two goals: the first was to bed Sammy and the second was to hold her up like a trophy. The latter would be impossible, the former more complicated. Sammy didn’t give-in to good looks and promises; her desire for a conversation that went beyond money and small talk, made Evan seem petty. In fact so much so, that he faded into a background of discarded has-bins.

    Here she sat, alone; questioning her choices and her future, but not her mind. She knew she’d find a way out. It wasn’t the law she was running from, it was her mother. Sammy’s mother Felicia was beautiful, quiet, and dangerous. At first meeting you would never suspect how horribly driven this woman was. And Sammy always covered for her; making excuses, being her alibi, and hiding her secrets. Felicia was a brilliant surgeon. Top of her class at Johns Hopkins Medical School and one of Duke University Hospital’s leading researchers. Felicia’s singular goal was to perform as many vasectomies as possible.

    That lofty goal in and of itself wasn’t so bad, it was her desire to perform the procedure without the men knowing it. Sammy was her enabler; hiding the truth became more difficult as each procedure was performed. Choosing her victims was easy, anaesthetizing her victims was easy, performing the surgery was easy — relocating the sleeping men to their beds with no memory of the situation wasn’t so easy. Securing propofol was the difficult part; ensuring the scumbags could land in the twilight zone having no memory of how they got from the couch in Sammy’s apartment to their own bed. And the pain, what was that pain? And what brought it on?

    Felicia had an impeccable reputation — never botched a surgery; no malpractice lawsuits. Sammy knew what her mother was doing was wrong, but Felicia was convincing. Having the satisfaction of knowing these lowlife men would never sire children was incredibly satisfying for both of them.

    The fear of getting caught was a constant. Would they snip the wrong guy? Sammy didn’t like living on the edge. Barbados was only a temporary refuge. Lately, there were two men her mother had her eyes on and Sammy wasn’t certain she was right about them. There were only two character flaws Felicia regarded as criteria. The first was a man who lies, and the second was a man who wouldn’t go near a child. She relied on Sammy for information and a steady supply of unknowing victims. Perhaps it’s unfair to call them victims, patients is a better description. Patients being treated for the betterment of society. The two knew they were only making a small dent, but each contribution to a better future made it worthwhile.

    Thus far, no one had suspected Sammy. Yes, there had been phone calls about some pain and discomfort, but Sammy made it clear that one she had no idea what might have happened to their private parts, and two, she assured them that when she’d last seen them, they seemed fine. Most were too embarrassed to even say something. The men did sense that there was something off about her, making a second date improbable.

    About a year ago, one guy did contact Sammy a few weeks after their first date. He’d said he wasn’t well, explaining that this was the reason he hadn’t been in touch. Sammy told him that too much time had passed and she was no longer interested in seeing him. She always tried to teach them a lesson, as she let them down.

    It wasn’t that she and her mother hated men, mind you; they felt strongly that bringing children into the world is a privilege that should only be extended to those deserving of such.

    A week in Barbados helped Sammy clear her head. She decided to tell her mother that their mission was becoming too dangerous; therefore, it needed to stop. Felicia would, at the very least, be disappointed.

    After flying home to North Carolina, Sammy asked her mother to come and see her at her apartment. Felicia agreed to stop by the following day. Sammy felt resolute about her decision. She hoped her mother would be agreeable. To her surprise, Felicia was angry and argumentative. She threatened to find someone else who would help her. Felicia shared that she was hoping to train other women and surgeons to further the cause. She left Sammy in tears; not saying goodbye and slamming the door.

    Sammy decided to allow a few days to pass before she contacted her mother. Unfortunately for the two of them, the law made the decision for them. Their last patient woke up remembering being dragged by the two women. He went to his doctor and explained the pain he was feeling in his groin area and learned that he had undergone a vasectomy without his consent or knowledge. He contacted the police and the police leaked it to the media.

    Most lauded the two women as heroes. It is estimated that mother and daughter had performed 36 vasectomies in Raleigh and several others in neighboring cities. Felicia lost her medical license. Although they are awaiting trial, few expect them to serve jail time; after all, most of the men did not wish to press charges and nobody died.

    Fiction folks, fiction. The photo is as far as I’ll go with AI.

    State of Mind

    The Supreme Court ruling on Trump’s tariffs provided some hope this past week. It seems like all we have are these small victories for now.

    Paco is finally doing well. There are no signs of the bacterial infection and he is finally off of the antibiotics. This has been an 11 month battle I’m hoping never to fight again.


    The beautiful spring came; and when Nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also.

    Harriet Ann Jacobs

    I hope you like the new design; change is good.

  • Prepared or Overplanning?

    Those of you who know me will just read this with a knowing smile. Hopefully this blog will help you understand the decisions I make. If you don’t know me, you may read my content and relate to how my brain works or you may think me mad. I often have to remind myself that we are all wired differently. I have a neighbor who is 97 years old and in the hospital in Faro for the second time in a few weeks. I’m fairly certain he will not make it out. I’ve known this man since arriving in Portugal and I have observed him with fascination and awe. He lived in a house nearby until a few years ago; I spent time with him in his former residence; wine, a few meals, some laughter. His father was one of the individuals responsible for building the building I live in. Apparently he wanted to build a home on the building’s corner lot and the city would only allow a high rise. So he built a large seven story structure in the 60’s that is now part of the city’s historical register; the building garnering multiple architectural awards. I feel fortunate to reside in this building. He and his partner decided to move into an apartment he had been leasing to someone else. On the day he moved in, I went out onto my terrace and I observed him helping the movers carry boxes and other belongings into the building. I couldn’t help but be blown away by this. A few days later, I got off the elevator and I found him on the lobby floor filling a small hole in the marble. The man was 93 years old. That level of care for the common area where we reside got me thinking about my own intentions and what I am most passionate about.

    I know that every human is different: how we see the world, how we navigate life, and how we think about ourselves in relation to the rest of society. I know that nature and nurture play a major role in our orientation to the world. When I look at this man, I see someone who is 100% invested in every aspect of life. When he is not in hospital, he conducts experiments, he enjoys eating, doing so slowly and with delight, he shops, he listens to music, etc. This is how he was only months ago, I can only imagine what he was like as a young man. When his light is extinguished, we will have lost a rare human indeed. Back to how this relates to me.

    In some ways I am young — well compared to him I am. Still, when I think about my life, I consider this my final chapter. I have no idea why I am this way. I have mentioned in an earlier blog post that I purchased a term life policy when I was ten years old. I paid the premiums with my allowance. To be fair, because of my age it was only a dollar a month, but looking back, I think it was a bit premature to have such a policy. I didn’t want to leave my mother with debt. Lulu just laughed at me hoping it was just a phase; it wasn’t.

    I continue to plan way too early. When I was 12 years old I flossed so that I’d still have my own teeth later in life (was repulsed by my father’s false teeth sitting in a glass in our shared bathroom). I had a bank savings account when I was 13. Trust me it only had a few dollars in it. The bank used to give you a little book, the teller made handwritten entries when you made a deposit or withdrawal. I mostly saved for Christmas gifts. I started paying rent on an apartment when I was 17 years old; I didn’t like giving my money to a landlord, so I saved for my own place. I knew in high school that I wanted a Ph.D. I didn’t really understand what it was, but I knew that if I was to get one, it would mean something . . . and it does.

    There are many other examples of this kind of compulsive behavior; perpetually trying to get ahead of what might come my way. The operative word there is “might.” It’s pretty obvious that a life insurance policy at 10 years old was not practical, I should have been buying toys or candy. The big question is: Is it helpful or hurtful to look so far into the future and anticipate one’s needs? I imagine the answer is that it is both.

    For example, being determined to earn a higher degree was very positive. I didn’t really have the acumen for a Ph.D., trust me it’s true. What I had was grit and determination and that’s what got me through it. Had I not thought seriously about it early on, I would never have gotten the grades needed to be accepted into NYU’s doctoral program. I kept my head in the books when everyone I knew was dancing the night away. Do I have regrets? Yes, in truth I think my desire to succeed academically meant that I pushed too many things to the side. I normally don’t like to play the coulda, shoulda, woulda game, but since I’m writing about it . . . I feel like I missed out on a lot of fun as a young person (excluding sports which I didn’t like because I was uncoordinated and bullied).

    Hanging out with friends, sleepovers, weekend trips, concerts, and all of the other things young people did back then were not a part of my world, because I was too serious. I’m not sure what came first: being an introvert and, therefore, avoiding group interaction or spending so much time studying, I became a loner. I’m not sure it truly matters. I’ve come to accept who I am, the good, the bad, the insane.

    The danger is that I will look into the future and decide that the obvious next stage of my life is to stay in, read, watch streamed films or series, eat, drink, rinse and repeat. I’ve already trimmed my travel schedule because getting on an airplane has become such an unpleasant and unpredictable experience. I’ve decided to mostly stick with brief, local experiences. The States is the furthest away I will travel and I will only travel there in order to see the people I love.

    I’m fortunate to have friends who put up with my excessive planning. I’m sure that some will humor me and go along with plans for a trip over a year out. I’m certain others talk about how anal retentive I am behind my back. No matter, as they say, “It is what it is.”

    The question is, will I plan for my own death? I’m pretty certain I will (probably because I already am). I am too much of a control freak to allow someone else to decide on the details.

    Things I do to prepare:

    • my bedroom for sleep in the early afternoon (shades, pull back duvet, lighting)
    • several meals days in advance. I love the anticipation
    • I start to pack about 10 days before a trip
    • If I know I’m about to have a difficult conversation with a professional (i.e., attorney, doctor), I take notes prior to our meeting
    • I started taking supplements for middle and old age when I was in my early twenties
    • I’m usually the first to RSVP
    • I’m usually waiting for people at a restaurant or meeting place
    • I did a living will in my 30s
    • I look at the weather 10 days ahead (as you know, it often changes)
    • I used to lay out my outfit the night before. I stopped doing this because I don’t care about what I’m wearing anymore.
    • I save addresses in Google Maps long before a trip.
    • I replace things in my pantry and cleaning supplies closet long before I run out. When I die, someone will inherit paper towels for a lifetime and enough tuna to feed Japan.
    • I used to remove my guest’s plates from the table while others were eating. I’ve since relaxed a bit.
    • 90% of the time I tell my guests it’s time to leave. I usually use walking Paco as the reason, but most people are smarter than that.
    • There are things that I’m too embarrassed to include here.

    State-of-Mind

    Paco update:

    For those of you following Paco’s health issues, I thought I’d let you know how he’s doing. His prognosis is extremely involved and precarious, so I’m not going to say much. A bacterial infection in his outer ear spread to other places. His treatment began in early March 2025 and it’s been a physical roller coaster ever since, causing the two of us a good deal of grief — Paco pain and discomfort and me, doubts about medical procedures and of course, concern for his future. He’s been on eight different medications, four antibiotics administered three different ways, steroids, painkillers, dietary supplements, and he’s had three surgeries in the last two months. He had a procedure on Friday that may or may not have helped; I won’t know for a week or two. In the meantime, I’m giving him daily injections of his forth antibiotic and local antibiotics (this treatment being our last hope). I’ve never been through anything quite like this; it has taught me patience and more about bacterial infections than I care to know. This particular bacteria is known to resist most if not all antibiotics. I wish I could say more about it. I appreciate those around me who have provided support and comfort.

    Further update (since I started this blog): his vet says she sees signs that Paco is finally responding to the treatment, but I hear congestion in his lungs and it worries me.

    I’m taking a quick trip to the Loire Valley in southwest France to clear my head a bit. Stepping back has always been good for me. I think when you’re in the thick of something for an extended period of time, you sometimes lose perspective.

    I will go back to short stories very soon. I just needed a little break.

    “You have power over your mind – not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” — Marcus Aurelius