Papagni Pages

Category: Stories to Share

  • If it Were My Last 24 Hours on Earth

    “No one here gets out alive.”

    — Jim Morrison

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    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

    Not to worry, not checking out anytime soon, just reminding myself how fragile life can be. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone; therefore, I think it’s best for me to respond in the abstract and not name names.

    What if you knew that you were going to die and you had 24 hours or less left to live? Would you want to be surrounded by those you love? Would you run away and hide from everyone? Would you tell people you cared about? Would you share things you have been holding back? Would you look back at memories? Would you end your life sooner in order to control the situation?

    These are the kinds of questions I ask myself when considering just how finite life is.  And by the way, the questions come up occasionally, not every day. There are statistics that guide us when we consider our lifespan. There are formulas based on how long your parents lived. Then there are calculations based on lifestyle. Genetics sometimes come into play. However, an accident may make all of those theories insignificant and irrelevant.

    I had a pretty bad accident a couple of years ago that made me question life, death and how I feel about both. Up until the accident, I was fairly certain that I would grow old and cranky. If I’m going to be honest, I have to say I’m well on my way.

    I attended a dinner party a few days ago and raised my blog topic for this week. It’s interesting to hear what people have to say in a relaxed social setting. I don’t usually share my own thoughts until after I’ve heard from others. As with any difficult subject, some people prefer to avoid the matter altogether and this time was no different. One of the things I love about people is how very unique we all are. It’s for this reason that I try my best not to judge. Our prospective can be polar opposite based on things like upbringing, religious beliefs, the truth we hold on to, and so forth. I would be untruthful if I didn’t admit to feeling strongly about my own beliefs; the power of personal conviction is essential for many reasons. Keeping that in mind, I don’t claim to be right, but I do think that what I am espousing is true for me; sometimes, that’s all that truly matters.

    I posed the question to a small group of people sitting at the table after lunch:

    If you knew you had 24 hours or less to live, what would you do? 

    The answers I got were interesting and understandable:

    “I wouldn’t change anything; I’d want it to be a normal day.”

    “I wouldn’t tell anyone because all they would do is cry and pity me.”

    “I would be with a very small group of people I love very much.”

    “I wouldn’t do very much because I would want time to slow down. When you do a lot of things, time speeds up.”

    “I might consider ending my life sooner — when I decided it should end.”

    “I would have a couple of conversations I have been avoiding.”

    “Why, do you know something I don’t know?”

    The thing is, do we truly know how we would behave until we are actually in a particular life altering situation? I could easily say I wouldn’t tell anyone that I was going to die, but in truth, if I knew it was the end and I became extremely emotional or scared, I might need to tell or want to tell someone.

    What follows are some thoughts on why we live our lives as if there is no expiration date:

    I love this poignant comic included in Brian Lee’s piece on living life as if we’re never going to die at Lifehack. Check out www.zenpencils.com.DALAI-LAMA-answers-a-question

    We are complex creatures with hopes, fears, frailties and misgivings. Our highly developed brains allow us to tuck away thoughts and focus on things that make us feel good; I should note that some of us are better at this than others. We often behave as if our daily actions do not have consequences for the future. Vices and health related toxins are often imbibed or eaten without concern for longevity. It’s a curious human occurrence considering that most of us would like to grow old. So what drives us to recklessness? It’s as if there is a little switch in our brains that we choose to turn off when desire overpowers restraint.

    It is no accident that the precise timing of our death is unknown. Imagine the chaos and emotional instability that would ensue. I think that animals have a better sense of death and what it means than we do and, therefore, have better dying coping skills. I’ve been with several dogs at the end of their lives and the sense of peace and acceptance I felt from these animals was both life affirming and beautiful. We live and we die and that is the true miracle of life.

    As I consider complicated mechanisms for denial and delusion, it once again brings me to how I might deal with knowing when my own demise is just around the corner. Here are some thoughts that come to mind (not necessarily in order of importance):

    1. There is no doubt in my mind that I would want to truly enjoy the wonders of the earth. The sunrise and sunset continue to amaze me and I take both in as often as possible. The smell of flowers and the feel of earth between my fingers, gives me great pleasure. I can only imagine that knowing these wonders would no longer be accessible would heighten my desire to experience them.
    2. The people in my life who have shown me love and devotion would be on my mind at the end; I would hope that these cherished few would be nearby. I would want to let them know how much I love and appreciate them. I still do not know that I would share the inevitability of my passing. We all know that we should be showing our love and appreciation often, not waiting until we are sick or dying.
    3. I have loved food since I could smell my dad’s pizza in the oven when I was a wee toddler. My relationship with good food has never waivered and I hope I remain true to my passion until the day I die. I have been reading research about taste buds and how our sense of taste diminishes with age. I refuse to believe that this applies to me. My father and aunts and uncles on my father’s side, all enjoyed savory dishes well into their 80s. If I knew that my death was near, I would want to devour my favorite foods:  shellfish, pasta and cake and a nice red of course. I know that knowing it was almost over would probably have an effect on my appetite; however, knowing how I sometimes eat and drink to feel better, I imagine I’d be hungry and thirsty. A very expensive armagnac would be a must have.
    4. Being present and cherishing every moment of what life I have left, would likely be my mode of thinking and feeling. I have never feared death, therefore, I’m fairly certain i would be at peace with it.
    5. I would want to be comfortable; the right temperature, the right place, and the right people around me.
    6. I would probably want to be on a good dose of xanax.

    I have had many people in my life pass:  my grandparents (three before I was even born), my parents, several siblings, close friends, teachers, co-workers and acquaintances. My mother’s brother died of a massive heart attack in his 50’s; how could I not consider the possibility of dying at anytime? Personally, I don’t find this morbid or sad.

    Long ago I decided that if I had a fatal illness, I would travel (if I could) to a place where you could choose to die with dignity. If this were to happen, I would have an opportunity to decide how I would spend my final hours; all of this provides great comfort. I am not obsessed with dying, I am focused on living and making sure my quality of life is the best it can be.

    The purpose of this blog is twofold. First, it is my hope that it will get you thinking about how you live your daily life; what are your priorities and do you consider and cherish the people and things that bring you the greatest happiness. Second, it is my belief that we as individuals have the power to change the course and direction of our lives. I felt stuck, misguided and unhappy in Maine. It wasn’t so much the place or the people, but an environment that was too comfortable and unchallenging. I moved to Europe in order to reboot, recharge, and start afresh. It’s not right for everyone, but it has taught me more about myself than I anticipated. Self-discovery and change can be as exciting as a new relationship; driving gleefully into the future with renewed hopes and dreams. Fear is what usually holds us back. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of death. Put all of your fears aside and go for it. The unknown can be a wonderful and rewarding future. Focus on the image of a door opening to a paradise you never imagined existed; more often than not, we have the ability to manifest our dreams. I choose to manifest those dreams while I am still alive.

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  • Why Eindhoven, Netherlands?

    A trip to Holland Worth Sharing:

    I am starting my blog with this travel story because it captures the essence of why seeing the world is so important to me. Sharing my experiences with you cements them into my conscious mind forever.

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    A Delicious Restaurant Story

    It was my last full day in Eindhoven. I had just seen an early showing of Downton Abbey. I had to pay twice the price I pay for a film as I pay in Faro, but no matter, it was Downton Abbey and it hadn’t arrived in Faro yet. The film was delightful and delivered on every level; I may have even been whistling when I left the theater. Whenever I feel really good or really bad, I want pasta. I typed “good Italian restaurant” into my browser and found Ristorante Sicilia nearby. I walked in and noticed no one in the restaurant. It was 12:30 p.m. on Monday in a touristy part of town. There were two people in aprons in the kitchen, so I waited by the bar. The chef spotted me and walked into the dining room. He said hello in Italian and I said, “Are you open for lunch?” He held up a finger and went back into the kitchen. He was speaking in a whisper to his colleague. A minute later he walked back into the dining room and said, “Please, take a seat wherever you like.”

    What happened next almost seems like a fantasy out of a novel. This very good looking, authentic Sicilian chef, took my order, prepared my meal and served me. The entire time I sat there, no one else walked into the restaurant. As I type this I’m wondering if this really happened or did I dream it.

    The chef came to my table by the window and showed me a menu. He spoke to me in Italian and that was fine; it might have been because I thanked him in Italian when he told me to sit anywhere. I ordered a vino rosso della casa and he brought me a full glass of  delicious red. There are times in life when you do not ask questions and this was one of those times. When he returned I ordered a Stracciatella and a tagliatelle arrabbiata with prosciutto, olives and onions. The chef asked me a question in Italian and I said, “Non capisco.” He replied in perfect English, “Do you like it spicy?” I said, “Si, si, si.”

    I’m no longer in Holland at this point; I am in a hillside town somewhere in Italy and I am one happy fella. The soup is rich, tasty, and hot. It was every bit as good as my father’s Stracciatella and that’s saying a lot. My pasta was perfection; al dente, perfectly seasoned, full of ham and green olives and the right portion size. I asked the chef for some bread and he told me that the bread would be delivered later in the day; he looked sad. About 5 minutes later — and not too late — he brought me some homemade biscuits. I grabbed one and dipped it in my sauce while he was standing over me. He gave me a huge smile and went back to the kitchen. From the time I entered the restaurant until I paid the check, it was just me and the chef interacting. I told him that my father was an incredible cook, but that his food was outstanding and I would never forget the experience.

    Looking back, I don’t think the restaurant was open for business. I think the chef was prepping for dinner and decided not to turn me away. It was an act of kindness I embrace with gratitude. There is something about cooks and feeding people that I find incredibly unselfish and heartwarming. I will of course review the restaurant on-line and pass along my five stars; however, this will be a small gesture compared to what was done for me that day.

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    From the internet — I did not take a photo (in the moment)

     

     

    The Joys of Travel

     

     

     

     

    When I moved to Portugal I expected to see more of Europe, however, I did not expect to see so much of it, so soon. Since losing Giorgio, I have visited several countries and I have seen some breathtaking cities. I recently heard the news that RyanAir will no longer be flying in and out of Faro Airport as of January. Although I know that some of the other budget airlines will probably pick of most of their routes, I decided to take a final trip flying Ryan in and out of Faro.

    I looked at the list of places Ryan flies to from Faro and realized that I have already been to many of these cities already. To be honest, there were some I had no interest in seeing — sometimes it just a gut feeling. I spotted a city on the list I had never heard of before, Eindhoven. I googled it and I liked what I saw. It’s still pretty hot in Faro (high 80s) and so I thought temperatures in the 60s would be a nice change. I didn’t realize that it rains a lot in the Netherlands in the fall, but that’s okay because we get so little rain in the Algarve.

     

    Eindhoven 20th Century [Wikipedia historical info]

    By 1920, the population was 47,946; by 1925 it was 63,870 and in 1935 that had ballooned to 103,030.[11] The explosive growth of industry in the region and the subsequent housing needs of workers called for radical changes in administration, as the City of Eindhoven was still confined to its medieval moat city limits. In 1920, the five neighboring municipalities of Woensel (to the north), Tongelre (northeast and east), Stratum (southeast), Gestel en Blaarthem (southwest) and Strijp (west), which already bore the brunt of the housing needs and related problems, were incorporated into the new Groot-Eindhoven (“Greater Eindhoven”) municipality. The prefix “Groot-” was later dropped.

    People of Eindhoven (during World War II) watching Allied forces entering the city following its liberation from Axis forces on 19 September 1944.

    A first air raid in World War II was flown by the RAF on 6 December 1942 targeting the Philips factory downtown. 148 civilians died, even though the attack was carried out on a Sunday by low-flying Mosquito bombers.[12][13] Large-scale air raids, including the bombing by the Luftwaffe on 18 September, 1944 during Operation Market Garden, destroyed large parts of the city. The reconstruction that followed left very little historical remains and the postwar reconstruction period saw drastic renovation plans in highrise style, some of which were implemented. At the time, there was little regard for historical heritage. During the 1960s, a new city hall was built and its neogothic predecessor (1867) demolished to make way for a planned arterial road that never materialized.

     

    Anton Philips

    Born to a Dutch family of Jewish heritage, Anton was the second son to Maria Heyligers (1836 – 1921) and Benjamin Frederik David Philips (1 December 1830 – 12 June 1900). His father was active in the tobacco business and a banker at Zaltbommel in the Netherlands (he was also a first cousin to Karl Marx). In May 1891 the father Frederik was the financier and, with his son Gerard Philips, co-founder of the Philips Company as a family business. In 1912 Anton joined the firm, which they renamed Philips Gloeilampenfabriek N.V. (Philips Lightbulbfactory NV) — wikipedia

    Anton was a well known and highly respected resident of Eindhoven. The city erected a statue of him and you can see it in the city centre.

     

    Van Abbe Museum

    Fortunately for me, the Van Abbe Museum was very close to my Airbnb. I visited the museum my second day in Eindhoven and walked past it numerous times. It’s next door to a micro-brewery and some noteworthy bars and restaurants.

    The museum exhibits modern and contemporary art on five floors. The exterior of the museum is architecturally stunning and you’ll find the temporary exhibits to be relevant and worth viewing. There were a good many interactive installations; my kind of artwork — you can touch it and sit on it. The permanent collection was a bit of a disappointment, yet still somewhat impressive. There were way too many copies exhibited. I always want to see the real thing.

     

    Catharina Church and Square

    St. Catherine ‘s Church is a Roman Catholic church in the inner city of the Dutch city of Eindhoven , dedicated to St. Catherine of Alexandria.

    The church and square are magnificent and worth a visit if you happen to be in Eindhoven. Personally, as a fallen Catholic, I find these kinds of churches to be garish and full of excessive amounts of gold and shiny objects. I think a majority of the interior  should be sold off to feed starving children all over the world.

     

    Synagogue

    It was not allowed for Jews to settle in the city of Eindhoven until 1772, when Stadtholder Willem V summoned the city council to open its doors for Jews. Not until 1796 however were Jews totally free to settle in Eindhoven – between 1772 and 1796 the city council succeeded in summoning numerous orders to make Jewish settlement in the city incredibly difficult. Because of the prohibition for Jews to settle within the city, nearby villages contained fairly large numbers of Jews. However, from 1796 onward, the Jewish presence in Eindhoven started to grow considerably. Most of the Jews were immigrants from Germany, specifically from Cologne, Krefeld and Bad Kreuznach. They were all Ashkenazi. A synagogue was put into use. After another period of growth after 1850, the city became the seat of the chief rabbinate for the province of Noord-Brabant (wikipedia).

    Eindhoven has a rich Jewish history and the Jewish Quarter commands your time and attention.

    Prentbriefkaart van de synagoge in Eindhoven, ca. 1920

     

    The Railway and Bus Station 

    The station is in the center of the city. It’s a very attractive, with lots of space, shops, easy to read signage and it seems to run efficiently. There are several bicycle parking lots around the station. People love to cycle in Holland; therefore, auto traffic is light and the city is not noisy. You do have to watch out for cyclists, but for the most part they obey the traffic laws. I noticed they stop for lights and smile when you cross in front of them. And it’s great for the environment. When I use my bicycle in Faro, I pray to my higher power for safety.

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    Places to Eat

    Spice Up — excellent Thai food; unpretentious and delicious.

    Street Food Eindhoven (a corner restaurant)– trendy, but a great spot for people watching and good chow.

    Rodeo — great steak from Argentina. Recommended to me by my Airbnb hosts. This is a trendy, busy restaurant and I was glad I made a reservation. I was seated at the bar and loved the eye candy I enjoyed with my meal. My tenderloin steak was juicy and tender and cut like butta.

    Noedobar — Asian Street food — good and reasonable. I ordered Thai coconut chicken soup (my favorite) and excellent pork dumplings. They also had a charger for my iphone — I love when that happens.

    Arigato’s — Japanese — couldn’t get in; however, the restaurant was beautiful and they had great reviews; high-end dining.

    Ristaurante Sicilia — see story at the top of blog

    I found the food in Holland to be much better than expected. I have been to Amsterdam, The Hague, and Rotterdam, several times in the past and I have been disappointed. I was very pleased to see that the food scene has improved. I have to say that this has been my experience just about everywhere; even Salisbury, North Carolina, which I was certain was hopeless (to my family:  there is still room for growth).

     

    ‘s-Hertogenbosch — Den Bosch

    Below are some of my memories of Den Bosch. I spent the day with my friend Annelies from Amsterdam; we haven’t seen one another for over seven years. I was there on Saturday and the outdoor market was in full swing. We hadn’t planned to be there for the market, but we happened to hit Den Bosch on the “right” day. The full name (above) of the city is difficult for foreigners, so the nickname Den Bosch was created for people like me. I’m told the locals prefer the “real” name. It’s a beautifully preserved city and very easy to navigate. Canals and cafés everywhere and smaller and less crowded than Amsterdam. I could see myself spending a week here.

    STADSBISTRO CHRISTOFFEL — We had lunch at this restaurant in Den Bosch (translation Christopher, but we didn’t know it until we left the restaurant). The food was excellent and the service was even better. They took our order at the bar while we waited for our table. We were seated 15 minutes later and our food was delivered to us immediately — very civilized. The crispy chicken was sublime.

    MonQui Koffiebar (see first pic) — was a delightful coffee shop near the train station. The coffee was exceptional and the decor a delight for the senses. Annelies and I loved it.

     

     

     

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    This little guy was clearly the king of this beautiful carpet shop. 

     

    An Easy Time Traveling (for a change)

    Have you taken a trip by air where you thought:  Wow, that was seamless. These days that would be a rare thing indeed. This was one of those adventures for me. The flight check-in was quick and easy; right to the gate and all the lines were short in both directions. Buses and planes were on-time and reasonably priced, my Airbnb was in a great location and very comfortable, the weather cooperated, I won five Euros at the casino, and I felt well-rested when I got home. Can’t ask for more than that can you? You know there is little to complain about when the only thing you can piss and moan about is the fact that your Airbnb host did not supply soap for the shower.

    Two disclaimers:  Once again, I did not mention a few restaurants that were not noteworthy and I did not take very many photographs. I have been working on enjoying and being in the moment and when you are truly taking in all of the sights and sounds around you, it is mental photographs and visual/audio recordings that are occupying your mind.

     

     

  • Doing the Right Thing

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    I’m not sure when it was that I started feeling the pressure of doing the right thing. I do know two things:

    1. I spend way too much time thinking about this. The right thing for me or for others; I think about both.
    2. When I do the so called “right thing,” I sometimes spend time wondering if the right thing was the best thing.

    Breaking down the issue, I think I can safely assume that #1 will never go away. There comes a time when you just have to accept who you are and what you can or cannot change. I live with a lot of guilt:  gay guilt because I was closeted for the first 28 years of my life and I lied to a lot of people; Catholic guilt, having been raised Catholic and forced to spend too much time with authorities from the church; sibling guilt, being in the middle of 10 whole, half and step siblings; and DNA guilt — I am certain that I got the guilt gene, perhaps more than one.

    When you put it into words, no wonder you find it overwhelming. Fortunately, I have found a way to tuck most of it away in little boxes that I can set aside and keep closed.

     

    Gay Guilt

    If you truly believe that people no longer care if you’re gay or straight or transgender or how you define your sexuality, do not read any further or even better, read with an open mind [There are actually people who have said to me, “Things are different now, nobody cares anymore. Right.]:

    I count myself as one of the lucky ones because I came out at 28. I know gay men well into their seventies who are still closeted. I cannot imagine that kind of pain. So when I talk about doing the “right thing,” I mean what is right for you, not what others think is right for you.

    I continue to feel that people look at me differently because I am gay. I know that I have family members who have very little to do with me because of my sexuality. Anyone who says they don’t care is lying to themselves and others. Yes it makes me stronger and more determined to be my true self, but it can also sometimes make you feel as if you’re living on an island. The messages on television and magazines have changed, however, we continue to live in a heterosexual world and I cannot imagine that changing anytime soon. Navigating that world can be exhausting and troublesome.

    What does doing the right thing look like for you straight or closeted folks?

    1. Show some interest, ask questions.
    2. Ask to be a part of someone else’s world. My brother asked me to take him to a gay bar about 10 years ago and I was pleased and excited to show him a part of my life.
    3. Read articles and books on the subject matter.
    4. Be an ally whenever possible, it truly matters. It’s the reason we have come so far.
    5. Just be with someone who needs you, often that’s all they need.

     

    Catholic Guilt

    If you were raised catholic (I cannot speak for other  religions) there were clear messages about the sins of the world. I went to Catholic Catechism and was basically taught that it wasn’t evil to think about someone of the same sex sexually; however, it was a sin to act on those thoughts — how’s that for a scary and confusing message. Too many mortal sins to worry about when you’re Catholic. A clear way to push someone into swearing off (sorry) one’s religion.

     

    Sibling Guilt

    I have a number of half brothers and sisters and I have a step brother. I have a good deal of guilt about being a brother and not having a closer relationship with several of my siblings. We tend to want to spend time with people we connect with and we don’t always connect with our siblings. In some cases, it might be their spouses or partners that are problematic. Nobody wants to be put in the middle, therefore, I personally do not confront siblings about their problematic partners. Then there are partners that are more pleasant to be with than your siblings, best to stay away from that one. It’s difficult not to feel alienated and judged when you receive feedback about something said about you by a family member. The right thing for me is usually distance; stay clear of conflict, it’s painful and impossible to mitigate. Is this the right thing to do or is it the smart path? I admit there are times that I choose the easy way out.

     

    Baby I was Born This Way

    This is not just about sexuality . . . telling someone that you were born this way is often an excuse for explaining away a personality flaw. For example, I have a relative who is a compulsive gambler. He claims that he was born with a gene that makes it impossible for him to stay away from gambling. I can’t argue whether or not there is such a gene, however, I do know that when someone has a gambling problem, there is a way to get help and overcome the addiction. In some cases you have a choice about whether or not you care to address the problem. I am sympathetic about addiction (I have my own), but I also know that if you care about yourself and the people around you, you can seek help. For me, admitting that you need help and getting help can be the definition of doing the right thing.

     

    Miscellaneous Guilt

    The guilt one feels which cannot be named. This kind of guilt causes self-doubt, anger, pain, loss, poor decision-making, unhappiness, regret, and so on. You have to ask yourself difficult questions about why you feel guilty. Guilt is often an indication of a problem you may be having around a moral dilemma; did I do something wrong? How do I make it right? If you are the kind of person who lives life without guilt, well then, you needn’t concern yourself with it’s symptoms. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.

     

    What is the Right Thing?

    The “right thing” is different for each of us. We each have our own moral compass, our own values, and our own personality. Most of us know the difference between right and wrong; that might lead one to believe that doing the right thing would be easy, but we know it’s not always easy. When making big decisions, consequences are usually at play. Dealing with those consequences, is usually a better alternative than doing something that might not be right, which usually comes back to bite you in the ass.

     

    A short story:

    Many of us can recall a situation at work where the environment became toxic and difficult to endure; this has been a lifelong issue for me. For reasons too complicated to outline here, I tend to link employment with self-esteem; specifically personal failure. Rather than admit the time had come to walk away, I stayed and endured a great deal of emotional instability and pain. In several cases, I stayed for years. What this does to one’s physical and psychological well-being cannot be measured; however, the damage was greater than I care to admit. Had I cleared my conscience and walked away sooner, I might have saved myself from having several surgeries and the work of repairing a lost sense of self.

    I am aware that doing that repair work is part of life and growth; however, I also believe that we often do damage that is beyond repair (i.e, divorce, in my case). Another life can be greatly impacted by your deceit.

    What I have learned is valuable for me:  think about possible outcomes before making a big decision; think about how it might impact others; think about the worst case scenario; and think about what is right. Some people just go with their gut feelings. That may work sometimes, but I have found that my gut is not always right. I may be so wrapped up in the desired outcome, that I’m not thinking about the process. The way we go about achieving a goal is as important as winning. You might not be happy with yourself if you got to goal by hurting people or being dishonest — we don’t always know the truth about ourselves and we have to face that truth.

    “You know you have made the right decision when there is peace in your heart.”

    — Unknown

     

    Photo by Jens Johnsson on Pexels.com
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

     

    Thank you Linda Halasa (a good friend) for proofreading this week. I will be reblogging next week due to family visiting Portugal. The following week will coverage of Eindhoven, Netherlands.

  • Flashback Experience

     

    “Existence is no more than the precarious attainment of relevance in an intensely mobile flux of past, present and future.”

     — Susan Sontag

     

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    Mercedes Country House in Faro — where the tasting took place.

     

    I need to feel relevant. Whether or not that will happen today, is yet to be seen.

    Working at the French Culinary Institute in New York City occasionally afforded me the opportunity to taste and evaluate dishes prior to a restaurant opening or before a new seasonal menu was released. Last week I received a call from Miguel, the owner of Mercedes Country House, about a new restaurant opening in downtown Faro. The name of the restaurant is Shiraz.

    Shiraz is owned by Mr. Thomas, born in Iran, lived in Germany for many years, and currently resides in Portugal. Mr. Thomas has a restaurant in Cascais and he recently purchased and remodeled a space in Faro. Miguel and Mr. Thomas are friends and Miguel suggested that the tasting take place at The Mercedes House where there are guests who know good food and there is plenty of parking. I’ve had Miguel’s cooking several times, Miguel knows food. Miguel insisted that I meet Mr. Thomas.

    I was happy to meet him because Faro does not have very many non-Portuguese restaurants. There have been a couple of new and trendy restaurants recently; it is obvious the landscape is changing. I imagine it has something to do with an influx of tourists from all over the world. It is obvious that people visiting Portugal love Portuguese food, especially the fresh fish, but variety is essential for vacationers. Shiraz will be an Asian restaurant; that’s a really good thing.

    I thought I would have an opportunity to interview Mr. Thomas, but he unfortunately did not get to sit down at the table until the end of the tasting and I did not think it would be fair or appropriate to monopolize his time. I’ll do a piece about him and the food at Shiraz after it opens.

     

    The Tasting

    Mr. Thomas’ curry is not a typical curry. Curry is usually thickened with cream, however, Mr. Thomas’ curry is thickened with onion. I’m pleased with any alternative to cream. His delicious curry is flavorful, but it does not overpower the fish. Mr. Thomas has not yet decided which fish he will feature with his famous curry sauce. By the way, I love that he prefers to be called Mr. Thomas.

    There were at least ten tasters sitting at one large table. Fish is a tricky dish to evaluate due to different likes and dislikes when it comes to texture and taste. Individuals usually have very strong opinions about the fish the prefer or dislike. What I found most interesting about this particular tasting panel, was the diversity of the panel; visitors from several countries were asked to participate. Early on in my tenure at the French Culinary Institute I met Julian Alonso a graduate of the school. He was the Chef de Cuisine at The Sea Grill at Rockefeller Center. He taught me that the fish I disliked, I disliked because when I ordered that fish, it had not been prepared properly. I sampled five or six different types of fish that day that I would have never ordered from the menu. Chef Julian’s dishes were all exquisite. One dish after another changed my way of thinking about fish. I went into this tasting keeping Julian’s words in mind.

    We started with mackerel and went on to taste, spider fish, sea bass, grouper and ended with prawns. All of the dishes were served with basmati rice and curry. The objective, with all things being equal, was which fish paired well with this particular curry sauce. It would be unfair to give away my favorite, however, one or two of the types of fish I sampled, did stand out.

    We were each asked to complete an evaluation form, rating each dish on a scale from one to ten, ten being the highest score. I must admit that all of my scores were high, save for one — no matter what anyone does to mackerel, I cannot bring myself to enjoy it.

    The dishes were paired with a delicious Portuguese Vinho Verde. The name Vinho Verde refers to the lush green landscape where the wine is produced.

     

    Shiraz

    We were not asked our opinion about the name of the restaurant, however, I will weigh in. What I like about the name is two things:  first, I love wine made from the Syrah grape (sometimes a blend), and second, the name conveys, albeit in a subtle way, that Iran was the inspiration for the restaurant. Having not spoken to Mr. Thomas about this matter, I should reveal that I am only speculating.

    Map of Shiraz, Fars Province, Iran

    Iran
    Legends of Syrah’s origins come from one of its homonyms, Shiraz. Because Shiraz, Capital of the Persian Empire (modern-day Iran), produced the well-known Shirazi wine, legends claim the Syrah grape originated in Shiraz and then was brought to Rhône (Wikipedia).

     

    The menu is, of course, extremely important when designing a restaurant, however, the name of a restaurant is equally as important. Give a restaurant a name people do not understand or cannot pronounce, and they will not come.

     

    Feeling Relevant

    The School of Management, Hospitality and Tourism has an impressive campus located close to the Ria Formosa in Faro. One of the offerings at the school is a highly regarded culinary program. I attended a beautiful event at the school and I had an opportunity to taste the food prepared by the students. It was my understanding that school was not in session, however, several students volunteered to prepare the sit-down, multi-course dinner. The food was terrible. And I mean all of it. It’s been over a year so my memory is not 100%, but I believe dessert was edible. I thought that because of my work in the culinary industry, I could help. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring this up on the night of the event, so I waited.

    I wrote the the event organizer and shared my disappointment about the food. She informed me that she had already received numerous complaints. I asked her who I could speak to at the school about volunteering to help with the curriculum. She implied that I should contact the head of the program, but I probably would not get very far. Being bullheaded and persistent, I decided that I would give it a try. I wrote to the culinary department and after a long wait, I received a brief email telling me that the person I needed to speak to was on vacation and that my email would be forwarded to him. I was told that I would hear from him when he returned. Weeks went by and I heard nothing. I wrote several emails and no reply. I spoke to a couple of Portuguese residents of Faro about my frustration; they told me that they were not surprised. I was basically informed that people here were very proud and they do not welcome outside help. I believe there is an expat influence that is changing that. For now, I just have to accept that this school would rather not have me as a volunteer.

    I will be showing up at the hospital sometime in the next few weeks. It is my hope that they will welcome me as a patient relations volunteer; if not, I’ll move on to the next thing . . . until I feel relevant.

  • Letting Go Can Be Difficult

    It’s been a difficult week of reflection. I imagine some might say that every week in one’s life is difficult; however, I would argue that there are times in one’s life when thoughts are more negative, more self-critical, and harder to sort out. Sometimes the yin & the yang seem out of balance and it has more to do with your brain doing a number on you than anything else. Rebooting only works some of the time. Sample thoughts like:  am I enough? What do I want for my future? What role am I playing in somehow making the world better for others? These are all normal thoughts for those who think and have a conscience. For me, at least at this point in my life, what I choose to let go of versus what I hang onto, is taking up more thinking time than usual.

    Photo by JESHOOTS.com on Pexels.com
    Photo by Thoni Huang on Pexels.com
    Photo by Valdemaras D. on Pexels.com

    I know that I write about “letting go” often. At different times in my life, letting go has been my biggest challenge. There are numerous reasons that this particular defense mechanism is important to me. When I have something weighing on my mind, it tends to be all consuming. I find it difficult to focus on other things in my life and it disrupts my sleep and interferes with my desire to be in the moment.

    Getting older has been a gift in a way, in that maturity has helped me put many things into perspective. Things such as what is most important in life and why hanging on to things or people we cannot change, is destructive. When you have a fair amount of success “letting go” of a thing, an idea or a person, it helps you to see how freeing the process can be.

    At one point in my life I was quite certain that I could never live outside of New York City. I could not imagine leaving the people and experiences I loved most. I forced myself to relocate by telling myself that I could always return to NYC if that’s what I truly wanted. Because most of us can adapt to almost anything, once I was in my new environment, I was able to see the benefits of being in that place. We tell ourselves that we’d miss certain “things” and that’s why we should remain. Then there is that other voice that tells you that if you leave, you are running away from something. In my case the theatre was keeping me in New York. I have always loved Broadway and could not imagine living far away from the Great White Way. In reality, even though I left New York almost seven years ago, I have returned to New York to attend the theatre every year. Now when I get tickets for a play, I am much more thoughtful about what I see and because I’m making a special trip, Broadway has become even more precious to me.

    [I could go off here about how Disneyfied Broadway has become; however, I think it’s best that I spare you the rant. It only forces you to be more selective about what you choose to see. Most things can be traced back to the almighty dollar.]

    Now that I am living much closer to London, I feel as if I get to enjoy a bit of both theatre meccas. The point is, when you care a great deal about something, it should not prevent you from letting go of something else; one does not preclude the other. There were of course factors tugging at me to remain in New York; I cannot same the same for Maine.

    People are more complicated and that presents greater challenges. I met an older woman here in the Algarve who was originally from Ireland. She lives about 30 minutes west of Faro. She’s worldly, smart, loves food, and we got along fairly well. At one point in our friendship I realized that she was putting me down quite a bit. It was subtle, but she would often be condescending or passive aggressive. She a tiny woman, however, she’d raise her voice to speak over me or she’d tell me that something I felt or vocalized, was nonsense. I decided that I did not have to tolerate such behavior just because she’s older. I spent a good deal of time on a letter explaining how I felt. I thought a letter would be more effective because she could read it and consider my words (I know a lot of people prefer in-person conversations, but I believe that particular method is sometimes better as a second step). In the letter, I was careful not to generalize and I was clear and kind. I told her that I cared about our friendship and that I was hoping she would consider changing the way she sometimes treated me. One has to be very careful not to use absolutes in these situations. She responded fairly quickly, however, she did not acknowledge the contents of the letter. She basically told me that she was leaving town and that we would speak when she returned. I accepted her email as a positive sign. I thought this would give her time to consider my words. Obviously, it goes both ways and I was willing to listen and alter my behavior as well.

    And then nothing happened.

    It’s been eight months and I am not caving. This is the letting go moment when I say to myself is this woman worth my time and consideration? I tried and failed. There are times in your life when you just have to walk away and cut your losses — sound a little harsh? I think it’s a defense mechanism I have developed over time. The former me would get all worked up, make an angry phone call or send an angry email. I would beat myself up for saying anything at all in the first place. Then at some point I decided that if in fact I was going to be true to myself, I would have to come clean and say something. Keep in mind that when you are living in a foreign country, there are a limited number of people who speak your language and truly understand your culture. This sort of empathy is important for social interaction. I do enjoy having people around I can share experiences with.

    Image result for truth quotes

    Journaling your feelings helps when putting situations and interactions into perspective. It provides the ability to step back and process.

    One of the things that I have started doing is to cultivate good relationships and show gratitude for those that are nurturing and positive. For example:  I have been in the process of getting a tooth implant for a year. There have been complications that are too boring and tedious to discuss here. Through it all, my dentist and her assistant, have been patient and supportive; I am beyond grateful that I found them. I’m a month away from getting the actual tooth, which I know will improve my life — chewing is essential. I have a visit today and I plan to bring flowers to both my dentist and her assistant. I’ve known them long enough now to know that they will not misinterpret this gesture. They will know that I am showing them my gratitude. Letting people know that they have had a positive impact on your life and that you do not take them for granted, is essential for building strong relationships. Replacing hurtful and toxic relationships with rich, fulfilling ones, helps in the letting go process. For some people it’s almost like getting over the loss of a pet, some people go right out and get another. It’s not something I personally can do, however, I do appreciate that for some people it is a way to let go.

    By the way, I am not advocating for simply dismissing people in your life. Communicating, giving people a second chance, making sure you did not misinterpret someone’s behavior or words, and being aware of your own behavior, is very important. Letting go should happen when all else fails and the level of toxicity or pain is hard to bare or out of balance.

    Practice, Practice, Practice

    At times the thought of walking away from a relationship is much too difficult to even consider. It might be a parent, a sibling, your boss, a long-term friend; you get the point. In a case like this, you might have to let go slowly. Putting distance between yourself and another can be a good first step. If you normally speak to someone daily, you can try skipping a call here and there. If you go out every Friday night, you can suggest cutting back due to schedule conflicts. This is not dishonest. There is nothing wrong with protecting someone else’s feelings or being kind. Some people have no sense of self and others cannot see what is right in front of them.

    What Happens When You Walk Away

    A friend once told me that when you walk away from someone or something, the shadow (memory) of that person or thing is left behind. This will have a lasting impact. She used a wart as an example:  if you have a wart on your hand for 20 years and you have that wart removed, your memory of that wart will be so strong it will feel as if it’s still there. If you choose to let go of a relationship, you will occasionally think about that person; in this way, you’re not totally letting go, but is it possible to completely erase someone from your mind and would you want to. If you believe as I do, that all of our life experiences and relationships are necessary in order to grow, then embracing that they were a part of your history and therefore, a part of who you are at this moment. It’s better to be grateful that you one, have the ability to learn from a person or thing and move on, and two, that our past leads us to the present.

    Grieving Loss

    Sometimes letting go of a person might be the best recourse; however, be prepared to grieve the loss. Even if the relationship was highly toxic, if it’s been a big part of your life for a long time, you will miss aspects of it:  routine, company, validation; whatever it might have been, you will lament the loss. Allow yourself the time to grieve and know that when it’s over, you will be far better off. Congratulate yourself for taking care of yourself and for enriching your own life.

    Side Bar:  I have been enjoying a new show on Netflix called Terrace House. It’s a reality show, however, what makes it different is that it takes place in Tokyo and you get a sense of Japanese youth and the culture. I find myself laughing a lot and wanting more. Check it out.

    https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7776244/

    A Kitchen Accident on Thursday

    Thursday evening I decided to have a big salad for dinner. It was a beautiful night and I wanted to eat out on the terrace facing the water. I opened a local red wine I had not tried before and I noticed the bottle seemed heavier than usual. I thought that maybe it was larger than the normal 750 ml and I did not think about it again. I poured a glass and put the bottle in the refrigerator on the side door. During the warmer months I refrigerate red wine so that it will last longer. When I’m drinking it, I take it out about 30 minutes prior to pouring so that it’s just a little cooler than room temperature.

    After dinner I decided to have another half glass instead of dessert. I opened the refrigerator to retrieve the bottle and the entire shelf went crashing down. There was wine everywhere; the walls, the cabinet doors, the refrigerator — everywhere. The cabinet doors had just been painted last week and I was concerned that the wine would stain the doors. I acted swiftly and cleaned the cabinets first. Next, when I started picking up the large pieces of glass I discovered that the bottle of wine was not larger, but thicker. This explained why it was so heavy. Two things happened to my new kitchen:  first, the bottle put a chip in the tile floor below the refrigerator and second, the refrigerator shelf cracked in six different places. The cleanup took me over an hour and I was sweating from head to toe. I walked into the living room, sat down and thought about the incident. It started with:  why did I have to put the bottle into the refrigerator? I was fully aware that this was about to become a “let’s beat the shit out of Chris” session. I decided to practice what I preach and to let it go. I showered, read a bit, and went to bed. I slept like a baby. My kitchen is no longer in pristine condition and that’s okay. It’s sort of like the first scratch on a new car; you just have to accept that it happened and move on.

    2b688f9e-0838-4d39-8e7a-13751439cfd1

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    My new urbano azul cabinet doors; they survived the crash without red wine stains.

  • How My Childhood Experiences Shaped Who I am

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    Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, where I grew up. That’s me top, far left. I tried to hide as much as I could.

     

    Home Life

    My earliest memories are of physical and emotional abuse, alcohol abuse, racial tension, divisive and foul language, death, family turmoil, drug abuse, illness, and poverty; all at extremely damaging proportions.

    Conversely, I witnessed love, sexual freedom, a struggle to rise above socio-economic barriers, an acceptance of alternative sexual and gender orientation, and ethnic diversity.

    I was profoundly affected by what I saw and heard, how could I not be? In what ways did it shape who I am, determine my values, inform my capacity to love and be loved, create a roadmap for what my life might be like, provide tools for survival, determine my biases, my political beliefs, my predilections, my sexual tendencies, my fancies, my relationships, and my truth.

    Psychologists have researched and reported on how your childhood experiences shape and determine who you are as an adult for just about as long as the discipline has existed. About three months ago, Howard Stern interviewed Anderson Cooper (you can Youtube the entire interview; for some reason YouTube does not allow you to post the link). Among the many things they discussed was analysis and how it can help you alter who you are. At one point Anderson asks Howard a very direct question:

    “Did therapy save your life.”

    Howard quickly answers, “Yes.”

    I would respond yes as well. Two of my siblings died as a result of mental dysfunction; one from an eating disorder and the other from an overdose. My deceased sister struggled with poor self-esteem her entire life; the eating disorder was just one manifestation of her numerous problems. My brother, who overdosed, turned to drugs as his only escape. Other siblings struggle with issues I am not at liberty to discuss. I am fairly certain that without therapy, I would have been fucked.

    Howard and Anderson spoke about how childhood experiences affect you and how the damage (unless dealt with), remains with you your entire life. I knew early on that I was not in great shape emotionally and psychologically. Doubts about my sexuality and major sleep issues were the first couple of things to haunt me. My first thoughts of suicide were when I was ten years old and I hoped that I would die before my next birthday — I wrote about this in detail in an earlier blog. I did not share these destructive thoughts with anyone until I was well into my twenties. I was ashamed of my feelings/thoughts and did not want to burden anyone in my life.

    When I look back on my childhood, I recall that teachers noticed that I was often melancholy and distant. I was frequently asked about how things were at home, how I felt, and did I need to talk about it. I would just brush it off and deny that anything was wrong. Teachers would ask to see my mother knowing she was a single mom with a house full of children. I’m not sure what was discussed, but my mother would just say to me, “Chris you need to smile more and try to have more fun in school; your teachers think I’m abusing you.” I assured my mother that I was well behaved in school (claiming to be happy would have been a stretch).

    I loved school. It was the only time I could truly escape from the dysfunction that was taking place at home. I would always arrive early and stay late. After school theater activities were my early therapy. These days, school psychologists spend time with troubled kids; fifty years ago these professionals did not exist on school grounds (at least not in Brooklyn). My teachers coddled me — that only made it worse. The other children bullied me because I was perceived as the teacher’s pet and a “goody-goody.” Admittedly, I did seek the approval and praise of my teachers as a result of not getting it at home; it made me feel special, but I paid the price.

    I’m sixty years old and I am who I am. I assure you that this is not a “poor me” moment in my life. I know that understanding where my issues originated helps me to understand and appreciate others. So much of life is about forgiveness; forgiving yourself for characteristics that were born out of adversity and forgiving others for their insecurities, mishaps and home environments.

    I had friends here from New York over the last few days. My friend Julie is a very bright woman and we go back many years. She knew me when I had just completed my doctorate (we had this in common). I was passive aggressive, cocky and way too angry for a young man. Julie put up with a lot of nonsense from me back then. We talked about our history while she was visiting me here in Portugal. Julie helped me understand how she perceived my behavior and why she accepted it. I explained how I viewed the dynamic between us. It was interesting to discuss our thirty year friendship and share gratitude for what it is today. Clearly, we have both worked hard to examine who we are and who we’d like to be. This is one of the best things about a long term friendship, you experience life together and apart and revisit what attracted you to the other person to begin with. Too often in relationships, we forget where we came from.

    Image may contain: Christopher Papagni and Julie Ratner, people smiling, sunglasses, plant and outdoor
    Julie and I capturing a moment in our 30 year friendship. The similar sunglasses was a total accident, but I love it.

     

    A Quick Story (over 50 years ago)

    It was just an ordinary Saturday night and this happened:

    We were sitting around our small television watching some banal comedy show on a very fuzzy screen when three woman strolled into our basement; nobody knocked when they came to our house. Today we call drag queens who dress in women’s clothes, women, because they prefer that we refer to them as woman; they use feminine pronouns. But back in Coney Island in the 60s, they were men dressed up as women and they were, for the most part, rejected by society.

    These men in women’s clothing came by to see my mother before stepping out into the Manhattan club scene. These were my mother’s friends and they knew my mother (she was about 30 years old) couldn’t join them because she had small children, but she could help them with their hair and make-up. What I remember was a lot of laughter, a great deal of compassion and complete acceptance; my mother did not judge. To my eyes, she admired and fully embraced their alternative lifestyle. These individuals were colorful, funny, talented, brave, and present. I realize that I have not had a lot of nice things to say about my mother; however, to be fair, this sort of role modeling is the reason I have always been accepting of differences — it’s what I was taught as a child. My mother loved people; people of all shapes and sizes, race, and sexual orientation.

    I have learned that individuals who are not very tolerant of differences, more than likely, were raised in a home where differences were shunned, not celebrated. I don’t believe we are genetically wired to hate; hate is something we are taught.

     

    People and Places I have Sought Out in Order to Grow

    I knew early on, that the only way I would survive would be to find normalcy and attach myself to it. My childhood friend Joey’s parents were happily married and he had grandparents. Grandparents were nurturing and supportive and I wanted that. I endeared myself to Joey’s family and spent as much time at his house as I possibly could.

    Education was an essential part of my early survival. Anyone having to do with teaching seemed well adjusted and were almost always helpful. I was always eager to learn and well-prepared — educators appreciated that. I was somewhat aware of my ability to manipulate certain situations; being quiet, complimentary and naive (sometimes I faked this), helped get me a place at the table.

    Friends throughout my life have been supportive and loving. I knew that unless you nurtured your friendships, they would not last. Many of my friends have been a part of my life for many, many years; they are my family and I am grateful to them.

    I hired a life coach about 10 years ago. Betsy had a profoundly positive influence on my life and I cherish our professional and personal relationship. Having someone ask the right questions can never be a bad thing. If you can afford coaching, I definitely recommend it.

    I have had the good fortune to meet and get to know some very bright people in my life:  authors, teachers, artists, creative and caring individuals. These people have helped me to be a better person. Lately, I am more discriminating and selective about who I spend my time with. Part of being more secure and better adjusted, is making the most of your time and life experiences. There is no longer any place in my life for toxic, angry people. No matter how long I have I left, I want to die knowing that I lived life to the fullest. There is nothing wrong with a laugh or two along the way; oh and a really good meal.

    Examine where you came from and choose where you want to be. We don’t have much say in our early experiences, however, we do get to pick and choose how we live our lives as adults. Using a bad childhood as an excuse for poor behavior is not always valid. There are certainly times when early imprinting has an impact on our lives, but hard work, some solid therapy and the desire for change, can help you shape your own present and future.

    The best thing about this work is that it never ends. Each day brings new lessons and new beginnings. Start the day with gratitude and hope; a lifeline worth preserving.

    Namaste.

    couple holding hands
    Photo by Luis Quintero

  • Co-workers Pushing Your Buttons

    I hated several of my co-workers with a passion . . . no doubt they knew it.

     

     

    Photo by Nathan Cowley on Pexels.com
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

     

    Now that I no longer have co-workers, it’s been easier to step back and examine their impact on my life . . . then and now.

    Keeping in mind that my thoughts are completely one sided and that time may have altered my perception, I believe that my personal experience with co-workers is fairly universal. I acknowledge that I played a part in the dynamics of these relationships. When money and power are entered into the equation — as they are in the workplace, people behave in certain predictable ways; and some unfortunate, despicable ways.

     

    The Leadership

    Setting the tone for office politics and co-worker relationships is essential. When you have a leader that plays favorites, gossips, and fraternizes, you’ve got a big problem. It gives everyone else permission to behave badly. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it encourages bad behavior. I have had supervisors who were exemplary leaders and one or two who were poor role models; I preferred the former.

    When a leader decides to fire people because he or she doesn’t like their smile, or the color of their socks, or the sound of their voice; this creates fear which in turn pits staff against one another. You have an atmosphere with a whole lot of anger, resentment and anxiety. When this person is the owner of the business, it’s almost impossible to change the environment for the better. When you have a leader who is working for an owner or a manager who is in a mid-management position, you can at least practice some sort of evaluation process which can lead to termination. Individuals who cause chaos in the office or pit people against one another should not be permitted to remain in the organization (even if they’re good at their jobs). Unfortunately, all too often, they are permitted to stay and make everyone miserable. I left my last workplace seven years ago and a couple of these people are still in the same positions; in one case the individual has even been promoted. I think it’s to the detriment of the organization and it validates my decision to resign.

     

    Jealousy

    Jealousy rears its ugly head way too often in the workplace. It can cause people to do some very hurtful things and be bad for business.

    • outright lie about workplace incidents
    • sabotage a co-worker(s)
    • leak sensitive information
    • force unwelcome policies
    • create secrecy
    • ruin joyful occasions
    • the use of a lot of sick time

     

    Rumors

    As a manager, I found dealing with the rumor mill to be one of the most difficult issues to tackle. People can be very cruel and unkind. My MO was to try to ignore it as much as possible. The problem is that perception is reality and a lot of people base their perceptions on gossip. When they’re hearing it, they’re not always aware that it’s gossip and they can, in turn, create a lot of problems.

    Rumors are spread for many different reasons. Sometimes a lie is told in order to prevent a promotion or to do irreparable damage to a co-worker’s reputation. The bad news is that even intelligent people sometimes get involved in this kind of foul play.

    Stopping a rumor in its tracks and speaking truth to a lie, is the way to proceed. If the rumor is true, it should be dealt with appropriately.

     

    How to Deal With Rumors in the Workplace

    Nine Ways to Get Rid of Workplace Gossip Immediately

     

     

    Stupidity

    Let’s face it, there is a lot of stupidity going around these days; in truth, since the beginning of time. Not the same as intelligence or a lack of intelligence; stupidity is one’s refusal to acknowledge truth when it’s right in front of their eyes. People make excuses for behaving badly and attempt to take down as many people as possible in the process.

    I worked with an African-American individual who cried racism whenever she didn’t get her way. She was a loud, angry, obnoxious person who thought she was entitled; I can’t tell you why she felt this way. She would complain to anyone who listened and she used human resources as her weapon. When you have someone who threatens litigation, it makes for a toxic and fractured work environment. Staff will leave rather than fight for their rights; this unfortunately, fuels the culprits ego and empowers them to continue to push their weight around. You can replace the claim of racism with sexism, ageism, sexual orientation, and other marginalized groups, and find individuals who use the threat of lawsuits and public exposure to get what they want. It’s a real shame because legitimate claims are either ignored or discounted, as managers spend their time dealing with false claims. This work environment is a cyclone of fear and mistrust, and everyone gets caught up in the storm.

    Side note:  I think it’s a very bad idea for human resources staff to report to the owner or president of a company. Loyalty and trust will be justifiably questioned by staff.

    scenic view of thunderstorm
    Photo by Amol Mande

     

    Ways to Rise Above and Thrive in a Bad Work Environment

    • Always have an exit plan. If you have a way out, it makes it easier to put up with a good deal of bullshit.
    • Document everything. If you’re ever wrongfully terminated or accused of false wrong-doing, documentation will come in handy.
    • Use every minute of your vacation time. Being a martyr and working when you should be refueling will only lead to worse conditions. Bad managers do not reward staff for working through their vacations, they take for granted and exploit in any way possible.
    • Take sick time when you need a break.
    • See a therapist. Find someone who will help you keep your sanity.
    • Leave when it’s time to go.

    Too often the person who resigns is viewed as someone who is either running away from hardship or escaping termination; it’s an ugly part of our culture. Self-preservation is a very important way to remain healthy and all that really matters is what you think of yourself. As I have said before, “What others think of you is none of your business.” Attributed to RuPaul and others.

    We are living in a time when our world leaders are creating chaotic and deplorable work environments and in some cases, living environments. This, unfortunately, empowers people to behave badly and then justify it. It feels like change has to take place before it will improve. Waiting it out seems to be our only option. Never give-up hope.

    Your thoughts?

     

  • Human Behavior is Complicated

     

     

     

    Photo by Wallace Chuck on Pexels.com
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    Photo by Edneil Jocusol on Pexels.com

     

    Studying human behavior has always been a fascinating pastime for me. I majored in sociology in college and the question was always:  how does the behavior of others apply to me and what am I going to do with a sociology degree?

     

    behaviour
    noun
    noun: behavior
    1. the way in which one acts or conducts oneself, especially towards others.
      “he will vouch for her good behaviour”
      synonyms: conduct, way of behaving, way of acting, deportment, bearing, etiquette; More
      • the way in which an animal or person behaves in response to a particular situation or stimulus.
        plural noun: behaviours; plural noun: behaviors
        “the feeding behaviour of predators”

       

    I admittedly spend too much time trying to figure people out; individuals and groups alike. I make the same mistake over and over again; I usually believe people will react the way I do. We all know how ridiculous that assumption is. We’re raised differently, we learn from different people and we all have a different moral compass. If you think you’re more trustworthy or “right” than the next guy, that’s a huge mistake and it’s bound to get you into trouble.

     

    Family

    Whenever I write about my family, I am concerned that I will alienate or offend someone I care deeply about. So once again, I will not mention names. Except this one time:  My niece Nicole is close to giving birth to twins; very close. This is a very positive “family” happening and from where I’m sitting it appears that all of the people around her are excited for her. This will of course change the dynamic of Nicole’s immediate family and I consider myself a part of Nicole’s immediate family. Because of Nicole’s positive energy and desire to be a mother, the behavior I am observing and the words I have been hearing, have been upbeat and anxious anticipation, “When will they come, what will they be like, and how what sort of mother will I be?”

    I am looking forward to the joy this boy and girl will bring to the family. My sister and her husband will be wonderfully loving grandparents, my nephew will be a terrific uncle and my niece will be an exceptional mother. Observing all of this from Portugal will be joyful and sad; sad because I am thousands of miles away. Thanks to modern technology I will be able to have frequent contact and I will be meeting my great niece and nephew in Baltimore this coming December. Although this experience is not new for me, never having had my own children has made having lots of nieces and nephews, very special.

    The behavior of family members mattered more to me when I was closer in proximity; moving overseas has helped me put their love into perspective. It sort of always goes back to how being human makes us all different and trying to appreciate where the other person is coming from.

     

    Friends

    My close friends are all very different and I love that about them. I have not heard one of my friends disparage another one of my friends; this is important to me. They each know how much I love them and they are also aware of how much I love and admire my other friends. It’s been very important to share my appreciation for them and to show them how grateful I am to have them in my life. What I have observed in my friends is respect, admiration and loyalty. I’m not sure it would be fair or reasonable to ask for anything more than that.

    I have also learned that when a friend behaves in a way that disturbs me, it is essential to share my feelings as soon after the incident as possible; waiting is unfair. Friends deserve clear communication and a great deal of consideration. Remember to listen. Also, remember to be loving and forgiving.

     

    Strangers

    When I observe strangers, it is usually through a non-judgmental lens, unless they do one of the following:

    • fail to clean-up their dog’s poop
    • behave cruelly to animals
    • verbally or physically abuse their partner/child/friend in public
    • speak loudly on their cell phone
    • act extremely intoxicated or tripping out on one drug or another
    • display a weapon in a threatening manner
    • publicly display signs of racism, prejudice, anti-semitism, anti-homosexuality, anti-individuality, anti-freedom, hate or disregard for humanity.

     

    Internal Dialogue

    Here are some of the things I say to myself when I am observing human behavior:

    • She talks and talks and talks and doesn’t listen to a word anyone else is saying.
    • If he leaves that pile of shit on the ground, I am saying something.
    • Why does she wait until the moment she is getting on the bus to take her money out to pay? She’s been standing at the bus stop for 20 minutes.
    • Who does he or she think they are?
    • Why doesn’t he just stay home?
    • Where does this person come from?
    • How can I make it stop?
    • I need to get away from here.

     

    Why I Need to Stop 

    Just observing human behavior is fun; however, attempting to figure out why people say or do the things they say or do, is just plain unhealthy. We are so often wrong for the simple reason that we cannot be inside someone else’s head; it’s just not possible. Sure you may know someone a long time and their behavior may be somewhat predictable, but people do often surprise us and sometimes the surprise is positive.

    What I’d like to more often, is ask why. Why are you raising your voice? Why are you pointing your finger at me? Why are you angry right now? I think if I ask because I’m genuinely interested, the response will enlightening. It’s important to not be patronizing or passive aggressive.

    “Rob, I’m not sure what’s happening today, but you seem upset about something; can you tell me about it?”

    “Trish, I’m not sure you whether or not you realize this, but your voice is louder than it usually is right now. What’s up?”

    “Mike, some of the words you’re using are hurtful. I wanted to let you know that I’m confused about why you are saying these things to me.”

    “Sue, what am I doing right now that is making you angry? I promise to just listen and hear you.”

     

     

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  • Finding the Right Balance/When Loneliness Strikes/An Act of Kindness — Reblog

    man walking on train rail
    Photo by Chinmay Singh on Pexels.com

     

    Hard to imagine doing anything these days without feeling some guilt. An overwhelming number of articles, television shows, religious authorities, relatives and so on, telling us what’s good for us; who knows what’s best anymore. Truth be known, most of us know what’s good for us. We don’t need a know-it-all “expert” to share their opinion on how to live. Lately, I find myself almost offended by every Tom, Dick or Harry who tries to influence my next thought.

    And it’s not just experts weighing-in. Social media are awash with opinionated people who get angry when you challenge their opinion; I’m not making this about politics mind you; I’m talking about every day thoughts, opinions or advice. It’s terrific that people are willing to share their good fortune or experiences, but one needs to accept that not everyone cares or wants to know. As a blogger, I think about this every day. I’m fully aware that a reader can skip over a line, disagree with a thought, or challenge an opinion. In fact, I welcome it. Like anything else, there are appropriate boundaries and we’re all guilty of occasionally crossing them. The art of discourse is a lost art and I for one would like to champion its return.

    You have to find a balance between what you listen to, who you listen to, and listening to the voice within.

     

    Loneliness

    As trite as it sounds, I enjoy my own company. I’ve always secretly been critical of people who claim to be lonely — I just didn’t relate. Truth is, I woke up at 5:00 a.m. this morning feeling very much alone. The difference is that the Atlantic Ocean lies between me and all the people I love. I didn’t imagine this move would be any different than any I have made in the past, but yes, it is far from the same. When you can’t just jump in your car and see someone in a few short hours, that’s a huge difference. The feeling didn’t last long mind you. I thought about a number of friends and family members who will be visiting soon and I felt better. I also thought about how I take those I care about for granted and of course, I now have a better understanding of what it’s like to be alone.

    Lots of lessons here and many ways to cope. Revealing these thoughts to you is a first step. When friends and family told me that I was brave to make a move like this, I shrugged it off. I still don’t consider it brave, but now I know what they meant. So the next step is to search for meaning. I have been trying to protect myself from feeling love, empathy and sorrow. If I live in the moment and fully experience these feelings, what will they teach me and am I ready to learn?

    Here’s what I know:

    1. Loneliness is temporary.
    2. There is truth and meaning in the exploration of our feelings.
    3. Strangers can help fill a void.
    4. Memories are powerful.
    5. Loss of any kind hurts.
    6. Accepting your truth is to be fully aware of who you are.
    7. You may not always like what you learn, but you have to forgive and embrace.
    8. You have to put yourself out there.
    9. Be prepared for change.
    10. Books can be delicious company.

    Prologue:

    I wrote this piece a few hours ago and decided that a cloudy, muggy day is a great day for the mercado (market). I walked in and the first face I saw was Myriam’s. I met Myriam my first week in Faro. She was born in Venuzuala, but she has lived in the States and still has family there. In fact, she just returned from visiting her daughter in Miami. Myriam lives about 30 miles away in Tavira and she has not been in Portugal very long. She manages a Brazilian owned coffee shop in the Mercado — great coffee by the way. Her warmth and smile were what I needed today, but what she shared with me, I needed even more:

    Myriam asked me how I am adjusting to life here in Portugal and I told her what I was feeling this morning. She said, “I want you to read what I posted on Facebook this morning.” Reception is bad at the mercado and we both just about gave up on logging onto to Facebook and then this appeared on her home page:

    La soledad espeligrosa y muy adictiva. Una vez que te das cuenta de cuánta paz hay en ella, no querrás lidiar con las personas.

    – – Paulo Coelho (click for wikipedia biography)

     

    Translation:

    Lonliness is very addictive. Once you realize how much peace there is in it, you will not want to deal with people.

    Me:  Enough said.

     

    4e5e1028-a246-41c9-a4a3-0e00db30457f
    Friday on the beach with a good book and the sound of the ocean.

     

    When you’re looking for reasons to be grateful and there it is, staring you right in the face:

    As is to be expected . . . I’ve been second guessing my move to Portugal. I don’t mean that I lie awake at night regretting my move or wondering, “What did I do?” What I mean is that this is still very new (10 weeks) and I sometimes ponder if this huge change was the right thing to do. I think it’s perfectly natural to wonder and then this happened:

    I bought a piece of artwork that needs framing and I asked a friend here if he knew of a frame shop. Funny thing here in the Algarve, when you type “frame shop nearby” into Google, it only lists a select few options. I’m not sure I understand why, but perhaps that will be another blog. Of course Pedro knew of a place, Pedro always knows. He didn’t know the name of the shop, but he pulled out a map and pointed to where it was. The smart thing to do would have been to take a picture of the map; however, I am not a Millennial (not by a long stretch) and so I often forget that I have that option — there is a probably an app that will link the map location with the type of shop and tell you the name of the shop, but alas, I wouldn’t know how to find that app.

    I did, however, set out to find the frame shop. I got the general vicinity right (I could feel it) but after 15 minutes of going back and forth on the same three streets I finally gave up and went into a hair salon to ask for directions. The owner knew instantly that I was not a customer (stop laughing, it’s not that funny). I asked her if she spoke English and like most Portuguese people, she responded, “A little.” I joke about this because most people hear will respond that way and then speak beautiful English. I’m not yet at a place in my studies where I can even attempt to have a conversation in Portuguese. I asked her if she knew where the frame shop was and she seemed disappointed. Then she shouted to someone in the back room of the shop. A young woman stepped out and asked me what I was looking for. I told her and she said, “Come with me.” At this point I thought we’d step outside and she would point toward the shop. That is not what happened, instead, she crossed the street (I followed close behind sort of amazed) and then she crossed a second street (I was baffled), then she turned left and then right and there we stood in front of the frame shop.

    As I said, earlier, I have been daydreaming about life back in the States; however, today I realized that I am home. I’m not sure I could be living in a friendlier, more welcoming place. A small act of kindness was all I needed for a lot of reassurance.

    As my friend John always tells me, “Palms up to the universe.”

  • This Will Haunt Me Till I Die

    black vehicle steering wheel
    Not my car; mine looked a lot worse after my accident.

     

    We’ve all done things in our youth that we regretted later in life. Some of these life events are silly and insignificant and others do irreparable damage to our psyche. Let me tell you about a mistake I made that has caused me pain and consternation throughout my adult life. As with many car accidents, the outcome of this one could have been tragic; fortunately, three lives were spared, but fear of the worst possible outcome, has tormented me for the past 40 something years.

    I completed high school when I was 17 years old and started my first semester at Brooklyn College. It was a big, intimidating campus and I hated being there. My family had relocated to North Carolina for my stepfather’s business and I stayed behind. After not sleeping for months, I dropped out of Brooklyn College, packed up my very old and dilapidated Plymouth Valiant, and drove down to North Carolina to join my family. It wasn’t just that I hated Brooklyn College; I missed my family. School could wait a semester.

    I knew that I would soon enroll in a college or university in North Carolina, but since I didn’t have a penny to my name, I needed a job first. Staying at my mother and stepfather’s house would not and could not be more than a temporary solution. They were both smokers and I hated my stepfather. Fortunately, back in the 80s, one could easily get a job with a high school diploma and rent was cheap in Salisbury, where my family had relocated.

    Before I’d hit the south, I had never heard of cotton mills. Makes sense that after they pick cotton it has to go somewhere right? I was 18 years old, strong as an ox and willing to do just about anything to earn a buck. I was quickly hired for a third shift position at Cone Mills, a large cotton mill in Salisbury. Cone Mills made all kinds of denim at this plant. I figured I liked blue jeans and the money wasn’t bad. I was hired for the third shift, 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.; better known as the graveyard shift. Working in the middle of the night has its advantages, however, sleeping is not one of them. Your body is so confused about the time of day, you end up wide awake during the day, when you should be resting.

     

     

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    Greg, a new friend from work, would cover for me in the early morning hours, when I needed a few minutes of shut-eye. I would steal away to one of the shipping containers for a 15 minute nap; not ideal, but certainly helped get me through the night. Greg was a true southern gentleman and he saved me from losing my job on a number of occasions. He also helped me find a low-rent trailer home which ended up being the lowest point of my life. It was during this time that I met my neighbor Brenda who was diabetic and required a lot of attention. She had an eight-year old named Gene who needed a father figure and I was conveniently only steps away and and young enough to kick a ball around on demand. Gene would pester me to come out and play day or night. My having had few friends and a good deal of pent-up energy, made it difficult to say no to Gene. On one particular occasion, I wished I had refused him.

    Mid-day and a knock at the door. I had just settled into dream sleep. It was about 98 degrees and very sticky; typical July North Carolina weather; the kind of weather I despise. The trailer was an oven and Gene decided it was time for me to wake up. I hear the knock and throw the pillow over my head, knowing full well that I would never get back I sleep. I grabbed some shorts and a T-shirt, got dressed, and walked out of the trailer. Gene was jumping up and down, always excited about something or other, and I was groggy and semi-conscious. I told him that I would only get out of bed if we mowed the lawn together — I had a 6′ x 8′ patch of crabgrass outside my trailer door. Gene agreed, ran to retrieve his mother’s lawn mower and proceeded to tug on the cord to get it started. I watched him for a bit thinking this was a great way for him to release some of that crazy little boy energy.

    After a few minutes of Gene’s panting and scowling, I offered to give it a try. It only took 30 seconds for me to realize the mower was out of gas. I said, we’ve gotta get gas Gene. The gas station was a quarter mile up the road and Gene got super excited about a ride in my new Mustang. He shouted to his mother:

    “Be right back Momma, goin’ with Chris for gas.”

    Brenda yelled back, “Okay boys, grab me a Cheerwine.”

    The owner of the trailer park had a gas can in the community shed, but we couldn’t find the cover to the can. I figured we were so close to the gas station we could fill it halfway and avoid spilling gas. I probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. This third-shift business was not good for my sanity. I don’t even think I brushed my teeth that afternoon and that alone proved I was out of sorts.

    Between the weather and being sleep deprived, I was making terrible decisions. Gene held the empty gas can in the passenger seat while I drove. I was still pretty excited about my new, gently used, black Mustang. It looked pretty good; however, a four cylinder engine and very little horse power, was nothing to brag about. It took less than three minutes from home to pull into the service station — I wish we had walked. Gene predictably wanted to pump the gas; I went inside to pay for two dollars worth and grab a soda for Brenda. If my memory serves me correctly, the can was about half full.  I told Gene to put the gas can between his feet on the floor of the car and hold it while I drove us home. I approached the exit onto what was a fairly major road; in fact, it was called highway 70 even though it wasn’t officially a highway. The speed limit was 55 miles per hour, but I don’t think anyone drove under 65 on highway 70. The service station had recently added flags along front of the station to draw attention from the road.

    I had to make a quick left turn onto the highway, so I approached the road looking to the left first. I recall having a difficult time seeing past the flags. I crept onto the highway a bit further so that I could get a better look. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tractor trailer plowed into the front left (driver’s) side of my car. The car flipped over at least twice. This was prior to seat belt laws, but fortunately, Gene and I had both buckled-up. It was pre-air bags, unfortunately. I must have blacked out because my last memory was seeing the truck and then I woke up in the ambulance to my mother’s voice.

    She kept repeating, “Chris, Chris, it’s mom.”

    I looked around in a panic and said, “Where’s Gene?”

    My mom had passed the accident and pulled over to see if she could help, discovering it was me who had had the wreck. She told me that Gene was in another ambulance and that he was okay. Mom also told me that the truck driver was not injured. I wondered if she was lying to me. I did not get to see the car at the scene, but I’m certain that if I had, I would have thought that Gene was killed. My mom rode with me in the ambulance and when I got to the hospital, they rushed me to the operating room. My clothing was cut off of me with a scissor and I was poked, prodded and x-rayed. Later I was told that my face was pretty torn up from the windshield and I had banged up my left arm and leg. At some point they brought Gene into the room where I was being treated. He had a big smile on his face and ran to my side. Brenda was with him and she too was smiling. Gene was boasting that he had broken his collarbone and had to wear a sling for awhile. Brenda kissed my check and told me that she was happy that I was okay. Seeing Gene made me weep uncontrollably. It was such a relief to see Gene was alive and walking.

    Later that week my mother drove me to the car salvage lot to see my car. It was unrecognizable. Again, I wept privately. How did Gene make it out alive?  I cannot erase the memory of that truck nano seconds before impact. I play it over and over in my head to this day. Where did that truck come from? How did I not see it? Was I unfit to drive that day? Gas spilled everywhere in that car and it didn’t explode; how was that possible? So many questions that will forever remain unanswered.

    I remained on third shift at the Mill after the accident. Gene and I had a serious conversation about allowing me to sleep during the day; the accident matured us both a bit. I developed a newfound respect for cars and how dangerous they can be. Kids always go in the back seat now and I don’t drive unless I’m fully alert. If Gene had been killed or seriously hurt in that accident, my life would not have been the same. I have always had a hard time shaking this thought. I’m forever grateful to the gods that Gene was only minimally hurt and I’m fairly certain that that car accident was my wake up call. The scars on my face are a constant reminder of how precarious life can be and how fortunate I am.

     

    On a break for the next few weeks. I’ll be taking my first trip to Wales on Saturday and reporting back what I experienced. See you soon.