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.
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?
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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.
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?
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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.
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.
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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
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.
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.
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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.
Images taken on recent cruise from London to Iceland. Stopping in Scotland and Norway along the way.
What Once Mattered
We can all relate to warped or misplaced priorities. When you’re 20 years old you care more about your outfit or where you’re going on Saturday night, than your bank account. When you are thirty, it’s your fading good looks that keep you up at night (and perhaps cocaine if that was your drug of choice — no judgment), in your forties it might be a mortgage payment that is larger than you can manage, aches and pains in your fifties and so on and so forth.
I look back at the things that concerned me in the past and I wonder why nobody told me that it wouldn’t make an iota of a difference when I reached a certain age. Some of these things include, but are not limited to: brands & labels, Michelin star ratings, my attendance at parties, the cost of a gift I received, and how late I stay up Saturday night.
Why it Shouldn’t Matter
Perhaps it shouldn’t matter, but for reasons I cannot control or change, it does. For example, caring about what other people think. This has been on my goal list for years. In fact, I continue to care. How many likes I get when I post something on Facebook shouldn’t matter; in fact, it doesn’t. But who does or doesn’t like a post, does matter. When I exit a plane matters, I want to be up front so that I transfer quickly or get to passport control earlier than later.
I find myself struggling with how I process conversations: what I say, how I say it, what I don’t say. There is a righteous aspect of my personality that can make life difficult, but can I stop it? Probably not, however, I can modify my reaction; I can tone it down. I can almost see the relief on the faces of those who love me most. In truth, I sleep better after keeping my big mouth shut.
What Does Matter
Here’s where I get to make a list. A list that is actually longer than it should be. Hmmm, should be, there I go shoulding on myself again. What matters:
What you think about my sexuality matters. If you’re disgusted by who I am and what I am, that matters. It took me way too long to be comfortable in my own skin.
The people who have shown me that they care about me and want me in their life.
The things I choose to spend money on and what things cost.
Good people who deserve to be seen.
Paco, my dog.
What I eat, where I eat, and who I eat with.
Where I travel and with whom I travel.
My health and happiness.
Being awake, alive, and present.
What charities I choose and whether or not I choose to make my giving known.
How I spend my time.
Where I choose to live and how I choose to live.
How and when I choose to die with dignity, if and when that choice needs to be made.
My bed and the quality of my sleep.
Lifelong learning and the desire to know more.
My family.
I can proudly state that I am overall pleased with my list. The process of being discerning and thoughtful, has taken decades. That’s okay by me; I know some who never give it a first or second thought.
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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. 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
I lost a close friend this week; a second friend over too short a period of time. Angelina was nearly 100 years old and Angela only in her 70s. Losing a close friend changes you in ways that play out in choices not words. What matters now are love and an appreciation for the many gifts I have been given. That pathetic bible thumper, that jealous cousin, that watch you lost in Budapest, that extra twenty pounds: no matter at all.
“Death is inevitable for all of us. The only thing that really matters in the end is how we choose to live.”
“Pretty much all the honest truth telling there is in the world is done by children.” — Oliver Wendell Holmes, author and poet
I try not to have regrets about what could have been, but I’m human and hard on myself; therefore, I allow my thoughts to occasionally wander to the what ifs. The media tends to focus their stories and opinion pieces on women who cannot or do not bear children and of course, I get it. That maternal instinct is strong and undeniably present, however, men also have paternal longings that are based on instinct and desire.
Throughout my teenage years and through to my early thirties, my desire to be a father was stronger than most of my contemporaries. I talked about it, wrote about, and even planned for it. Being gay made it difficult to realize this dream (back then), but in truth, if I really wanted a child I would have done something about it. I think it was more of a fantasy, an alternative universe possibility. In the end, it wasn’t meant to be.
What My Life Might Have Looked Like
Whenever I think about what I might have been like as a father, the following comes to mind: I think I would have worried a lot, a whole lot. I know that all parents would probably tell you that this is just a fact of life. Still, I believe I would have worried more than most. Unfortunately, a big part of who I am. It’s not fair to compare children with pets, but if the way I am with Paco is any indication . . .
Adoption would have been fine, it’s never been an ego or legacy thing for me.
Enjoying the Children in My Life
Due to numerous siblings, I have many nieces and nephews. Although all of my nieces and nephews are now adults, some of them have small children. My great nieces and nephews do not live close by, but I still get to see them on occasion.
I live across the street from a large nursery school. When the kids are outside playing, the sound of their laughter travels up to my apartment. I keep the terrace doors open so that I can hear them — it’s a hopeful and joyous sound. The teenagers in the high school next door should stay inside. I’m sorry, but they should.
Accepting What Is
At a certain point a long time ago, I realized that I would never be a father. I don’t remember being terribly upset about it. Like most revelations in my life, I thought it would be best if I just accepted it and moved on and so I did. I decided to nurture the dad in me and do the kinds of things I might have done with my child. I took a niece to Disney World, another niece to several Broadway shows, several to see films, I accompanied little family members to an outdoor animal preserve, and so on; you get the picture. I have to say, and I know it’s rather selfish, it has always been nice to fully enjoy the interaction and then say, “see you next time,” when it’s over.
I love being Uncle Chris. And I’m not just Uncle Chris to the children of my siblings; the children of friends have also honored me with this title. Once again, it’s quite a relief to know that they are someone else´s children.
Confession: I’m not sure if there are other men who feel the same way as I do about what I am about to share. I don’t know because I dare not ask. For a long time I was jealous that women had the ability to get pregnant, carry, and deliver a child. This is true, I have thought about it way too much. I was fascinated by the biological aspect of a child forming and growing inside of a person’s body. I felt like I’d been cheated. I know, poor me. These thoughts did eventually leave me and I sure am grateful that they did. This is not something I even shared with my therapists. To be clear, I never wanted to be a woman, it was just the baby carrying part I wished I’d had.
Note: I was concerned about publishing these particular thoughts. I decided to run what I have kept hidden by a couple of female friends. I immediately felt complete empathy without even a tiny trace of judgment, so I kept it in the blog. Thoughts?
By the way, I no longer go ga ga over the little ones. In fact, I dislike the sound of babies crying/screaming, I have no desire to hold one, and I certainly would prefer not to have one next to me on an airplane. That being said, I do appreciate their existence.
I was a nursery school teacher and a substitute teacher, at different times in my life. Both were fulfilling . . . at the time.
For me, the unimaginable is the pain a parent feels over the death of a child. I have experienced it up close and personal and it was painful to watch. I prefer not to consider what might have been if I indeed had been a father; my mother lost two children.
“The soul is healed by being with children.” — Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Russian novelist and philosopher
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Future Travel
An Iceland cruise by way of Northern Europe next week; Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked a Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Baltimore, Maryland, and Charlotte, North Carolina.
State-of-Mind
Mostly gratitude and wild dreams.
A vacation to northern Europe starting in a few days will help get rid of the static.
Just about everyone I know is living through relationship difficulties during this divisive time in the States. Growing up, any conversation was fair game at the dinner table. We fought over politics, race, religion, and just about anything you can imagine. In the end, there was so much love between us, it never got in the way of our very close bond. Maybe that’s why despite our political differences, I am still very close to several of my family members. I say several because there are a handful who have become judgmental and divisive.
Our lives are not always reflective of the rest of the world. When I was a young man and I attended dinner parties, it was made clear that certain topics were taboo. My guess is that the host did not want to deal with cat fighting and screeching, people possibly walking out, and even worse, people never coming back. Individuals can be hellbent on winning arguments. We’ve all been to at least one of these epic gatherings.
For many of us, it’s all about winning. It’s one of those things some of us were taught growing up: “Winning is everything.”
“Winning is the most important thing in my life, after breathing. Breathing first, winning next.” ~ George Steinbrenner
It’s Okay Not to Win (here comes the list):
when you’re having an argument with your boss and you need the job
when you’re playing sports or a game with your child
when you’re playing for a charitable organization and it’s more to do with making a donation
when make-up sex is on the horizon
when you have a disagreement with someone you care about
when you may never see the person you disagree with again
when getting to a win will cause health issues
when winning means losing your integrity
when you would have to lie in order to win
when winning means losing a friend
when winning means cheating
when losing means keeping your humility
I have this little voice in my head that tells me: winning comes at a cost and that thought stops me from doing many things — good, bad, I’m not sure.
When Winning is Fun
Winning is fun when you’re enjoying yourself; when it’s not life and death or having to go to prison for the win. I love winning a game of cards. I love when my political party wins an election. I love winning at the blackjack table. I love winning a playful bet. I love winning a scratch-off lottery ticket. I love winning board games. I love winning a big Supreme Court Case (i.e., gay marriage). I love when winning is followed by a celebration. It’s true, I love winning.
I was never sports minded, so when I play croquet and win, I get a bit of a thrill. I can see why athletes love winning — both team and individual sports. Unfortunately, illegal betting and greed can spoil the game. I’ll never truly understand why anyone would want to spoil a beautiful thing. The worst of humanity rears its ugly head.
“The person that said winning isn’t everything, never won anything.” ~ Mia Hamm
A Personal Story
When I worked for Dorothy Hamilton, owner of the French Culinary Institute, we used to enjoy playing Scrabble; obviously not at work.
Dorothy once invited me to her Connecticut home for the weekend. We sat by a warm fire for several hours playing Scrabble. I was a better player, but I held back because I knew how much Dorothy liked to win. Although I am very competitive, there are times when winning must be less important. About halfway through the game she misspelled a word. I looked at it and thought it best not to challenge her.
It was getting late and we had plans to go out to dinner. Dorothy excused herself to change clothing. She told me that a friend of hers would be joining us and to answer the door when she arrived. A few minutes later the doorbell rang and when I went to the door, it was the actress Christine Baranski. She was gorgeous and gracious; it took every ounce of restraint not to gush. I welcomed Christine into Dorothy’s home. She asked me where Dorothy was and walked over to the fireplace where our Scrabble board was set-up.
Christine Baranski, one of my all time favorites
“Playing Scrabble?” She uttered.
“We are,” I replied.
“Well, one of you misspelled a word.” Christine pointed at the board and sucked her teeth.
I told her that I knew that it was misspelled; however, I requested that she keep it between us. She asked me why and I told her that I didn’t notice it until it was too late and besides, “I work for Dorothy.”
Dorothy called Christine’s name from upstairs and ran down to greet her. It didn’t take long for Christine to call out Dorothy.
“Dorothy, you spelled a word wrong and Chris is afraid of you.”
I kept my mouth shut and Dorothy looked at me and said, “Why didn’t you challenge me?”
I lied and told her that I didn’t realize it was misspelled while we were playing. I’m fairly certain she didn’t believe me and she teased me about it for a long time. About a year later we were at a Manhattan restaurant and she brought it up.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” I said, “you can be intimidating and besides, you’re my boss.”
I promise you she said the following:
“It’s okay with me if I intimidate you.”
I believe that sums her up. I stand by my decision to have allowed Dorothy to win.
By the way, Christine Baranski was charming, funny and great company. I believe she kept Dorothy honest and that was a good thing for the rest of us. (A tragic car accident took Dorothy a few years ago.)
An aside: Joan Rivers joined us at our table at the restaurant that night. I loved Joan Rivers, so that was a huge thrill. I just have to say, in person Joan’s plastic surgery made her pretty scary to look at — her face like a porcelain doll; the rest of her cracked and extremely wrinkled. I have some strong opinions about the amount of pervasive plastic surgery in certain parts of the world — sad and pathetic.
A Contest
I won a laughing contest in South Carolina when I was in my early twenties. It was a promotion for a new Jerry Lewis film. I defeated 39 other laughing contestants. The stakes were high and I knew I could do it if I gave it my all. I loved winning this contest, it has put a smile on my face many times throughout the years. No one was hurt in the process and I proved something to myself that will remain with me throughout my life — there was a nice prize, but the prize was perseverance. It was a small thing, but it packed a big punch. Laughter has always been a gift I take for granted. I need you all to remind me to lighten-up and laugh more.
The topic of “losing” saved for another day. Let’s just say it isn’t all bad.
Circling Back to a Previous Blog, Jan. ’21 (Updated)
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Future Travel
An Iceland cruise by way of Northern Europe in less than two weeks; Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked a Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Maryland, and North Carolina.
State-of-Mind
Iceland and the Norwegian fjords cometh real soon! I belong to a club in the Algarve that has unfortunately fizzled. It’s not personal, but I find myself disturbed by the anger, resentment, and communication breakdown among people I like (most) and respect. This situation seems to mirror what is taking place everywhere these days.
We Don’t Talk Anymore by Charlie Puth
We don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore Like we used to do We don’t love anymore What was all of it for? Oh, we don’t talk anymore Like we used to do
I just heard you found the one you’ve been looking You’ve been looking for I wish I would have known that wasn’t me ‘Cause even after all this time, I still wonder Why I can’t move on Just the way you did so easily
Don’t wanna know Kind of dress you’re wearing tonight If he’s holding onto you so tight The way I did before I overdosed Should’ve known your love was a game Now I can’t get you out of my brain Oh, it’s such a shame
That we don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore Like we used to do We don’t love anymore What was all of it for? Oh, we don’t talk anymore Like we used to do
I just hope you’re lying next to somebody Who knows how to love you like me There must be a good reason that you’re gone Every now and then I think you might want me to Come show up at your door But I’m just too afraid that I’ll be wrong
Don’t wanna know If you’re looking into her eyes If she’s holding onto you so tight The way I did before I overdosed Should’ve known your love was a game Now I can’t get you out of my brain Oh, it’s such a shame
That we don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore Like we used to do We don’t love anymore What was all of it for? Oh, we don’t talk anymore Like we used to do
Like we used to do
Don’t wanna know Kind of dress you’re wearing tonight If he’s giving it to you just right The way I did before I overdosed Should’ve known your love was a game Now I can’t get you out of my brain Oh, it’s such a shame
That we don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore We don’t talk anymore Like we used to do We don’t love anymore What was all of it for? Oh, we don’t talk anymore Like we used to do
We don’t talk anymore (don’t wanna know) Kind of dress you’re wearing tonight (oh) If he’s holding onto you so tight (oh) The way I did before We don’t talk anymore (I overdosed) Should’ve known your love was a game (oh) Now I can’t get you out of my brain (whoa) Oh, it’s such a shame
That we don’t talk anymore
Once again please forgive any grammatical and/or typographical errors
Beauty, love, meaning, purpose . . . all powerful nouns; all equally deserving of attention and respect. Especially now that I have come to realize the importance of making sense of it all and finding my place in the chaos.
“The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Where to Look For Beauty
It seems to me that searching for beauty in all things needs to become more of a priority for some. That is not to say that one should be looking for beauty in a bowl of cereal or the trash can. I’m referring to the details in nature and the creativity that is produced by people all around us.
Yesterday I woke up and set a goal for the day. I vowed to be present as much as possible (easier said than done) and look for beauty in at least one person, place, or thing, each hour. I took notes on what I found:
As the sun came up and entered my living room, I noticed the silhouettes of the trees dancing on my dining room wall; trees growing on my street.
I saw an amazing red bird I have never seen before on the way to the gym (not great with bird names, I should have uploaded a bird app).
On my way to the grocery store I noticed a woman sitting with a child on a bench. The child put her head in the woman´s lap and the woman smiled.
I noticed the ugly trash cans which hang on posts on our streets have been replaced with cleaner, more attractive receptacles.
During the day I looked directly at Paco´s eyes and noticed a green I had not seen before.
I noticed a color in my sofa; it’s a sky blue that makes the colors around it bolder.
My favorite beautiful thing is the lemon tree below. It’s in a public place, so you can just pick lemons when you need them and I do. They are absolutely perfect.
Just a few of the beautiful things I noticed in the mundane as my day progressed. It felt as if each time the idea of beauty entered my consciousness, I became a bit happier and more grateful. It seems so hokey when I put it in writing, but it’s the small things that add up to a more enlightened state of mind.
No chemical substances were involved in the aforementioned discoveries.
Does it Matter Who Else Sees it?
When I hang a piece of artwork in my apartment, there are several thoughts running through my mind: First, I need to get this done so I can eat something, second, am I hanging it properly, and lastly will people who come to my apartment like it? My only concern should be whether or not I like it, full stop.
The question should be: who else needs to see it? I might feel differently if I were selling something I created.
If I am going to be honest, when I choose finishes for my apartment, I want people to think they are as beautiful as I think they are. I need validation. The same is true if I buy a watch I think is beautiful. Perhaps we all need that validation?
How Does Beauty Enhance Your Life
I can only speak for myself when I say that I cannot imagine my life without beauty; beautiful art, beautiful people, beautiful minds, and beautiful things, to name a few. I’m not sure that everyone can see and appreciate beauty; therefore, I don’t take it for granted.
The photograph above: I looked at this photograph for an entire week; this is the beauty I see: I see a moment of life, life in a different part of the world, people going places, and the beauty of a day as it unfolds.
Any thoughts on beauty?
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Future Travel
An Iceland cruise by way of Northern Europe in May; Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked a Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Maryland, and North Carolina.
State-of-Mind
It was great to get away for a local weekend respite. I cut it short by a few hours because I was missing Paco quite a bit. I’m enjoying the food & wine I brought back from Spain. It’s close by in distance, but Spain’s ingredients and food sources can be vastly different. For me, variety is everything.
“No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.” ~ Oscar Wilde
Once again please forgive any grammatical and/or typographical errors
Papagni Pages 