Papagni Pages

Tag: anger

  • 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

  • Closure in Unexpected Places: A Martini Glass Story

    I purchased a single martini glass for several hundred dollars this week. Before you judge me, let me explain. I was speaking with a friend of over thirty years about this; she pointed something out that I hadn’t thought much about, she said,

    “You normally don’t attach yourself to things, so I know this martini glass means something to you, so the cost doesn’t matter.”

    Yes it does; it means a great deal to me. The person who gifted me a set of four of these gorgeous Salviati Murano glasses is no longer with us. The two of us had the most complicated relationship of my life. It lasted 16 years and however twisted it was, it will reside in my memory for the rest of my life.

    As with all relationships, both she and I had our own baggage. When I started working for her, I was young and naive. I did not report directly to her; therefore, there was a buffer between us — my immediate supervisor both protected me and shielded me from her darker side. Early on, I only got to experience the compelling and positive aspects of her narcissism — when the narcissist treats you as if you are the only one in the room. Praise, gifts, promises; all showered upon me whenever in her presence.

    When anyone said that she was opportunistic or loved the spotlight, I would argue that it was difficult for women to stand out in a man’s world. I defended and deflected for a long time. As the years progressed, she and I became closer. I spent time with her at her country estate and she introduced me to celebrities, famous writers, and artists. If she needed something from me, it was always a gracious request. It took me years to realize that I had fallen in love with her. Not romantic love, but the love you might feel for someone you idolize.

    People warned me not to get too close. I would either tell them they were wrong or I’d tell myself they were jealous. My supervisor had warned me as well, but he modeled similar behavior with her. I was promoted with salary increases several times; to the best of my knowledge, always merit based. In my 13th year of employment, my supervisor left his position and I found myself working directly for her. We had a honeymoon phase that lasted a few months. During this period, she pulled me off to the side at a party and told me that she loved me. I remained on a delusional cloud until the shit hit the fan. She had a personal situation in her life that made her angry and bitter. The softness faded and the edges became sharper. I started to see what others had warned me about.

    I’d like to interject that she gifted the martini glasses to her executive team during a time of tremendous business success. We were at the height of profit and industry awards. I cherished those glasses; one because I’d felt I’d earned them and two, they were one of the most beautiful gifts I’d ever received. A few months after getting the glasses, I actually visited Murano in Venice where they were hand crafted. That trip made them even more special to me.

    Returning to my final years working with this woman: I went back and forth between being blown away by her intelligence and power, to disgusted and bewildered. She started asking me to do things that I didn’t think were good for the business; nothing untoward or illegal, just not in our best interest.

    I realize I’m being somewhat cryptic; I promise to explain why later. Life is not black and white and I have come to realize that living in the gray is not easy for me. I like things to be near perfect; neat and tidy and tied up in a bow.

    When it became impossible for me to comply with her direction, I pushed back — not easy, she was a force and I was expendable. Of course I didn’t think so, but I knew from how she treated others, that I most certainly was. We traveled to Italy together for work. I didn’t need to be there, so I suspect I was being tested. Her loyalty test was beyond brutal and I failed. It was at that point that I realized if I didn’t resign, I would be terminated. I’d seen many before me go through similar trials. When we returned from Italy, I resigned. Sixteen years of passion for the work, compromise, falling in and out of love, and brutal disillusionment.

    I’m fully aware that I was equally responsible for the disintegration of our relationship. I could have sucked it up, massaged her ego, acted as if all was honky-dory, but at the time, I was both in therapy and seeing a life coach. I felt as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders and I was finding it difficult to grin and bear it. I caved and my world shattered. That position defined me in every way. I withdrew, relocated, and reinvented myself. Survival mode can either break you or force you to see the world in a new way.

    A couple of years after I left my position and my New York City life, this individual died in a tragic automobile accident. I took it harder than I imagined I would. No matter what my misgivings about my final months with her might have been, I would have never wished her to perish. That is why I chose not to name her in my story. I never had closure; therefore, I will never know what drove her to do the things she did and why she tossed me aside before I resigned. I couldn’t even bring myself to attend her memorial.

    When I decided to relocate to Portugal, shedding 99% of my belongings was easy; I was seeking to start anew. One of the few gifts I could not walk away from was those martini glasses. They were the one part of that relationship I couldn’t let go of. I love these glasses, I love martinis, and I loved the former life they represent. Prior to leaving the United States, I shipped two boxes to my new address in Portugal. One of these boxes contained the four well wrapped martini glasses. Little did I know that they’d have to go through customers when entering Portugal. It took months and many telephone calls to finally locate the boxes. Because I did not have receipts for the contents, it cost me a small fortune to get the two boxes out of customs. When they were finally delivered to my home, one of the four martini glasses was broken. I wept openly and lost several nights of sleep.

    I engaged in a failed search for a replacement glass. I contacted all of the other executive team members who had received the same gift; none of them still owned the glasses. I learned that Salviati only made a limited number, explaining why they were impossible to find. I gave up. I placed the three remaining glasses in a prominent spot in my new home. I have never used a single glass from the collection.

    It’s been eight years since I placed those four glasses in that mailed box. I have checked eBay no less than a dozen times over the years. A few days ago, just for giggles and laughs. I looked on eBay. There it was, a single Salviati martini glass. The irony is that each of the four glasses has a different design and the one listed was the same glass that broke in the box that was shipped. I made an offer and after a bit of haggling, the glass was mine. It will arrive any day now and I will happily complete my collection. Early in my story I asked you not to judge me, I hope now you understand. I’m not sure why (and I may never know), but for me, this helps bring closure to an open wound. Sometimes an object can represent a time in your life, a person in your life, or a notion you’re hanging onto. These four glasses are all of those things for me. The challenge will be to keep them from breaking — they are extremely fragile. They mark a time in my life with tremendous growth and the ability to walk away when my integrity depended on it.

    Is it true that everything happens for a reason? I would answer that sometimes it does seem so. The missing glass pictured above, will soon arrive.

    State-of Mind

    The story told here is non-fiction.

    An individual I care about recently informed me that it was inappropriate for me to flaunt my lifestyle on social media. A part of me knows that I do not over-post. My intention has always been to stay in touch with people in my life that I do not see on a regular basis. When I moved to Portugal it seemed even more important to share my life experiences for the benefit of those in my circle of friends and acquaintances. But this comment shook me to my core. Perhaps a part of me thought I might be over-sharing or that people in my life that did not have the means to travel as I do, might feel that I am rubbing it in their faces.

    I ran this by a few of my friends who told me to ignore the comment. They said that my travels inspire them and others. No one I spoke to seemed to believe that I over-post. But if I’m going to be honest, there are a few people in my orbit that I believe should pull back a bit on social media. Usually because they post on Facebook everyday and sometimes very superficial (i.e., I lost my keys and found them) posts. Or they post a different selfie daily. I feel very judgmental and that I might be a bit unfair about this subject, but still, it’s how I feel. And so, I have not posted about my travels or adventures in a long while. Last week a good friend said that I should go back to posting. He said that people like him missed seeing what I was up to. I heard him loud and clear, however, as I mentioned earlier, I was stung badly. I guess I’m searching for some middle ground. Perhaps I will use this platform for social sharing. I’ll figure it out.

    “It’s very easy to be judgmental until you know someone’s truth.”

    Kate Winslet

    I hate proofreading, therefore, please excuse any grammatical or typographical errors.

  • Karma Can Be Rich

    Steven dreaded the holidays with his family. He could handle the drama and the snarky comments from his older sister Claire, but the looks from Claire´s husband Roger, were always hard to take. His brother-in-law behaved as though his Harvard degree put him above the rest. He wasn’t sure this visit would end well — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

    Christmas was a week away and Steven had not yet secured a plane ticket. He wondered if he could use the “I couldn’t get a flight,” excuse. Claire would surely cut his balls off if he failed to show up. She knew what buttons to push and how and when to push them. Steven wasn’t around when their mother was dying, Steven couldn’t afford his own rehab treatment, Steven couldn’t hold onto a job, and her list of his ineptitudes went on. She’d use sharp words and veiled threats to hammer home his failings.

    It was not until 3:00 a.m. the following morning that he went on-line, secured the last ticket, and got a seat in the very back of the airplane. Dallas would not be welcoming to this northeasterner. Christmas would be all about cracked and too warm concrete and a whole lot of Texas fake charm. Being home in time for a New York, New Year’s eve celebration, would be the only thing keeping him breathing while away. He sent Claire a text to let her know his plans. Her one word, “okay,” reply only reinforced his disdain for her. He was certain Roger would be disappointed that he’d chosen to make the trip.

    The reading of his father’s will was scheduled for the morning of December 26th. He booked his ticket home for that afternoon, thinking the shame he’d feel would accelerate his desire to leave as soon as he could. He didn’t share his plan with Claire knowing she would oppose his hasty exit. She and Roger sitting across from him gloating following the reading, would be way too much to bear.

    He’d been thinking about his father a lot lately. He knew his independent and defiant nature was a disappointment. His father warned him that a career as an artist would be a difficult life; fighting poverty and harsh public criticism. But Steven had to follow his dream to paint, with or without his father’s approval. His father was a man of few words, always working and avoiding homelife. Now it was time to hear from his father from the grave; ultimately having to have his rejection spelled out in front of the two people he disliked most.

    In the taxi on the way to Claire’s house he considered turning back and flying home. There was no law that said he was obligated to be at the reading. The voices in his head told him to grow up and face life head on — it would be over soon enough.

    When he arrived at Claire’s house, at first he didn’t think they were home. He’d told her what time he’d arrive, but greeting him would have been out-of-character. He walked around the back of the house where Claire and Roger were having a drink on the patio. Claire got up to put her cheek in his face for a kiss, Roger stayed seated. They asked him about the trip south, but neither truly cared to listen to his response. After a few awkward words, they told him that his room was ready. He carried his bag up the stairs and closed the door. If he could, he would have stayed there until the day after Christmas.

    The house was not decorated for the holidays, calling it sterile would be an understatement. It was soulless, lifeless and always frigid cold. As he lay in the bed staring at the ceiling, he contemplated his options. Calling his childhood friend Ben to provide an escape seemed to be the only solution he could stomach. Ben was thrilled to hear from him and they made plans for dinner that evening.

    When he finally had the nerve to go downstairs, Claire asked him why he wasn’t ready for dinner. Steven attempted to tell her that he was unaware of dinner plans, but she screeched, scolded and told him that he was insensitive. He canceled his plans with Ben and went back upstairs to change. He wished he could have a shot of something strong to take the edge off, but Claire and Roger were way too righteous to drink.

    Steven ordered a cocktail at the restaurant and they both gave him a judgmental look. They talked about the weather; he hoped Claire wouldn’t bring up their dad, but his hopes were quickly squashed.

    “Don’t you even care about what he was like at the end?”

    “I know what he was like Claire, you’ve told me numerous times.”

    “And you think I’ve told you everything?”

    “I think what you shared was sufficient.”

    “Did I tell you that during his final moments he asked where you were. You disappointed him right to the very end.”

    “Thank you for that Claire. You know very well that I had flown here twice before only to learn that he could live that way for months and in fact he did.”

    “But why didn’t you come when it was certainly the end? Why did you leave everything to me like you always did?”

    “Because Claire, you do whatever you want to do. You act as if I’m not even in the room. It’s pointless for me to even try. But does any of it matter now? Let’s just leave it Claire.”

    Roger sat seething until Steven tried to put a stop to the badgering. He was waiting for the last word.

    “You have no idea how pathetic you sound Steven. Your father never had to look very hard for reasons to resent and dislike you, you made it easy. You were a terrible son and you’ve been a useless brother. You’re a failure at everything you attempt.”

    Steven slowly folded his napkin and motioned for the check. He threw down cash to cover the bill and started for the door.

    “You’re not going to wait for us to drive home?”

    “No Claire, I’ll walk back. Please leave the door open, I’ll see you the day after Christmas. I’ll be out tomorrow.”

    Claire threw back her chair and stood up as Steven walked away. She didn’t try to stop him, knowing that Roger had gone too far. She didn’t mind it though, she hoped he’d spend Christmas somewhere else.

    Steven tried his best to enjoy Christmas at Ben’s house. It was warm and welcoming, just the kind of Christmas he’d never had with family. He and Ben talked a bit about the reading of the will. Steven assured him that Claire would walk away with the house, the money, and God knows what else — Steven didn’t know what his father had accumulated in his mostly hidden life. For him, the will would be closure. He wasn’t angry. Relief was closer to what he knew he’d feel. The death of his mother Sheila, two years prior, was difficult. She was a woman who wore resentment like a badge of honor. She never wanted children and marriage was a ball and chain. She and Claire battled to the end; Steven did everything he could to stay invisible. Their father turned a blind eye and never said a word. His mother’s bitterness robbed his father of any happiness he hoped to enjoy. They were four people searching for anything other than what they had.

    Steven woke early the day after Christmas. He grabbed his overnight bag. When he went downstairs, Claire was waiting.

    “What do you think Dad will leave you Steven? Are you here because you think you deserve something? Why did you come? Why show up now?”

    “Are you ready to go, Claire?”

    “Answer me Steven, do you think you earned dad’s money? I’m certain Dad wished you’d died before him.”

    Steven held his tongue. He knew Claire was doing her best to twist the knife so that she could watch him squirm. The last comment was a zinger, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

    Roger drove silently to the attorney’s office. Steven’s bag was next to him in the back seat of the car. Neither Claire nor Roger had commented on it. Steven carried into the office.

    The attorney, Mr. Brenner, seated them facing his desk, Roger in the middle of his wife and brother-in-law. There was no small talk, no questions, and no smiles. Attorney Brenner explained that the will had been written by Steven Sr., after their mother’s death; updated two months before their father’s death. Their father, Mr. Steven Forrester, was of sound mind and body when he updated the will. There were two witnesses who could attest to the aforementioned. Steven was struck by the absence of emotion on the part of Mr. Brenner. He was well aware that this man and his father had attended Yale undergrad together, played golf, and remained good friends throughout their lives. Claire had contact with Mr. Brenner through the years, but you’d never know it based on their interaction. The attorney had left Steven a message urging him to attend the reading and he didn’t understand why it was so important.

    Mr. Brenner asked if there were any questions and all three shook their heads from side-to-side. The first three sentences were standard legalese. Steven noticed Claire tapping her left shoe against the desk. Roger also seemed anxious as Mr. Brenner continued reading.

    “I am well aware that my decision regarding my belongings and holdings will not please everyone. Therefore, I would like to state the following: I have known that our family has not been a happy one for a very long time. Mistakes were made and resentment built up over the years. I unfortunately had very little say as it concerned your upbringing, your daily life, and your education. Had I been able to, I may have chosen a different path for all of us as a family. That being said, I believe I did my best to provide for the family and keep you out of harm’s way. It is my assessment that Steven got the worst of it. Sheila never truly acknowledged her son and from where I was sitting, never showed him the love and affection a mother normally shared. Claire on the other hand, at least experienced a fraction of Sheila’s guarded mothering.

    Steven’s path, although unorthodox, was authentic and brave. Without any support at home, he thrived and remained true to himself. In an effort to provide ammunition for a future legal battle, I will leave it at that. To make up for what Steven had to endure, I am leaving the house, valued at three million dollars, to Steven. To Steven I also bequeath all my art collection, valued at six million dollars (all vaulted for safe keeping), and stock holdings valued at four million dollars. I leave my life insurance policy valued at $200,000 to Claire. I appreciated the care she gave me over the last few months.”

    The room was silent for several seconds.

    Claire stood, turned toward Steven, pointed her finger into his stunned face and said,

    “I will fight this until I am certain you do not see one cent of dad’s money. He hated you Steven, mother told me so.”

    She motioned for Roger to stand and the two of them walked out and slammed the door behind them.

    Mr. Brenner looked at Steven and asked if he was okay. Steven just stared straight ahead.

    “Your father didn’t know how to be a father Steven, but he told me that he loved you and he was very proud of you. It is his hope that you will find joy in life and ultimately, share some of this money with those who have had to fight like you have fought since the day you were born. As a friend of your father’s, I’ve watched you grow up from the sidelines, I have no doubt you will make good use of his money.”

    Steven shook Mr. Brenner´s hand, grabbed his suitcase, and walked out into a future he never could have anticipated. There were children whose lives would improve due to his father’s generosity. He could see all clearly now.

    As he waited to board his flight, Steven couldn’t help but think about Claire and Roger and what it must be like in that loveless house at that very moment. He didn’t feel sorry for his sister, in fact, he felt nothing.

    Enter your email address in order to have my stories sent to your mailbox when published. Thank you.

    Writing to you from cozy Oslo. July and I’m sleeping under a down comforter.

    Majorstuen, Oslo, where I will be for all of July.

  • Family Revisited

    With some strong opinions about our current political situation.

    What you see here is my immediate family: Paco and me and me and Paco. Don’t be sad about it, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. After 30 years of therapy, countless self-help books, two or three semi-rewarding careers, and early retirement, this is where I’ve landed. Paco and Portugal are a pretty darned good combination. I can walk him year-round without ever having to step in snow or wear a winter coat. This is the life I have chosen and I believe it is unfortunate that there are people who are partnered or dying to be partnered, who feel sorry for me. Family can be defined in many different ways; for me, family is me and my dog. Trust, loyalty, commitment, and love; none of it questionable or wavering (new).

    Pandemic, war, climate change, political division . . . these are the times we reflect on what matters.

    A thought I am stating upfront (reprinted from 2019):

    Admittedly, this has been one of the more difficult blogs I have written thus far. I have wanted to write about family from the day I started publishing, but I have often hesitated and abandoned the idea. There have been mentions of family; however, I have clearly danced around the topic on purpose. I have decided to go forward with it, play it safe and not name names. I am fairly certain family members know where they stand with me and I think it’s best not to air dirty laundry in a public forum. Darn!

    I’m fucking angry at many of my family members and although I know some of them won’t like what I am going to share, it needs to be said. I want to remind several of them, that I’ve been around them for 62 years and I have listened carefully. Anyone in my family who is currently supporting Trumpism wants the following for the United States: 1) immigration exclusively for those who can prove they have means, 2) the end to programs designed to assist the less fortunate, 3) the stripping down of school curriculum so that revisionist history is banned and only the conservative perspective is taught (I’m holding back), 4) christianity is the moral compass of the nation, 5) anti-abortion can continue to be used as a weapon for fighting personal freedom, and 6) power and money can be kept in the hands of the fast becoming white minority. I’m leaving off a few things that are way too personal and would only fan the flames of hate directed toward me.

    If you are a close family member and have felt distance and diminishing contact, I need to be clear that I don’t care how much love there has been or how strong the bond, anyone in my life that thinks ‘Make America Great Again” is a good thing should not reach out to me. Clearly some of you are too stupid to know why you vote the way you do, but I know many of my so called “family members” know exactly why they deny the January 6, 2021 attack on the capital was a threat to American democracy. I’m not so sure you’d feel the same way if you lived in Russia or other authoritarian parts of the world (last two paragraphs are new) .

    Definition from Urban Dictionary and why it resonates:

    Family

    A group of people, usually of the same blood (but do not have to be), who genuinely love, trust, care about, and look out for each other. Not to be mistaken with relatives sharing the same household who hate each other.

    The words I love here are “genuine, trust, and look out for.” I am fortunate to have family members who check all the boxes. I also have friends whom I can say those things about; I consider these friends my extended or chosen family. None of my true family members are jealous of or would begrudge me of my chosen family. I believe those who love me for and despite who I am, love me no matter what. I didn’t always realize how much genuine love I had or have in my life; this came with maturity and experience.

    Not unlike anyone else alive and breathing, I have family issues. There are family members that are as much strangers as the individual walking down my street that I have never laid eyes on before today. It would be easy to beat myself up and blame myself for family “stuff.” They don’t like me because I’m fill in the blank. Since we’re all so different and complicated, trying to figure out why people behave a certain way toward you is bound to cause trouble. Speculation is often dangerous and inaccurate; especially when it’s about family. Our expectations of family members is not the same as what we expect from friends or strangers. We’re often less forgiving when it comes to family.

    This thinking that family should be held to higher standards sets us up for failure. In reality, we’re all human and therefore, we make mistakes, we say stupid things, we take others for granted. With a friend you might sit them down and ask them if everything is okay or if you can talk about it. For some reason with family (I suspect it has to do with deep emotional ties) we are quick to allow our anger and resentment to make us dismissive. This does not include the issues I outlined earlier.

    Some of the statements we might make to ourselves:

    • He/she should know better.
    • He/she never invites me to family functions.
    • They’ve turned their children against me.
    • He/she never calls me or I always have to be the one to call.
    • I’m so tired of being the one with all the answers.
    • Am I the only one who is taking care of mom/dad?
    • I wouldn’t be friends with this family member if I met him or her on the street, so why should I expect to like this person?

    Immediate Family

    I have created a life where my immediate family consists of me and me alone (I’ve added Paco since publishing this blog). I could easily share my thoughts on why this might be the case, but I think I’ll spare you the psycho-babble. I would imagine that the larger your immediate family is, the more complex your life might be; I could be wrong. Growing up, there were nine or ten of us living in the house at any given time. Daily drama and breakdowns were a way of life.

    I think that most individuals could point to a time when family loyalty was tested. I believe it is during this time or these times, when we shape our opinions of family members and evaluate how deep we believe their love to be. Can one be wrong in their assessment? Absolutely. Judgment can easily be clouded by an argument, a particular incident, and/or a betrayal by a jealous family member(s).

    Estranged Family

    It seems like everyone I speak to have family members that they do not see or communicate with. The first thing I always think is:  how sad. Then I realize that there are family members I do not speak to and again I think, how sad. But as we all know we don’t get to choose family and we either accept them for who they are or we don’t. I once believed that all family deserved to be forgiven no matter the transgression, however, that is no longer how I feel. I now believe that there are people around us who are toxic. Keeping them around us is unhealthy and unwise. What I have learned over time, is that confronting certain people will only make the situation worse. It’s like the old saying about putting salt on a wound; best not to go there sometimes. There is nothing wrong with self-preservation.

    Can an old wound be healed? I think it’s possible to mend a relationship, but both parties have to want it. It is similar to divorce, in that, emotions are often strong and anger deeply rooted, finding middle ground is near impossible. The older I get, the more inclined I am to walk away. It is important to consider regret and the outcome of your actions. You have to ask yourself several questions:

    • Did I do everything possible to reconnect with this family member?
    • How deep is the wound?
    • Do I even remember the cause of the disagreement?
    • Is pride getting in the way?
    • If I choose to forgive, can I forgive?
    • Can forgiveness pave the way for a healthier relationship?
    • Is making the first move possible or will you lose self-respect?
    • Will my estrangement affect other family members?
    • Are their beliefs so backward and divisive, that being associated with them is hypocritical?
    • Are you being true to yourself?

    Let me be clear that I am not pointing fingers. I did not have a family member in mind while writing this. I have made many mistakes. I have turned my back on family more than once. I have behaved immaturely and jumped to conclusions. I have avoided conflict and I have looked the other way. I have made excuses. I have placed blame. I have suffered in silence and I have made assumptions.

    I am in the process of acknowledging my limitations and I am attempting to figure it all out. I imagine in that way, that I am much like everyone else.

    When I wrote this blog a few years back I was deeply hurt by a few family members who turned their backs on me because of my political beliefs and values. I questioned those beliefs and started to doubt myself. I’m happy to say that those feelings are all behind me. I have come out of this stronger and more resolute. I am determined to fight for: personal freedoms, for those who cannot defend themselves, for those who have been denied the tools to help/better themselves, evangelicals who impose their values on others, and anyone who believes that sexual orientation is a choice. The fight is exhilarating and life affirming.

    Travel

    Liverpool, UK at the end of March, Toulouse and Bordeaux mid-April and Berlin the end of April. Most COVID restrictions have been lifted in Europe; therefore, travel should be a bit easier.

    There are other planned trips, however, I’m realizing as I get older, travel can often take its toll. I am re-evaluating the length and substance of my travel.

  • When Did We Become So Sensitive?

    Or Am I Just Jaded?

    I was raised in a home where you said what you had to say; you got it off your chest and then you let it go. By the time I got to kindergarten, I learned that the rest of the world didn’t operate that way.

    Along the way, I received lots of reactions to my “Brooklyn” bravado. I had to hide my sexuality, therefore, it was act tough and survive or whimper and be bullied. I developed a thick skin and a look that said, be real with me or get out of my face.

    And then this happened . . .

    I was a candidate for a really great position on campus at the University of South Carolina. It was my second year of a two-year Master’s degree program and I had spent the first year validating my candidacy for a coveted position. At the end of my second semester, I met with the director of the Living & Learning Program and discussed my future. I remember a smirk on his face I didn’t appreciate. He told me that there had been a couple of complaints about my direct nature — an interesting way to put it. He further went on to tell me he had observed it himself. What he said in not so many words:

    I appreciate that you’re from New York and that New Yorkers are known for speaking their mind. It’s not how we conduct ourselves in the south. We tend to start with some small talk and then we sugar coat our words a bit. That’s how we succeed in getting what we want. You might want to consider changing your communication style while you’re in South Carolina; maybe tone it down a bit (source is now deceased, 1983). I guess I might have been reliving this horror in the middle of the night last night, because I also recalled that he said that I was a “primadonna.” At the time, I didn’t even know what that meant.

    To say that I was devastated is a gross understatement. I spent the next two months questioning everything about the way in which I conducted myself. I cried a lot, I was angry, I hated that creep, and I went from deciding I would change everything about myself to being determined I would stay true to who I am.

    At the end of a long and tortured summer, the director called me into his office; I almost refused to take the meeting, but I knew he had a lot of influence at the University. He asked me if I’d thought about what he’d said in May. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was tormented by his feedback. I responded:

    I thought about what you said and I agree with some of it. I went on to tell him that I could be a bit less crass and a bit more tactful. I also stared him straight in his eyes and told him that I liked my own sincerity and direct approach; bullshit was not my style and being all nice nice without feeling it, wasn’t ever going to happen.

    He listened with what seemed like an open mind. I asked him if there was anything else and he said,

    “The position is yours if you want it. There are a lot of people on campus who are rooting for you, don’t let them down.”

    He shared his own reservations and I sat there acting all smug and self-satisfied. I wanted that job more than anything and I was determined to prove him wrong.

    So what is the point of my telling you this tale of woe? There are a few reasons actually:

    1. His words stuck with me more than any others that I have heard in my life. I didn’t like him, but I respected him and I came to believe he was sincerely trying to teach me something.
    2. In many ways he was right. I was overly confident and way too direct.
    3. Had he not shared his observations with me, I may never have been told that I needed to lower the volume. I still resent his harsh and hurtful approach, however, he managed to get me thinking about how I communicate with people and that is never a bad thing.

    I have mentored several young people throughout my career. I have been in the position to share my thoughts about character flaws I thought could be altered or corrected. I am thoughtful about the way in which I phrase my criticism or feedback. I can always tell when I may have pushed too hard or said too much. I recall how much I learned from my critic and I accept the anger directed toward me. My own saboteur reminds me that I am vulnerable and imperfect.

    And Another Thing . . .

    My neighbor has decided to make his condo an Airbnb; it’s his place, I guess it’s his business. Personally, I think it’s an ugly dump and I’m not sure why anyone would rent it. It’s probably cheap, so it’s attracting young party people.

    Yesterday, my new, not-so-friendly Airbnb neighbors were getting on the elevator to go to the beach and I introduced myself:

    “Hi, I’m Chris, if you need anything please knock.”

    They looked at me like deer in headlights and I very gently said:

    “Do me a favor, when you close your door, please do it slowly. When your door slams my apartment shakes.”

    Seriously, it sounds like a bomb has hit the building when the wind is strong.

    You would have thought I was asking them to go to bed earlier. The look I got was of utter disgust and resentment. I promise you, I was pleasant.

    What I said to them was not even criticism mind you. Would a big ugly sign outside my door asking for consideration be better?

    Things I Keep In Mind When Offering Criticism/Feedback

    • Will I ever see this person again?
    • Will my words make a difference?
    • How am I being impacted by their approach or style?
    • What words can I use to make a difference?
    • Am I being honest or mean?
    • Do I really know better?
    • Is my honesty a way to sabotage a relationship?
    • Will they hear me?
    • Are they open to feedback?
    • Why am I doing it?

    I know that I don’t know anything about most things, but I sure do know a little about some things. Keeping my opinion to myself isn’t easy, so listen up:

    Men of Portugal (you know who you are), stop dousing yourself with buckets of cheap cologne, you stink and you’re making me sick! People, when you’re in line at the supermarket you need to stay in line; continuing to shop and expecting to keep your place in line, isn’t cool. And to the young men who own motorbikes in my neighborhood: I know that having a small penis makes life difficult; however, taking your muffler off of your motorcycle or moped won’t make that little penis any larger. You’re just making people angry and the girls don’t think it’s cool. Spend more time on your hair, it’s quieter. And I’m sorry to judge, but young gay men are not driving their loud motorbikes all around Faro.

    Note: I’m just guessing about penis size.

    When people are not willing to speak out for fear of repercussion or alienation, they become angry, resentful, and complacent. Keep this in mind when someone around you is feeling stifled or worse, gagged.

    honesty quotes we are franker towards others ourselves friedrich nietzsche wisdom

    Travel: Time on the Spanish/Portuguese border in a Pousada next week; they can’t cancel that on me. I’m pretty sure I’ll get to go on my trip to Stockholm in August. And maybe even a booked trip to Lyon, France in September. I don’t count on travel anymore, I just have to wait and see.

    POUSADAS DE PORTUGAL

    Castles, Palaces, Monasteries, Halls of kings and Rooms of Queens… The Pestana Pousadas de Portugal offers the ultimate immersive Portuguese experience in some of the country’s most historical and iconic properties.

    Note: Check out Wanda Sykes who is hosting for Jimmy Kimmel this week. She’s doing some kick ass truth tellin’.

  • Frustration Around the Things I Cannot Control

    Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

    I’ve always despised angry old men; therefore, becoming one of them is not an option. I’ll start with something positive and then launch into my tirade:

    Something positive.

    I live in Portugal where they take recycling seriously. There are bins no more than 100 feet from nearly every residential building in my city. Organic trash for composting is stored beautifully underground in very convenient locations. Still, time and time again I see people dumping huge bags of plastic, glass bottles, and non-organic trash, in said compost bins. It makes me angry, it makes me sick, and it makes me sad. It makes me wonder about the integrity of human beings.

    Many of my fellow humans don’t seem to care. It’s perplexing to say the least. How can you care about your children and grandchildren or just about anything, and not care about the environment? How can you fight for human rights, black lives, immigration rights, and/or equality, and not consider the threat to our planet?

    These questions are confounding to me much of the time. It takes so little effort to sort out your trash, throw cigarette cartons in the wastebasket, clean up after your dog, but so many contribute to the problem rather than help solve it. My guess is that I have anywhere from 20 to 30 years left on this magnificent planet. Yes, it’s a reminder that the natural order of things dictates a life cycle and the planet is part of that cycle; however, we are hastening the death of planet earth by thousands of years.

    While I’m pissing and moaning, I’d like to also mention the strain we humans are putting on our very expensive and extremely unstable healthcare system. I’m not saying that I have never put anything unnatural or life threatening in my body; I’m only human after all. But we all know that those with an apparent death wish are making it very difficult for the rest of us. Doctors and hospitals were under tremendous strain pre-COVID-19; if we keep it up, only the wealthy will get treatment (true in many countries). Cigarette smoking, excessive alcohol, pill popping to cover-up emotional and physical pain, etc. The rest of us will suffer from health issues and regret when we cannot afford to see a doctor; soulda, coulda, woulda will not offer any consolation.

    Accountability is one of many annoyances that haunts me day and night. Why do white collar criminals get away with little or no jail time? How and why do the rich literally get away with murder?

    This building collapse in Miami . . . who, if anyone, will pay the price of so many deaths?

    I am dealing with a personal situation concerning accountability; it gets my goat more than just about anything.

    Restraint

    Holding back on making a list here. Proving to you that I am growing up. Perspective is essential to success.

    Acceptance

    I know who I am. I know what I am. I know that I am a control freak (this took a while to own). I have come to terms with accepting the things I cannot change. They say some people become more accepting as they grow older, I may be an exception.

    Caring Too Much Sayings and Quotes ~ Best Quotes and Sayings

    Travel

    Travel has become close to impossible. I have a short trip planned for the Spanish border, 45 minutes away, and I’m not sure it will happen. Toulouse cancelled, Bristol cancelled, mediterranean cruise cancelled. Everytime I book a trip I brace myself for that almost certain email telling me that COVID-19 has prompted restrictions; home seems to be the only destination I can count on.

    I’m scheduled to go to Stockholm next month. Since Sweden has never really closed, that may actually happen. Still, my guess is that Portugal will enforce a quarantine rule upon my return. I guess we’ll see.

    I am resigned to any and all possibilities — I don’t consider complacency a good thing right now. The resistance to vaccinate is frustrating and puzzling. The same people who bellyache about restrictions, are the ones who refuse to be vaccinated. I want to shake some sense into these stubborn resisters.

    The EU has agreed to a digital vaccine certificate for travel outside of one’s country and for use in order to go to certain concerts and/or sporting events. I have quite easily acquired my certificate and for that I am grateful.

  • It’s Still Not Okay to Be Gay

    Gay Pride Month Thoughts

    Photo by Marcelo Chagas on Pexels.com

    I’m sitting with friends having a light brunch and some bozo at the table says, “I’m not sure why Paul has to hide his sexuality, it’s so much easier to be out these days.” I sit on my hands and hold my tongue in a vice grip. People have this habit of wanting to brush over the truth to create their own sugar coated reality. The plain truth is that it is not so easy to be out of the closet in 2021. True there are pockets of the world where being gay is celebrated and respected; however, even in those places, it is complicated and uneven.

    First, it’s important to note that being open about your homosexuality is against the law in certain parts of the world. You’d better hide it if you live in Brunei, Yemen, Somalia, or Iran. Death or imprisonment can be an almost certain deterrent. Come out to what I ask you? And if you don’t believe Americans are affected by what happens outside of the U.S. (and in some states), you are sadly mistaken.

    “Same-sex sexual activity is a crime in 70 countries. Some of them, including six nations that are members of the United Nations, impose the death penalty. Another five make such punishment technically possible, even though it is rarely enforced. In 26 other countries, the maximum penalty is prison with terms varying anywhere from a few years to life imprisonment.” Hristina Byrnes  |  24/7 Wall Street, 2021.

    Hence, the reason I hold my tongue. It’s nice to know I can marry a man in Portugal, but the reality that my gay brothers and sisters in so many other places, cannot, makes it difficult for me to celebrate. That guy screaming at my at 7:00 a.m. after Biden was elected, doesn’t help either.

    “Why the fuck do you people need a parade anyway? Nobody cares.”

    This vengeful serpent has many heads. When I go to a family wedding and family members are whispering about my sexuality, I can be out, I can be proud, I can even be partnered, but there is no way that I can say that I am content — nobody wants to be judged . . . least of all by my Christian aunties. Has it made me stronger? No doubt, I love being different, defiant, and getting all the attention has its appeal; however, I’d choose blending in with the wallpaper any day of the week.

    Having cousin Ann say, “Aren’t you sick of hearing about gay rights?” That will never be okay.

    We freer gays stand on the shoulders of individuals who have fought for basic rights for decades. I applaud and appreciate their efforts, but it isn’t over; it isn’t over by a mile. It was only months ago that transgender individuals were being told they could no longer serve in the military. And just because we have a new president and human rights and freedoms are being restored, does not guarantee one’s ability to serve in the future.

    [I stopped writing yesterday; the anger and frustration were palpable. I needed perspective. I’m afraid it didn’t come.]

    I’ve come to terms with who I am. I don’t apologize to anyone for it. I am no longer lamenting about what could have been: children, grandchildren, a 50th wedding anniversary. Coming to terms with the kicking and screaming that went on in my brain for decades, feels good. But I can’t help thinking about the kids everywhere who are tormented by their own questioning demons; when will they be relieved of their pain. As long as there are teens offing themselves because their being “fill-in-the-blank” does not fit into the “right” box, I cannot sit at the table and agree that coming out is easier.

    “Shantay you stay.”

    Rupaul

    70 Hate Quotes & Sayings About Hating People for No Reason

  • Tips From A Seasoned Traveller — Part I

    Tip #1:  If you can fly non-stop and it doesn’t cost you an arm and a leg, do it.

    These days connections are killers. A delay in your first flight can mean hours of stressful time spent in an airport; sometimes even overnight or if you’re lucky, in an airport hotel. Keep in mind that the airline will not put you up overnight if the travel issue is beyond their control and just about everything is beyond their control.

     

    dc58cfac-2abf-44d6-81da-476d2c308e9c
    I recently acquired this Pan American Airlines  (iconic airline that went under in 1991) travel guide published in 1970 (7th ed.). Fun reading.

     

    It’s good to be home after several weeks away. I had a five city, three country holiday and it was exhilarating and exhausting. French air traffic controllers and French metro workers managed to mess up my travel on two separate occasions; not in a minor way. These days travel can take its toll on the body and mind; add disgruntled workers to the mix and you’re in for some major stress.

    How airlines, hotels and Uber, handle these delays and glitches is key to how well we cope. I thought I might share some stories:  how I reacted to people along the way and how they responded to me. I’m going to name names because I think you should know how some businesses handle customer service. In a couple of cases I believe my reaction was justified and in other cases, I may have overreacted. I tend to judge myself harshly.

    Tip #2 — You have to be your own advocate.

    Being quiet and meek is not the way to go when you’re either on a schedule or you have been treated poorly. Many airlines or countries today have rules about delays and compensation. The airlines are responsible for providing “passenger rights” either in writing or on-line. It is well worth your time and energy to become familiar with these.

     

    Prior to setting out for my long journey, I decided that I would not blog about the cities I visited — sometimes it’s more fun to just experience a vacation and keep the memories to yourself. I’m going to stick to this decision, however, there were some highlights that warrant mentioning. I also captured some moments on camera that I am pleased to share.

    Tip #3 — When you travel by plane or train, always have your confirmation/reservation numbers handy. The same is sometimes true for hotel reservations.

    If you need to rebook, revise, reschedule, or reference your booking, it’s a whole lot easier when you have this number handy.

     

    My journey began in Lisbon with a text from British Airways sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I usually fly in and out of Lisbon because it is cheaper than flying from Faro; 3.5 hours away by train. The BA text let me know that I might have flight delays due to the French air traffic control strike. I was unaware of this strike because my news is all Trump, all the time.  Sleep was impossible after reading the message and so I decided to be proactive and call the airline. I was able to connect with a customer service representative fairly quickly due to the hour of the morning. I explained that I would like to be rerouted in order to avoid flying over France — it was after all east of Lisbon and I was headed west to Baltimore. The very cordial representative explained that she had limited options for me. She told me that the best she could do would be to put me on a later flight from London’s Gatwick airport. It would provide a cushion in case I missed my connection to Baltimore. She was fairly certain that I was not going to make the connection. I would have booked the later flight, however, that flight would take me to Dulles airport in Washington, DC; a minimum of 80 minutes by car to Baltimore. She informed me that I would have more options working with an agent at the airport. I thought there might be a more direct option. In fact, I knew there was, but would I get it.

    Since sleep was elusive, first because of the possible delay and second, because I had discovered I had brought the wrong computer charger and I was wondering how I was going to be away for over two weeks without use of my laptop. I packed up and went to the airport, arriving at about 7:15 a.m. A very kind British Airways agent informed me that the agent I needed to speak with would be at the counter at 8:25 a.m. I took a deep breath and waited. At about 8:20 a.m. the original agent walked over to me with good news. He said the delay to Gatwick had been reduced from two hours to 45 minutes and that I should have no problem making my connection. He said that I would be landing in terminal 3 and I need to go to terminal 5, but I “should” have enough time. Minutes later the check-in desk opened and I handed a different agent my passport. She called her supervisor over and told her supervisor that she was concerned that I might miss my connection because I was landing at terminal 3, not 5, where my connection would be.

    The supervisor said, “No, you will be landing at terminal 3 and your connection will be at terminal 3.”

    I replied, “Are you sure because your agent (I pointed to him) told me my connection would be at terminal 5.”

    She said, “He doesn’t know.”

    I walked away confident that even with a delay, I would make my connection. You know what I’m going to tell you next, don’t you? The pilot came on the loudspeaker and greeted us warmly. He said that he was glad that we had received an opening to depart and that we would be leaving soon. An hour later he greeted us again, telling us that he was cleared and then uncleared, three times. I was concerned at this point, however, I chose to remain calm, knowing that being anxious wouldn’t get me there faster. The flight finally took off about an hour and 15 minutes after it was scheduled to leave. When the pilot spoke to us again, he told us that we were landing in terminal 3 (by this time I had learned that my connecting flight would be at terminal 5). The flight attendant calmed me and said that I needed an hour to make the connection and although it would be tight, if I was fast, I’d make my flight. For the next hour I took about a hundred deep breaths. Just before the plane landing the flight attendant came over to speak to me, informing me that the pilot had contacted the connection flight’s pilot and that the Baltimore bound pilot would wait for me. I was impressed with how I was being treated and sat back and relaxed. Planes that were landing in London were backed up and we were an additional 20 minutes late landing. At this point I had exactly one hour to make my flight. I hustled, followed the purple signs to “connecting flights,” and made it to terminal 5 in 30 minutes.

    When I got to terminal 5 I had to use my ticket to gain entrance to the terminal’s check in area. I attempted to gain entry and was denied. The readout said that I needed to see an agent. Two minutes later I was speaking with a British Airways agent and I explained what just happened. She informed that I was re-booked on the Dulles flight. I pleaded with her to allow me to try to make it to the gate. No can do, there are rules you know. She told me that I needed at least 35 minutes at that point to make the flight and that I only had 30 minutes. I put on my best “you cannot do this to me face” and told her that I had to get to Baltimore in time for dinner. She handed me a meal voucher and apologized.

    Curious to see whether or not I would have made it to the gate for the flight I was originally booked on, I headed that way. You guessed it, I made it to the gate with time to spare. I didn’t even approach the desk knowing that my luggage was on the plane going to Dulles. The gate was open for at least another 20 minutes. One more reason to do carry-on if you can. I’m not sure they would have reticketed me anyway.

    I proceeded to head toward my new gate. I wanted to drink alcohol, but I thought it might prevent me from getting some much needed rest on the flight. The departure time was “on time” and so I waited at the gate. Just when they were about to board the computers went down and they were forced to board manually; more delays.

    I landed in Dulles three hours later than I would have landed in Baltimore. The passport line was over an hour long and I knew a car was waiting for me on the other side — dollar signs flashing before my eyes, I was beyond exhausted. My friend Adam had said he’d pick me up, but he wisely sent a car instead; he had three days of his daughter Emma’s Bat Mitzvah festivities ahead of him.  I stupidly totalled the hours I had spent getting to Baltimore and it was just under 24 hours. I cursed the French, British Airways and my anal retentive personality. I walked into the arrival area searching for my name on a big card. The area was swarming with people waiting for their loved ones and there were many men holding up cards with last names on them . . . none of them mine. I was about to contact the car service, but decided if I didn’t pee first, I would wet my pants. Standing by the bathroom was a massive human with my name across his tiny iphone — I should add that my name was spelled correctly for a change.

    I said, “Hi, I’m the guy you’re waiting for.”

    His reply, “I’m Nick, can you wait right here while I go pee. I’ve been standing here a long time.”

    Of course I let him go first. You know when you’re weary and angry and blurry eyed and you just want to go to bed; decisions are never easy — we could have peed at the same time. The 90 minute trip to Baltimore is just a blur. It was 4:00 a.m. back home and I couldn’t keep my eyes open in the car.

    We arrived at the hotel and I asked Nick if I was supposed to tip him. He smiled and said it was all included. I didn’t want to think about what “all” meant. I dragged my bag and backpack to the hotel door and the door was locked. I looked for another entrance and that one was locked as well. I stood in the cold — a lot colder than what I am used to — and started thinking about how I might contact the hotel desk. I had no phone service in the States and I didn’t know if I’d find an internet supplier out on the street. Defeated and at a loss for solutions, I was about to sit on the curb when a gentlemen opened the doors and invited me in. They could have stuck me in a closet or office and I would not have noticed. Fortunately, it was Hotel Revival (a Hyatt property) and the room was very nice.

    The next day I wrote to British Airways needing to share my story. It was a two paragraph complaint and I included every reservation number, flight number, times, details, the size of my underwear; hoping for some compassion. The reply was laughable, but expected. “You’re flight delay was due a problem with the handicap ramp.”  What? I wrote back and asked if they had even bothered to read my email. The second reply was a bit more thorough, basically informing me of time restrictions and airport travel time, yada, yada, yada. I wrote a third email and finally got somewhere. Even though “it was beyond our control” they were willing to reimburse me for the car service to Baltimore. I did not know that an airline can redirect you up to, I believe, two hours from your destination airport without being responsible for getting you to your original destination.

    I got the receipt for the car service from Adam and I discovered why Nick did not expect a tip:  $211 for my ride to Baltimore. The receipt has been submitted and a reimbursement is in the works . . . pending any unforeseen delays.

    None of this was made up. Well maybe the underwear comment.

    Tip #4 — Unless you want the added expense of a rental car or lots of taxis/Ubers, choose a hotel in the centre of town. If you can avoid a main street or bar/restaurant street, you’ll have a quieter night.

    Walking around a city or town is the best way to get to know the landscape. I use Hotels.com and they do a good job of sharing which sights they are close to and how far they are away from the airport and other forms of transportation.

    Tip #5 — It seems as if delays are inevitable these days. If you are checking your bags, make sure you have a carry-on bag which will have your necessities:  water, snack, phone charger, laptop charger, lip balm, travel itinerary, passport, make-up, reading glasses, a good book, a small pillow (there are some nice inflatable pillows on the market), etc.

    Purchasing some of these items can be expensive (an Apple laptop charger can cost you up to $80). The more you have at the ready, the more comfortable you’ll be.

     

    Baltimore was my first stop. Emma’s Bat Mitzvah, good eating, time with friends and family, two very nice hotels, a bit of gambling, and my delay a distant memory; all made for a very pleasant first five days in the States.

    Next week:  London, Bath, Paris and Bordeaux. Stories to share from the same holiday.

     

    Sharing:

    I am not opposed to sharing recommendations for hotels, Airbnbs, airlines, restaurants; however, I prefer you send me a message with any specific requests. I did not keep copious notes this time, but I’m happy to rely on memory and an internet search or two. As always, I must mention that these are only recommendations and my needs may differ from yours.

  • What in the World?

    How does one reconcile, in one’s mind, the hate and corruption one sees throughout the world?

    The sad answer is that it’s almost impossible to make it right and all you can do is your best.

    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

     

    This past week was a difficult one for me. I wonder if I should even write while I’m feeling so much rage. I don’t consider myself any more virtuous or high minded than anyone else, but I do have a moral compass and it is definitely searching for my true north. I am aware that many people are sick and tired of hearing about corruption and don’t want anything to do with partisan politics. That’s not a good reason for me to shut-up about it. World leaders everywhere are making decisions that affect the lives of many in a truly destructive way. I’m not so naive to think that it is any better or worse than it has ever been, nonetheless, I am discouraged by what I see and hear.

    Leaders have been corrupt for centuries; most likely since the very beginning. What I find difficult to swallow, is the absence of concern from the people who are affected by their decisions. We work hard, we take care of one another, and we attempt to create a future for ourselves and our families. However, what we are seeing more and more, is greed and dishonesty among the politicians we put our trust in.

     

    What I see

    • I think that as long as these bad actors continue to get elected, apparently by whatever means it takes, this virus will grow bigger and will cause greater harm to the world.
    • Local grassroots leaders may also be corrupt, however, keeping a watchful eye on these politicians is somewhat easier when you can look them in the eye and hold them accountable.
    • We often use the “holidays” as an opportunity to tuck these issues away while we celebrate and escape the news. Taking a break from harsh reality is a good thing, however, politicians count on times like this, hoping we might forget our grievances. Our current administration uses news cycles to deflect from big issues, creating new fires and attempting to bury important stories.
    • The media has always manipulated the truth, spun lies, distorted facts, etc., but lately it seems more like a competition for who can do be better at this game.
    •  I recently decided to listen to those for whom I care a great deal, to hear their point of view and try to better understand their perspective. Their truth is just that and I find it difficult to argue with someone who firmly believes his or her truth.
    • When you feel marginalized, patronized, ignored, and lied to, it’s easy to understand why you might look to a different source for salvation.
    • There have been many studies done (WSJ piece) on the psychological toll the current environment is taking on our lives. The inability to do anything about the chaos and lies, leaves us feeling hopeless and lost (US News piece). Depression, a lack of sleep, anger, hopelessness; it all eventually catches up with you.
    • People have justifiably stopped watching the news or listening to the media. The average person doesn’t know what to believe anymore, and therefore, chooses not to believe anything.

    Here is when you add what you see. This is the part that is most interesting. We all see something different because we have different perspectives and histories. Thinking your own perspective is the correct one, is dangerous. It will leave you feeling angry and frustrated. I feel this way almost every day and I have to remind myself to take a step back and breathe.

     

    Where It’s All Going

    • Hate to say it, but I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better. The greedy, lying, SOBs, have far too much to lose and they won’t stop until they get want they want; often at our expense.
    • Authoritarian power mongers are winning elections in many countries; their collective power and clout is helping to put them in office and keep them there. Then of course there are the dictators who gain power by other means. I don’t necessarily see these men as more dangerous than those who are elected.
    • Some leaders use fear, lies and deceit, to get elected and stay in office. It appears that facts and truth is not enough to disprove their rhetoric.
    • There are movements all over the world to stop these hacks. There are also people and organizations putting millions of dollars into the hands of smart leaders who can, at the very least, slow down corruption.
    • Young people, in greater numbers, seem to be joining the conversation lately and that’s a good thing.
    • Sometimes we take three steps forward and six steps back.
    • I truly hate feeling this way, because it’s already pretty dire, but I believe the worst is coming. I don’t believe we are at our breaking point just yet. I don’t think we are capable of wrapping our heads around just how bad it can get. Our optimism can blind us.
    • I think climate change will be more catastrophic than we ever imagined. The rain forests, our oceans, oxygen levels, fossil fuels, dwindling natural resources, garbage, plastics, etc. — way too complicated for the average person to comprehend. We are at a point in mankind’s development where facing the reality of the damage we are causing to our fragile planet, is imperative. Denying, defraying, and hiding the truth, will only hasten our demise. I’m not so much worried for myself, but for our children and their children. Closing our eyes and ears is not the answer; the next generation will pay the price. In the past, the cost was not quite so clear. The world population is higher than it’s ever been and getting bigger.
    • Optimism is a good thing, but using it as a way to deny reality, is dangerous. It is human to be hopeful. It is human to see the good in people. It is human to protect and preserve one’s self, and it it also human to repeat history. We need to wake-up and consider the future.

    Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Being in Portugal, where they naturally do not celebrate Thanksgiving, was not a good thing for me. Next year I need to either be with friends and family or create a Thanksgiving feast in Portugal. I find myself going down a rabbit hole of negativity and deep concern.

     

    Sparing You and Me Both

    I’m going to stop here and state, that I am aware that what I am writing about is fairly negative and seemingly fatalistic. I am normally upbeat, positive and hopeful. I hate that I don’t feel that way lately. I’m not depressed, unhealthy or lonely. I’m sensing a great deal of concern from average people who feel that their hands are tied behind their backs. So the big question is, what can you do to change the world so that it’s a better place for our children? I’m in awe of Jane Fonda who fights for all of us each day. At 82 years old, it would be easy for her to enjoy her wealth and abundance. She and others like her (i.e., Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter) inspire me and move me to action.

    A friend of mine has being doing his part to lift the spirits of those around him by posting positive quotes on his Facebook page. I came across this one just the other day:

    “The biggest obstacle to changing the world is the believe that we can’t.”

    — Marianne Williamson

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  • 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

     

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    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.