Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

Redemption From Beyond III

Last Chapter of a Three Part Novella

It was no longer about what Steven had asked of him, it was much bigger than that. Jake was more driven, less concerned with what others thought of him. He was beginning to feel more alive, more empathetic, more like himself. He noticed his interaction with others was becoming fluid and genuine. What had brought this about he’d wondered.

When he left Esther’s house, he was feeling euphoric. The look on the old woman’s face was imprinted in his memory. In the car, on the way back to Berlin, he called Eric at Arolsen to let him know what happened in Rüdesheim. He felt that he could trust Eric at this point and share everything, but before he could tell Eric the details of what took place, Eric asked him to meet him for dinner.

“Jake, this is exciting news, can you tell me all about it over dinner tonight?”

Jake was pleased to be able to ask Eric for another favor in person. He could probably do some research on Rachel’s child himself, but Eric had been such a big help and he seemed eager to do whatever he could for Jake. Jake was grateful for Eric’s invitation. He thought to himself, what a great guy that Eric is.

They met at a very nice Thai restaurant close to Jake’s hotel. Eric was probably the most soft spoken man that Jake had ever met. He realized only moments after Eric arrived, that he was both nervous and excited; feelings about another man he had not had for a very long time. And then Eric said this:

“Jake, I hope you don’t mind my inviting you to dinner. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we last met. I’m usually not this forward, but then, I’m usually not this smitten.”

Jake felt himself blushing. He did not hesitate to let Eric know that the feeling was mutual. He proceeded to fill in the Esther Roseman story with more detail. He watched Eric’s smile grow broader with every word — together they shared a moment of absolute satisfaction.

Eric knew this dinner was not just to spend time with Jake, although he was happy to do just that. He asked Jake what it was he wanted to speak to him about.

“I was able to find out that Rachel Schwartz was moved to one of the other camps, but also that she was pregnant when she left Auschwitz . I know this won’t be easy, but I was hoping you could help me find out if her child is still alive. Also, if he or she is living, where they currently reside. I’d like to find the rightful owner of Rachel’s ring.”

There was no question in Eric’s mind that although he’d need to do quite a bit of digging, he’d eventually find one of Rachel’s relatives. The rest of the evening would be all about getting to know one another, indeed they did just that.

Eric dove into the files the very next day. There were so many Rachel Schwartz’s listed in the database, but he had an approximate age, her pregnancy, and hopefully a record of her having given birth. He combed over the files from each camp for hours. Finally it was at Bergen-Belsen in Northern Germany where he finally got somewhere. Rachel Schwartz was recorded as deceased, however, she left behind a baby boy named Ian, with the same last name. Unfortunately, Ian’s whereabouts were unrecorded. Hmm, another common Jewish name, but he had an approximate age and a possible location. Ian was hopefully still in Bergen-Belsen when the war ended.

Eric discovered that anyone who remained alive at Bergen-Belsen, was put on a train to be processed in Berlin. He’d go through those records in the morning. He phoned Jake to let him know that he had made some progress, but that Jake shouldn’t get his hopes up. Jake was happy to hear Eric’s voice; this time it was Jake who asked Eric to dinner. Eric happily accepted. The two were enjoying getting to know one another.

When he got back to his hotel, Jake called his friend Ashley in New York and told her he’d met someone in Germany. Ashley could only say,

“Well it’s about fucking time.”

Dinner was even better than the night before. Jake surprised himself by not thinking about little things that bothered him. By now there were usually red flags and petty considerations; Jake had a huge crush. Eric didn’t want Jake to leave Berlin, but he also knew it wouldn’t be fair to prolong the inevitable.

The next morning he sat down with his laptop and found Rachel’s son — Ian Schwartz was living in Vienna. Ian was in his early seventies, director of the Holocaust Museum Vienna, and he was married to Isabel. Eric went straight to Jake’s hotel and called him from the lobby. Jake could tell Eric had good news from the sound of his voice. They had coffee and the hotel’s café and Eric shared what he’d learned.

Jake jumped up to hug Eric; Steven’s task was nearly complete. The two sat with one another in silence. Hope and adoration filled the air around them.

“Eric come with me to Vienna to meet Ian. We need to do this together.”

“Are you kidding, I would have gone whether you’d asked me or not, but you’ve made it easier.”

They arrived on a Friday afternoon. The next few days were some of the best days of Jake’s life. They stayed in a very sweet boutique hotel across from the Holocaust Museum. Eric knew and loved Vienna; showing it off to Jake was a pleasure for him. They were having a wonderful weekend while waiting for the museum to open. They weren’t certain Ian Schwartz would be at work on Monday, but at that point Ian didn’t know about Steven and the stolen ring, a few more days before he’d learn of the found ring wouldn’t make a difference.

When Monday morning came, they had a quiet breakfast at the hotel. They had more time at the hotel than seeing the sites and they were both okay with that. At 9:30 a.m. they crossed the street to the museum. They both realized they were a nervous wreck; Eric even more so than Jake. The Museum staff led them to Ian’s office where they waited to see him. They had informed a staff member that they had urgent business and that Ian Schwartz would be interested in their news; Eric’s Arolsen Archives business card didn’t hurt.

After five minutes with Ian, it was clear that Ian was Rachel’s son and he had survived the camps. When Jake told him about his mother’s ring, he fell silent. When he spoke, he informed Jake and Eric that he had no memory of his mother whatsoever. His life’s work had been about bringing this atrocity to light. For Ian, the ring represented his journey and how it had come full circle. For Jake and Eric to experience Ian’s joy was a true gift; an experience that would be a part of their story.

After a few more days of exploring Vienna, Jake and Eric held each other at the airport knowing that this was the beginning of a love that would have pleased Steven; perhaps it was part of his plan.

The Camps

I know, it was a shmaltzy fantasy, but I’m in a good place and I wanted this story to have multiple happy endings. I also realize I speed up my stories at the end — I’m enjoying the writing, but I’m ready for the next thing. Thank you for indulging me.

State-of-Mind

Personal list — does not apply to all. I prefer to stay out of trouble lately.

Ten Things I Care More About As I Get Older (not in order of importance)

  • My health and the health of the people and pets I care about
  • How I spend my time
  • My finances (can I stretch my savings/retirement allocation until my death?)
  • My safety
  • My comfort (physical, mental, and emotional)
  • The well-being of my friends & family (beyond health)
  • What I will be remembered for (but I care about this less and less each day)
  • Being more practical
  • Peace and the quality of my sleep
  • Good food & wine

Ten Things I Care Less About

  • What others think (I stopped shaving every day)
  • Partying excessively
  • Things I have that would impress others
  • Expensive meals
  • Doing risky things that might put my life in danger (no more skydiving, hang gliding, climbing tall ladders, running across the street, recreational drugs, etc.)
  • Fancy products
  • Checking every item off off my bucket list (I destroyed mine a few years ago — self-imposed pressure)
  • The past (in terms of reliving or regretting)
  • What I could have accomplished
  • Finding the right partner

What did I forget?

“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” 

Posted on by CP

Redemption From Beyond II

A Three Part Novella

Jake was normally not the type to beat himself up. Steven’s letter left him with undeniable and painful guilt. He thought about all the times he hated Steven for his silence. Finding the owners of the jewelry pieces would at the very least give him something to focus on. Besides, this sort of sleuthing was right up his alley.

Tyler, Steven’s attorney, made two things clear: first, what Steven shared with him beyond what was in Jake’s letter was client/attorney privilege, and second, no matter who came around asking, Tyler knew nothing. Jake asked Tyler if he had any idea what the pieces were worth. Tyler said that the age, craftmanship, and size of the diamonds made them valuable; he estimated a few hundred grand. He suspected it wasn’t the monetary value Steven was thinking about when he reached out to Jake for help.

Jake cleared his schedule for the next few weeks. He didn’t think it would be wise to go straight to Germany. He’d start with some on-line research and see what came up. He had an alarm system installed at his apartment, just in case whomever was looking for the jewelry knew of his existence. Thieves stop at nothing and Jake wasn’t taking any chances.

Assuming Rachel Schwartz and/or Esther Roseman lived in Germany at some point in the last 50 years, finding them or their families would not be easy. Jake hoped that once he learned more about one of the two, finding the other or their family should not be that difficult.

Jake realized he was being cagey with friends; he trusted no one — not that anyone he knew would try to steal the jewelry, but that they might blab it to the wrong person.

Not knowing where to begin, he went to Facebook and entered the two women´s names. In fact, there were several of both with their names (also the same family name) living in or near Frankfurt. He didn’t see either woman in Rüdesheim.

It was time to reach out to Steven’s cousin Marie whom he hoped still lived in Berlin. Fortunately, Tyler was able to provide him with her contact information. When Marie got back to Jake, he found her to be very warm and personable. He was surprised to learn that Marie knew about him. She even relayed that Steven had hoped to someday marry Jake; obviously news to Jake. After speaking with her, he decided to take a trip to Berlin to learn more about Steven and his family. Hopefully, the information she would provide would help him in his search.

Marie picked Jake up from the airport and brought him to a hotel in the center of Berlin. She was fully aware of Jake’s motives for being there. She’d of course known Steven since he was a boy, but Steven and his parents did not visit Berlin often and Marie did not visit them in the States. Still, there were things spoken throughout the years that might be helpful to Jake. Marie was anxious to get to know someone who cared for her cousin.

They met over drinks later that evening. Marie found Jake to be personable and sincere. She told Jake that as children, Steven was always laughing and that he loved practical jokes. This was not the Steven he remembered. It made him smile to think that Steven was once lighthearted, even playful. Marie also shared that Steven’s father was not a likeable person. She said that most of the family stayed away from him. He was her father’s brother, but they were very different. Marie was aware of the war crimes and trials, but it all took place before she was born. Marie was 20 years older than Steven.

Jake wanted to tell Marie about the two pieces Steven’s father stole from the women in Germany. He was hesitant to jeopardize his goal of finding them or their relatives. Marie knew nothing of the town Steven’s father served in; in fact she didn’t seem to be aware that there were still people looking for survivors and relatives of victims. Jake didn’t understand how detached people could be; perhaps it was a survival tactic.

Being in Germany was very strange. He of course knew about the six million or more Jews who were murdered under Hitler’s orders during the Holocaust, but as a gay man, it was the knowledge of the thousands of homosexuals and suspected homosexuals who were tortured and killed. The idea that anyone could be murdered for their religious beliefs or sexuality was abhorrent to Jake. Beyond these groups, there were also people with disabilities, opposing political views, other religions (Jehovah’s Witness), and those labeled as Gypsies. More than one person marginalized or persecuted, was too many. For the first time in his life, Jake felt empowered to do something.

Jake thanked Marie for seeing him. He sincerely hoped that someday they’d have the opportunity to meet again. While in Berlin, Jake learned of the Arolsen Archives which is a mainly on-line organization that houses files and documents on individuals who were victims of Nazi persecution. The organization had a major presence in Berlin and Jake knew someone in the U.S. Department of State whom he hoped could make a connection. His hunch panned out.

Jake met with Eric Haverman at his office. Eric was one of Arolsen’s archivists and, as it turns out, someone who could be a big help in Jake’s search. Again, Jake was cautious about sharing too much information, however, considering Eric’s credentials, he was certain he could provide some background that might help him get to the two women or their relatives more quickly. It was clear that Eric could offer great guidance.

Jake decided to spend one more day in Berlin after meeting with Eric. Eric’s words were promising; any information could be helpful. Eric called Jake on his cell phone later the same day. He was fairly certain that Esther Roseman was alive and still living in Rüdesheim. Esther was 94 years old. She’d never been on Facebook and she had escaped from Auschwitz in 1944; she was 14 years old. Both of Esther’s parents died or were killed in the camps.

Jake asked Eric how he could contact Esther without invading her privacy. Eric told Jake that Esther had agreed to interviews in the past and that she might still be up for a conversation. Eric was willing to call her. Jake was impressed with how respectful Eric was; he didn’t pry or ask questions. Feeling hopeful and determined, Jake waited to hear back from Eric. He found himself thinking about Eric a lot. He seldom met men with such integrity and empathy.

The next morning Jake received a call that unbeknownst to him, would change his path for months to come. Esther’s daughter Tovah Schneider was currently living in Frankfurt. Fortunately, she spoke English and she was eager to learn about Jake’s reason for wanting to speak to her mother. Not knowing for certain that this Esther was the “right” Esther. He told Tovah that he was the friend of someone in the United States who might have some information about Esther’s parents and their home in Rüdesheim. It was not entirely true, but a rationale he was certain she’d later understand. He told Tovah that he was in Berlin and that he could be wherever she needed him to be as early as the next day.

Tovah told Jake that her mother was frail, but very sharp. She’d apparently spent her entire life educating people about the Holocaust: ensuring nothing of its kind would or could ever happen again. She would try her best to arrange a meeting within the next few days. She was also happy to accompany Jake as interpreter; Esther spoke very little English. That afternoon, Jake hopped a train to Frankfurt.

Tovah was able to arrange a meeting at Esther’s home the day after he arrived in Frankfurt. She told him that Rüdesheim was one hour outside of Frankfurt and that she’d be happy to drive him to her mother’s house and take him back to Berlin. Jake was certain she was concerned for her elderly mother, he would be too if he were her. She had also let Jake know he’d have one hour with Esther. At this point he wasn’t even 100% certain that she was the right woman he was looking for; one hour would be more than enough.

At 9:00 a.m. Tovah arrived at his hotel in Frankfurt. He was surprised to learn she was in her 70s. It made sense, but up until now, he hadn’t thought about it. She was very welcoming and she seemed eager to get to know him. They talked about Esther and her parents and their lives before she was born. She told Jake that her mother met her father at Auschwitz, but unfortunately, he didn’t survive the camp. Her mother escaped pregnant with Tovah, after learning that her husband had been killed. At the time, Esther did not know that he was more than likely killed in a gas chamber.

By the time they arrived at Esther’s home, he was certain she was the woman he was searching for. Esther was old and frail, but clear headed, she received Jake with open arms. After some tea and small talk, they began their conversation.

“Esther, it means a great deal to me that you were willing to meet with me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your life before and after Auschwitz. I know your life’s work has been to help others who went through WWII and to help all of us better understand what it was like to be sent to the camps. I’ve read several transcripts from talks you’ve given and I have to say I am humbled by what you have been through.”

Esther spoke slowly, with great care. Tovah was a good interpreter; she was happy to add details and clarify when necessary. About 15 minutes into the conversation, Jake asked the question that would give him the answer he was looking for.

“Esther, when you were a young girl living here in this town before you took the train to Auschwitz, was anything of yours taken from you?”

Esther’s eyes teared up. She looked down, composed herself, turned to Tovah and said,

“When I was 14 years old, my mother gave me a diamond and jade necklace that she had received from her parents as a wedding gift. My mother was fairly certain that she and my father would soon be taken away — several neighbors had already disappeared. She told me that the necklace was very valuable and that it might someday help her purchase a house. My mother told me to hide it in a safe place and to not tell a soul that she had it. I hid it in a box under my clothing. Two days later, my parents were taken away. The night they left home, I was alone in the house. In the middle of the night someone came into the house, covered my eyes and told me to stay quiet. Minutes later, the man left with whatever valuables were left in the house, including my necklace. After having said goodbye to my parents, losing the necklace sent me into a very deep depression. I couldn’t tell anyone about the stolen necklace. I knew that when I saw my mother, she would be very upset. The town was small, but I couldn’t imagine who would have known about it and taken it.”

Jake took a deep breath. His heart was beating quickly. He took Esther’s hands, realizing he was trembling, and looked at her and Tovah,

“Tovah, please tell your mother I have the necklace. It’s waiting for her in a safe place in New York.”

Tovah gasped, “Are you sure Jake. I don’t want to break my mother’s heart. She has spoken to me of this necklace, but she let go of the notion that she might never see it again, a long time ago.”

Jake nodded and Tovah relayed the message to Esther. Esther stopped breathing, then sobbed with her head in her hands for several minutes; finally looking up at Jake with immense joy. She reached over to take Jake’s face in her frail hands.

Tovah shared what her mother said to Jake.

“You have made an old woman happier than you could ever imagine. I have no other words.”

Esther sat in silence for a while. Jake used this opportunity to speak to Tovah about Rachel Schwartz and where she might be. Jake learned that the Schwartz family lived in the house next to the Roseman’s before they were all taken away. Esther and Rachel were inseparable, even in the camps. Esther told Tovah that Rachel was raped by a Nazi soldier; they were told she was moved to another camp after she started showing signs of pregnancy. Tovah thought it would be best not to bring up Rachel in front of her mother. The old woman deserved some time with the news that her stolen necklace would be returned after all these years.

Yes, there will be a Part III. Thank you for staying with me.

Why write a story with the Holocaust as a backdrop? My mother’s mother was a Russian Jew who migrated to the United States in 1906, converted to Catholicism when she met my Sicilian grandfather in Brooklyn. She was blind, which explains how a Russian and Sicilian ended up together. She lived in the U.S. during the Holocaust; oddly, she never spoke of it to anyone. I was nine years old when she died. Jewish history has always been a fascination and the realities of the Holocaust remains a part of history I will never fully grasp.

State of Mind

I am sensitive. I’m not embarrassed about it or ashamed of it; it’s who I am — took lots of therapy to get here. Sometimes friends or acquaintances make a comment to me about it, as if I’m either unaware or hearing it for the first time. If I confront you because you have failed to respond to me or you have shown no emotional or empathetic support when I’m in need, that’s not me being sensitive, it’s you not being accountable for your bad behavior. Most of you out there are smart enough to know the difference. It seems impossible to address these issues with individuals lately, people are either incapable of looking within or they dismiss the issue as your problem and not theirs. My tolerance for this sort of behavior from a “supposed” friend is waning. We all have problems and insecurities. There are a few things I need to tell myself as I consider this reality. First, I need to be patient and remind myself that I am not the center of the universe. Second, I can sound judgmental and impatient when I speak my truth, and lastly, forgiveness after sincerity is the caring and compassionate way to proceed. If you find a friendship becoming too difficult to sustain, address it or walk away. Ironically, the friends who will read this and nod their heads, are not the friends I am speaking to.

“It seems a lot of relationships fail, because when tough times come around … People want to give up too easily (sic). The fact of the matter is every relationship is going to experience difficult times sooner or later. Don’t throw away a potential good lasting relationship just because things got a little hard.” — Bryan Burden

I agree with this quote, but I believe there are red line values and situations. For example, if you believe (for whatever reason) that homosexuals are an abomination (def.: An abomination is a thing or action that inspires disgust, hatred, or loathing due to being vile, wicked, or offensive.), that’s a red line.

Posted on by CP · 9 Comments

Redemption From Beyond

It took his death to get to know him. I’m not sure why that’s such a big surprise. Do we ever truly know someone? I say I “know him” because when it was over, after he’d taken his last breath, I read the words he couldn’t speak.

Steven died on Sunday morning after a six month battle with pancreatic cancer; ironic because it’s the only cancer I fear. I had recently found out he was sick by accident. I was on line at Walmart and a mutual friend told me. He apparently kept his illness to himself; Steven was always very private and he despised people who shared private matters publicly. Out of respect for Steven, I waited.

I received a call from his family’s attorney on Wednesday, after Steven was cremated. Tyler asked that I stop by his office at my earliest convenience. I was eager to know what it was all about, but I knew Steven had no money and no other assets. Maybe there were diamonds in a vault somewhere. I had been Steven’s partner for over ten years, so if he owned anything, I would have known. We stayed in touch after we split and there was never talk of money under the mattress; Steven was a civil servant.

In truth, Steven and I didn’t talk. We chatted about this and that, we kidded one another about every imperfection, we talked over one another, and we argued, but we didn’t talk. I recall this one time when I thought we’d had a breakthrough. Steven came home from work, took a shower, spent some time at his desk and finally ended up in the kitchen. He was more quiet than usual, so I asked him if everything was okay. Whenever I would inquire he’d just shrug his shoulders and grunt. But this time he looked right at me and told me that his father died that afternoon.

“Oh Steven, I’m so sorry, what happened?”

Steven looked down and said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

When I tried to continue the conversation in bed, he turned away. I knew from experience not to prod. I thought we’d be attending his father’s funeral and that perhaps I’d be meeting his family, but none of that happened. His father never came up again. And this was the way we communicated for ten years.

I was anxious about the visit with his attorney. Was Steven leaving me the task of clearing up his hospital bills? Did he have a child I didn’t know about? It could be anything and a part of me did not want to get involved. But curiosity was getting the better of me, so a 2:00 p.m. appointment that day was scheduled.

It was a few hours until my meeting with Tyler. I had time to kill, so I decided to take a walk downtown to see if the loft Steven rented was empty. I arrived at his building, checked the front door, found it open and climbed the four flights of stairs to his apartment. The entrance was taped off with police tape. I was confused and concerned. I knew Steven died in hospital from cancer. I assume someone would have told me if there had been foul play.

I tried his neighbors, but no one would answer the door. Feeling frustrated and anxious, I went downstairs to a coffee shop a few doors away. I ordered a coffee, sat for a bit and then decided to ask the guy behind the counter if he knew anything.

“Hi. I have a friend who lived in a loft a couple of doors down. His name was Steven and he used to come here for coffee. I’m pretty sure he sometimes also used your internet. If I show a photo can you tell me if you know him?”

“I think I know who you’re talking about. Yes, he came here quite a bit. I hear he died a few days ago. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I went up to his apartment and it was taped off with police tape. Have you heard anything about it?”

“Only neighborhood gossip. I’m not sure if what I heard is true, only that it happened in the middle of the night; sorry.”

“Wow. Do you know anyone around here who may be able to give me more information?”

“I don’t know man, you might want to go to the police.”

At that point I was even more anxious than I had been earlier. What the hell. Steven was quiet, but I cannot imagine him mixed up in anything illegal. It was getting close to my meeting with Tyler, his attorney, I figured I’d learn more then.

Tyler was a one person operation; no secretary, no assistant, no colleagues. He shook my hand and asked me to have a seat. I told him that I was surprised by his call. He told me that this sort of thing happened fairly often; the living are reluctant to share certain aspects of their will for fear of a negative reaction. I shared my experience at Steven’s apartment prior to meeting with him; I watched for a reaction, but Tyler had none.

“You’ll soon learn why Steven wanted you to come and see me.”

The silence although only seconds seemed like an eternity. Tyler then slid an envelope across his desk and asked me read the contents. He left his office to give me privacy.

Dear Jake,

If you’re reading this letter, I have passed. I apologize that I did not tell you about my illness. As you know, I have never been able to communicate my feelings very well. Rather than make a big mess of the whole thing, I figured it would be better for you to discover who I was, after I died.

I didn’t ever expect for the two of us to become serious. I tried to push you away; I hoped you’d walk away, but now matter how horrible I was, you stuck with me and endured the torture. I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m not sure I ever had the capacity to be a good partner. I did have tremendous respect for you and no doubt a strong attraction.

Things happened before we met that I was not able to speak to you about; circumstances I was born into and did not choose. Nonetheless, I was forced to deal with it in my own way and now I have to pass it along to you.

If you recall, when my father passed I was unable to speak about him. My father was a Nazi war criminal. He hated Jews and homosexuals. You being both, made it especially difficult to discuss. I hated my father, I hated his ideology and I hated the pain he’d put others through. I’d always considered my mother was complicit, as she knew of his crimes and stayed silent.

My father was on trial in Nuremberg, however, they were unable to prove his guilt. I did not learn of any of this until I was in my 20s. A first cousin currently living in Berlin made me aware of his atrocities. Marie shared things with me that I knew I had to take to my grave. He was a horrible human being with no redeeming qualities. This is where you come in Jake.

In addition to being a murderer, my father had the habit of boasting about anything and everything. He had a friend who would come to the house when I was a teenager. My father was not aware that I was listening. Even though I had no idea what his words meant, I heard them and they remained with me. My father spoke of having a ring and a necklace in his possession. He said the ring was from a woman by the name of Rachel Schwartz and the necklace was taken from Esther Roseman. He joked about how no one could have possibly known that he had the jewelry; he also said that they were probably both dead anyway. I had not even thought about what he’d said until I was informed of his death. He didn’t have much money when he died, but he had a safe deposit box at a bank in Cleveland where he lived prior to his death.

I lied to you and told you that I was going to Cleveland for work. I apologize for lying, but again, I couldn’t speak of my father. In the safe deposit box were three things, the two pieces of jewelry and a letter my mother had written to him, blaming my father for all of the bad things they experienced in their marriage. She said that it had all to do with his devotion to Hitler. My mother said that she’d hoped he would have been convicted of war crimes. She further regretted not testifying against him. It brought me some comfort and closure, at least when it came to my mother.

Finding the jewelry reminded me of the stories he repeated to his friend. I can hear my father bragging as the names of those women were stamped in my brain. I can’t imagine that these two Jewish women could still be alive, but I’m certain they have family somewhere. I’m hoping you can find the rightful owners of these pieces. My father often spoke of a small town outside of Frankfurt where he’d spent most of his time serving in the German army. The name of the town is Rüdesheim. I hope you will be able to find their families or someone who knows them.

I know this is a lot to take in. I’m hoping you understand why these memories couldn’t cross my lips. I didn’t want to lose you Jake. I suspect my father’s friend shared that my father possessed the jewelry; these meaningful pieces in the wrong hands would not allow us to make this right. My attorney has the two pieces for you when and if you are ready to find their rightful owners. If for some reason you cannot do this, Tyler will donate the jewelry to the Jewish Museum in Berlin.

I loved you Jake; I know not the way you would have chosen to be loved, but I loved you the only way I knew how.

Yours,

Steven

I sat holding Steven’s letter for a long time. Tyler stayed away from his office to give me time to take it in. I thought about all of the moments I was furious with Steven for his silence and avoidance. I felt his love, trust, and absolute kindness; it filled me with hope. I would do what Steven asked of me without hesitation.

When Tyler returned he told me about the break-in at Steven’s apartment the day he died in hospital. He assured me that no one else knew where the pieces were. He brought them out to show them to me. It was obvious that they were beautifully crafted, fine and valuable pieces. I held them and asked Tyler to keep them safe until I could locate their owners.

There will be a Part II to this story . . .

State-of-Mind

I have recently been to the pyramids, satisfying a lifelong desire. It’s a strange feeling. On one hand you’re glad you did it, but on the other, you feel a little let down. Don’t get me wrong it was a surreal and extremely rewarding adventure. It was the hours and hours it took to get to Cairo and what I went through to make it happen.

The most notable of all obstacles was strep throat. Two days before arriving in Egypt my throat was so sore I was fairly certain Cairo and the pyramids were not in the cards. A major mind fuck and disappointment. A member of the ship’s crew told me about an English speaking Egyptian doctor I could see in Alexandria. I was achy and drained of all energy, but the pyramids were only hours away. The doctor diagnosed strep throat right away, prescribed antibiotics and he told me they’d start working quickly; indeed they did. The treatment cost me less than two American dollars. Grateful, surprised, and relieved, I had a 13 hour hazy experience in Cairo I’ll never forget. One day earlier and it would not have happened . . . probably ever. Life is a strange and glorious proposition.

I visited many other places on this trip (mostly documented on Facebook and Instagram).

Not looking for sympathy, that’s not my style. I think there are times in life we are afraid to share our feelings for fear that others will judge us. Judge me if you wish, I’m finally getting to the point where I don’t care. It’s amazing how much happier you can be when you decide what matters and what doesn’t.

“Nobody can hurt me without my permission.”

— Mahatma Gandhi

Posted on by CP · 10 Comments

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.

Posted on by CP · 6 Comments

Coping with Politics: Finding Peace Amid Chaos

Keep in mind: my thoughts, not gospel, not all based on fact, and not meant to persuade or dissuade. Merely suggestions for getting through the muck & mire.

First and foremost, no matter how bad it gets — and it will get worse, I cannot allow what is happening in the United States or the world, to drag me down. I honestly believe Trump and his sycophants are attempting to distract, exhaust, confuse, and lead us to helplessness. To the point where many will just give up or even worse give in.

Next, I realize as a childless, older adult living abroad, American politics has less impact on my life, then it does for others. Having said this, I would also add that the influence of American Politics is felt throughout the free world. Further, any discrimination, stripping of basic human rights, corruption, and/or abuse of power, directly impacts my life.

Some ways that I have learned to cope (in no particular order):

  • By filtering all that I read, see, and hear. There is currently a lot of noise, news, and opinions about the Trump era. Some of it is of course factual and has grave consequences. To be well informed, one must be certain to sort out what is hearsay or false. I feel empowered by standing with those that know what they are talking about.
  • I cannot control those members of my family that have decided to stand by and support this administration. I can, however, distance myself from them and/or insist that they not try to persuade me to join them.
  • When you are in pain or discomfort, the best thing you can do is find a healthy way to soothe the pain. Go to the gym, immerse yourself in your hobbies, watch mindless films, have a glass of good wine, a well-made cocktail, or a cold beer, read, go for a hike or walk alone or with a friend.
  • Keep a journal. Clear out your mind on paper; it helps keep things in perspective without sweeping your thoughts under the carpet or worse, denying they exist.
  • Speak your truth when questioned. Hiding your thoughts or your truth, can ruin a relationship and make you feel guilty or angry with yourself.
  • Always keep in mind that this too shall pass. There have been times in history when adversity led to more progressive change.
  • Get away. Nothing is better for clearing my head than a change of scenery.
  • Make a worst case scenario plan. Always better to be prepared.
  • Be a bit frugal, just in case you need funds in the future.
  • Pick your battles. You cannot take everyone and everything on. Write to your congressmen and senators, vote in every election, and campaign if you can — even if it’s on a grass roots level.
  • Celebrate the small victories.
  • Cook and/or eat comforting food.
  • Spend time with a friend or loved one that is like-minded and supports one another. Try to avoid a negative rabbit hole.
  • Having taken advantage of therapy for much of my life, I am a strong advocate of finding a professional you can trust and talk to. A psychiatrist may be more appropriate; especially if medication is to be prescribed. Medication can be a lifeline for those suffering from depression or mental illness. No shame in self-care.
  • Meditation is a very effective tool. I find sitting in a quiet space and concentrating on my breathing, works well for keeping outside influences in perspective.
  • I discovered gratitude not too long ago. Taking stock of all of the people you love who love you in return, and the gifts provided by the universe, is an excellent reminder of how good it is to be alive. And then there are pets to bring you joy.
  • Lastly, getting rid of toxic individuals in your life is essential for good mental health. People in your life who are broken, may attempt to bring you down with them — don’t allow it. If necessary and when necessary, walk away.

Whatever works for you, is the way to manage the chaos and strife; so long as you have tools.

What we have is worth fighting for

Oh How these words spoke to me

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

T.S. Elliot

I’m worried about a few people in my life that are feeling defeated and suffering from intense melancholy. I hope that they come to realize that there are ways to rise above the negativity. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not enough.

I’ve been enjoying listening to Mel Robbins on her podcast. The Let Them Theory makes a great deal of sense. https://www.melrobbins.com/podcasts/episode-70

Posted on by CP · 4 Comments

He Didn’t Want to Leave Them

There was a deafening silence before he played the answering machine. When Ron walked in and saw 16 messages on his machine, he knew in his gut that something terrible had happened while he was away. Time seemed to stand still for an eternity. He took a deep breath and played the first message. It was his sister Carrie, sobbing, barely able to get the words out; gut wrenching grief. Their brother had been found dead that morning. That part didn’t register at that moment, but it explained all the messages. He hated that fucking machine more than just about anything. He was out for less than two hours for fuck’s sake.

He took a deep breath, turned out all the lights and sat in the stillness for what felt like hours. He was aware he’d eventually have to fly home, but not at that moment; Georgia would have to wait. There were only two people who truly knew Ron and one of them was now gone. Not gone as in moved across the country or disappeared for a couple of days, gone as in dead, no longer breathing. Ron needed to process losing his brother and best friend. He slapped himself thinking he was asleep. Didn’t he dream his sister fell to her death a few months ago?

Suicide; haven’t we all considered it at one time or another? Doesn’t your rational mind usually take control? Who takes their own life? It’s selfish, it’s desperate, it shouldn’t happen. It didn’t happen.

Jay did it; Jay took his own life. That asshole left his family to clean up the mess. His daughters were too young to lose their father. Five year old innocents with nothing but crinkled photos and his stupid baseball hat. What was he thinking? Where are you Jay?

Jay loved baseball. It seemed at times that he loved that stupid game more than he loved anyone or anything else. Everyone joked and laughed about it, but maybe it wasn’t so funny. Maybe baseball gave him some peace. Ron hated when the game was on television at Thanksgiving. He mocked his brother; said stupid things like “you’re out” and “game over loser.” What an asshole Ron had been.

Ron picked up his phone to call his father, then he threw it down. Why did he have to make this call? Did Jay even think about their father? Did he even consider what it would do to him? To us? Could his father’s heart even take it? What about Jay’s ex-wife? She wouldn’t give a shit, but somebody to tell her so that she could tell the girls. They were five years old for fuck’s sake. Gorgeous twin, now fatherless. Ron paced and picked up the phone again.

“Dad, are you there dad?”

“Yea Ron, what’s up?”

“I have some bad news dad, Jay . . . Jay took his own life this morning. You there dad?”

“Oh shit, shit, shit . . . fuck! How, how did he do it? Shit Jay. No, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know. Damn it Ron, was Jay upset about something, did something happen to the girls, to Sally?”

“No dad, nothing happened to the girls and Sally doesn’t know yet.”

“Oh no Ron, are you sure about this? Jay wouldn’t do a thing like this.”

“Listen dad, don’t go anywhere. I´ll be there in a bit, I just have to make some calls. Are you okay?”

“Ron? Did Jay take pills? No, don’t tell me.”

“I’ll be there in a bit dad, I have to call Sally.”

Ron covered his face with his sweaty hands and thought about his next move. His anger toward his brother was palpable; he was fighting emotions he detested, holding back tears and punching in the walls. Ron was the guy everyone counted on in a crisis, but this time he was letting everyone down. He needed to call Sally.

Sally was calm, detached even. She said she’d tell the girls, but that she wasn’t sure she’d let them attend Jay’s funeral. Ron was too caught up in his spiraling emotions to argue. He let her know that someone would send her the details of the funeral.

The whole family had issues with Sally. She obviously couldn’t be blamed for Jay’s suicide, but she’d certainly end up a scapegoat. She loved Jay at one time, but the depression, alcohol abuse, verbal assaults, all became too much for her and she needed to protect her daughters. Sally’s grief would not be acknowledged by anyone in Jay’s world; she’d have to deal with it on her own.

Ron was relieved that his mother had passed last year; Jay’s death would have surely killed her. Without his mother Leslie, Jay became despondent; Leslie was his only champion. Jay pissed off most of the people in his life. Still, no one sensed his desperation; maybe they did, but didn’t care.

What should Ron and Carrie tell his friends? Should they tell the truth and deal with awkward moments and stupid questions or do they say he had a heart attack? How many heart attacks were actually suicide? The twins deserved the truth about their father so that the healing could begin. Is it even possible to heal?

Include your email address for a drop in your mailbox whenever a new fictional story is posted. Thank you.

I know this story is dark, however, it doesn’t hurt to be reminded that people close to us may be hurting and need our love and support.

Suicide thoughts or support in Portugal:

Emergency: 112 Suicide Hotline: 21 854 07 40 and 8 96 898 21 50

My friend Donna is getting married and we got to have a little party with her on the beach.

Posted on by CP · 7 Comments

Under the Boardwalk

Coney Island had three things going for it: Amusement parks, beaches boasting big waves, and Nathan’s hot dogs. As a child, I took all of that for granted. Being a kid is about being in the moment, not so much thinking about the past, and only having time for the immediate future. I was not your typical kid; I was certain the space beneath the boardwalk was my bunker and my gateway to paradise.

I was six years old and going to the beach was always a treat, but not for the reasons you might think. I hated two things that the beach offered; hot sand and seaweed. I thought seaweed was way too slimy; I avoided it like you’d avoid a swarm of bees. Hot sand burned the bottom of my feet, confining me to our blanket or a beach towel. So why did I love the beach? I could easily hide under the boardwalk where it was cool and quiet. What made it even more attractive, was the fact that it was off-limits to everyone.

I’m still not sure why my mother allowed me to sneak away and hide there. Wasn’t it dangerous? Couldn’t someone have come along and snatched me? Didn’t bums go there to take a shit? So many questions, but none I was concerned about.

I remember the first time I discovered I could easily shimmy between the boardwalk and the sand. I felt invincible and oh so cool. That’s how I felt, but I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Nobody judged me under the boardwalk.

After squirming my way under, the first thing that struck me back then, was how the light sliced through the wooden boards. It made these diagonal stripes across the sand; I was certain this was not a common occurrence. I wondered if it was possible that this place was meant to be my place; only mine.

You might be wondering how I passed the time under the boardwalk or if I ever went there with anyone else. The thing is, time was different there; time could not be counted or clocked — time only passed above the boards.

Under the boardwalk I was a warrior; fighting off the enemy — whomever the enemy might be. Mom’s friend Vito, pow, pow, pow. Vito drinks too much and grabs my mom’s ass. Not while I’m in charge. Margie, our neighbor who stinks up the neighborhood with her horrible cooking; didn’t mean to slam that oven door down on your head Margie. Uncle Gary leaving his stink bombs all over the dining room . . . somebody keyed your car Uncle Gary, isn’t that a shame. I couldn’t be caught as long as I had my hiding place.

Nobody could hurt me, touch me, ignore me, or scream at me under the boardwalk. There was a homeless guy living under another section of the boardwalk, but it didn’t bother me. As long as he stayed in his own area, I pretended he was on neutral ground. I had my own little arsenal of weapons that I hid there. None of them could kill, but they could do some damage when provoked.

This one time I was daydreaming about a birthday party my mother threw for me. All the kids in the neighborhood were there; even kids I didn’t know. Some of the kids were fighting over who was my best friend. I knew who my best friend was, but I didn’t say anything because Vinny doesn’t know he’s my best friend. I suppose he may never know — doesn’t matter, so long as I know. Vinny could have even hid with me if he wanted to.

My mother once asked me what exactly I did when I was under the boardwalk. I told her that I didn’t do anything and that seemed to be enough for her. She just told me to be careful. I’m not sure why I needed to be careful, why would anyone have hurt me in my hiding place.

I’m twenty-six years old now. I’ve traveled to many places, I’ve dreamed, and I’ve come close to dying. No place that I have been since that time I spent under the boardwalk has ever come close to being as magical. It wasn’t the light or the temperature; it wasn’t the sound of the waves crashing close by, it wasn’t even the self-proclaimed hero I knew in my heart I was, it was the solitary fact that my mother trusted me enough to allow me to be there by myself, with myself. I’m there right now. I’m under the boardwalk, won’t you join me?

Insert your email address to receive the latest published story in your inbox. Thank you for subscribing.

A reminder that this story is a work of fiction. I’m having fun writing these stories; stories that live inside my head.

One of the best things about being in Oslo for the month of July (aside from the weather), was the magnificent selection of wines from all over the world. Unfortunately, not the case in the Algarve where only good Portuguese wine is on offer. I like variety.

Posted on by CP · 7 Comments

Baseball is Not For Sissies

There were few things Ryan feared more than going up to bat. The judging stares of the other boys and his mother’s heavy expectations. Ryan figured if he swung the bat, missed the ball, and repeated the same pattern in rapid succession, it would be over quickly and he could return to hiding. He hated being a disappointment; scrawny and perpetually chewing his nails and sucking on bloody cuticles. His bedroom was his only safe space; Lady his only friend.

Ryan had one wish when he blew out the candles on his twelfth birthday, he wished he’d die before his next birthday. He longed to be understood. Lady, his scrawny terrier, got him, but she was the only being who didn’t judge or tease. To be invisible and no longer an embarrassment was all he ever wanted.

Lady tugged at his jeans hoping to pull him away from the darkness as she watched him descend. She feared the worst; spent hours wondering how she might warn Ryan’s mother. She understood a mother’s love, she felt that love for her own not too long ago. She nuzzled him, sidled up to him to distract him from his hopelessness, and tried to lick away his despair. Lady was certain that she could save Ryan from himself.

Saturday came too quickly and Ryan would once again be expected to play baseball. To behave as if this was the thing that would ultimately make Ryan a real boy; a boy that was prepared for manhood. The dread was so overwhelming, getting out of bed was an impossible effort. Taking Lady outside to relieve herself was his only motivation, she knew that and showed him her gratitude. Today was going to be horribly difficult for Ryan. He wished he could share his fears with his mother, but he knew she would tell him to shrug it off, man-up, just aim for the ball.

Lady tried to keep Ryan away from the lake. She headed in the opposite direction hoping he’d follow. She even faked being too tired to go on. Ryan was in some far off place where she couldn’t reach him. When he reached the lake, Lady ran off to warn his mom. When she got to Anne she wined and tugged until Anne finally seemed to get the message. Lady led her to the lake as fast as she could, panting and worrying herself the entire way.

Anne saw Ryan’s floating body as she approached the dock. He lay face down and still, as the shadow of the sun formed a halo around his fragile figure. Lady knew and she howled in despair. Ryan’s mom jumped in and dragged him to the dock. She lifted him up and he hit the dock hard. Anne frantically tried to revive him, but he’d been gone for too long. She called the police and held him while she waited for the medics to come and perform a miracle. She rocked Ryan in her arms and screamed into the silent nothingness.

Anne immediately started to blame herself. Was she too hard on Ryan? Should she have stayed with his father despite her hatred for him? Was Ryan trying to tell her he was hurting? Deep down she knew she could have been a better mother, but she also knew she would never know what Ryan was feeling as he threw himself into the lake on that quiet and torturous Saturday morning in July.

Insert your email address and hit subscribe to receive my stories when published.

Hoping to increase awareness of suicide in gay and troubled young people. The statistics are staggering. Thank you for reading, it means a lot. The first of many.

“Bullying of LGBT youth is a contributing factor in many suicides, even if not all of the attacks have been specifically regarding sexuality or gender.[4] Since a series of suicides in the early 2000s, more attention has been focused on the issues and underlying causes in an effort to reduce suicides among LGBT youth. Research by the Family Acceptance Project has demonstrated that “parental acceptance, and even neutrality, with regard to a child’s sexual orientation” can bring down the attempted suicide rate.” Wikipedia

Posted on by CP · 9 Comments

Change Is Coming

To be honest, I’m surprised this blog has survived as long as it has; over six years of over-sharing. It was fun, therapeutic, a consistent companion, and exactly what I needed at this particular time of my life. When I arrived in Portugal I didn’t know a soul and I needed something to keep my mind off of the distance between me and the people I care about. Things have changed, I’m in better touch with myself and I have a lot going on in my life. It’s easy enough to see that a lot of you are no longer engaged (the site provides stats). What that tells me is that some of you or most of you are tired of me telling you about how bad my life was versus how good it is now. You know I’m exaggerating, but you also know, there is some truth in my words. It’s time for change.

“Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken.”

~ Frank Herbert,  Dune

The most poignant philosophy I have ever heard about living life, involved doing what you love. I love writing and I love storytelling — not so much oral storytelling, I get a little flustered when I notice people aren’t listening; my biggest pet peeve. What I have decided to do is write fiction whenever I am moved to do so. I will remain on this platform and keep this blog address. I obviously can’t get frustrated when readers of my stories stop reading, I won’t know any better. The older I get, the more I appreciate being oblivious.

Writers draw from their own personal experience; therefore, there will be bits and pieces of me and my past in my prose. I will always protect the living; however, if you see yourself in my words, that’s on you.

My stories will be short. I will try my best to entertain, provoke, and keep you wanting more. Having a provocateur in the mix will hopefully keep it interesting. Your feedback will help of course. I have found my readers to be fair and honest — sometimes appropriately candid, never mean. Well, there is this one family member, but he’s a loose cannon who hates everyone.

“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader – not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

― E. L. Doctorow

Future Travel

Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, Bristol, UK in December and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked an NCL Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. A spring MSC Mediterranean cruise out of Lisbon, mainly to ports I have never been to, will be one of my easier excursions (anyone care to join me on either? Not in my cabin, but there is room on the ship). The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025 or 2026: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Baltimore, Maryland, and Charlotte, North Carolina. Lots of my peeps to see. Everyone knows, I’ll mostly be there for the food.

If you tell me you’re interested in where my travels take me, I can keep that bit in. I’m pumped about this, change is good; I think some of you will enjoy this new format.

Please forgive typos and grammatical errors. Obrigado.

Posted on by CP

A Healthier Lifestyle

Or Be Miserable Later in Life

Photo by Alexander Grey

This will not be one of those “prescription for healthy living” blogs. Instead I’m going to share some thoughts about living with the good and the bad and not get all caught up in the numbers game. It’s always been my MO that rules for living can only end up disappointing you — being human means making mistakes and facing the unexpected. I honestly don’t think I can extend my life by never taking another drink, but I do think that if I drink moderately, I will feel better overall.

“Balance is not something you find, it’s something you create.”

~ Jana Kingsford

What’s in Your Head (The Lies We Tell Ourselves)

I’m going to reveal the biggest lie I tell myself: I will not suffer before I die. I’m convinced that I will be able to control my own death. I’m not obsessed with this notion, I just know it to be true. Of course I am also aware that I could have an accident and suffer or I can live to be 110 and no longer know which way is up.

I do this thing where I set boundaries, sort out the when, the where, and the how and then hope for the best. Nine out of 10 times it all works out as planned; however, that’s not always the case. Sometimes I change my mind about what I want to eat or whether or not I want to play mah-jongg. I’m learning to be more flexible with myself. It seems crazy as I press the keys, but perhaps it makes perfect sense.

The Reality of Everyday Living

I sometimes have the best intentions, but alas . . . A few days ago I had my usual large lunch with every intention to eat a snack at dinnertime. Dinnertime came and for some reason or another, I was famished. I didn’t have anything in the refrigerator or pantry that would satisfy my hunger, so I ordered a pizza. The good news is that I ate half and put the rest in the freezer. You have to forgive yourself for occasionally stepping out of your self-imposed restrictions. I didn’t lose any sleep.

At this point in my life, it’s not about looking good; it’s all about feeling good and the status of my health in the future. I could easily have more wine than I should in the evening, but if I overdo it, the following will happen: I will have to get up to pee more than once, I will have night sweats, I will feel like shit the next day — I don’t think it’s worth all that discomfort, so I color within the lines 95% of the time. When I go rogue, I forgive myself for overindulgence and move on. Most of the time.

Acceptance and Comfort

I accept many things about the person I have become, first, I am impulsive about certain things and as a result, I screw up — buying a car, for example, I never think it through. Second, I will never be thin, and lastly, I love sweets. Knowing these things helps me navigate the day-to-day. If I deny myself a piece of cake, I will spend the entire day thinking about cake and I will end up caving and devouring a large piece of cake by evening. Best to give in to it and have a small piece early in the day. I love the freezer for wrapping up cake and cookies for when my sweet tooth speaks to me.

I’m not crazy about fruit unless it’s very fresh, sweet, and ripe. Fruit in the Algarve is lackluster, save for oranges and small bananas from the Azores . . . and strawberries in season. Melon, peaches, plums, and grapes, bleh. So I only buy what I like or I won’t eat it.

I’ve always felt that good food is one of, if not the greatest gift the earth provides. I will not deny that gift, no way no how, even if it means a bit of gas, a year or two shaved off of my life, and or a few extra pounds. Throw away the scale. You know when you need to do better or when you can indulge a little.

Insert your email address and hit subscribe to receive my blogs when published.

Future Travel

Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, Bristol, UK in December and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked a Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. A spring MSC Mediterranean cruise out of Lisbon, mainly to ports I have never been to, will be one of my easier excursions (anyone care to join me?). The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025 or 2026: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Baltimore, Maryland, and Charlotte, North Carolina.

State-of-Mind

The significance of good health as I grow older is an everyday consideration. When I stretch more at the gym, eat a healthier lunch, take my supplements; I feel so much better. When I feel better, I’m more pleasant to be around and so it goes. These days I pay a lot more attention to the signs from my body. We have control over so many daily activities in our lives, ignoring the importance of being present is a prescription for disappointment and discomfort. I’m paying a lot more attention and, therefore, I’m happier.

I recently realized that world politics, especially U.S. politics, was making me crazy. The only way to ease the anxiety was to pay less attention to it. It’s about self-preservation and that’s okay. Shedding toxic individuals from your life will also greatly improve the quality of your life. It’s not easy initially, but give it a few weeks and you’ll wish you’d done it sooner.

Side note: I have noticed that some of my neighbors drive to the gym. When you get there, you need to find a parking space. It’s a seven minute walk and you’re going there to workout . . . come on, people!

“The Truth of the Innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.”

~ Stephen King

Please excuse any typos or grammatical errors; I’m paying attention, but it’s never enough.