Papagni Pages

Tag: feelings

  • My Last Night With Anthony

    I only wish I’d known my brother would soon leave us

    Anthony was super sensitive, troubled, and a danger to himself. He was also extremely supportive and people couldn’t help loving him. He was born two years after me in Brooklyn, at a time when behavioral and psychological issues went undiagnosed. Anthony wasn’t lock-him-up crazy, but he wasn’t meant to be left to his own devices either. I knew my brother struggled, but I had my own shit to deal with growing up. Our broken home was not the best environment for personal instability. As if by random selection, I thrived in our shared dysfunction, my brother did not. Anthony was only 38 when a fatal dose of heroin took his life. He apparently had an enlarged heart as a result of years of cocaine abuse. The coroner documented his death as an accident — we’ll never know for sure. This is the story of our last night together.

    I was turning 40 and finally somewhat satisfied with the direction of my life. A career that was progressing nicely, a completed Ph.D., a brownstone apartment in Brooklyn that was all mine, and for the most part, acceptance of my sexual orientation. I was ready to celebrate. I planned a big party at a friend’s Manhattan, Park Avenue penthouse. I hired chefs, entertainment, and invited nearly 100 of my closest friends and family. I had already come out as gay, but this was more like coming out as having survived my youth. I prepared a speech for the occasion where I would let those who cared about me know how much they meant to me. Anthony flew to New York from North Carolina. I was too busy during the day of my party to spend any time with him; I told him I’d see him at my party.

    By the time he arrived, the party was in full swing. He walked over to me at some point, sullen and resembling death. I wasn’t immediately alarmed, I’d seen him in despair many times in our lives. He suffered from severe depression and his marriage had recently ended. I hugged him and promised him that at some point during the evening, we’d have some quality time. We passed one another several times throughout the night. I asked him to stick around for my speech because there was something I wanted him to hear.

    My sister Kathy approached me during the party chaos. She told me that she knew I was busy, but she was worried about Anthony. I recall saying something like, “Aren’t we always worried about Anthony?” A failed suicide attempt in his teens left us all forever on edge. I assured her that I’d check in on him before he flew back to North Carolina. It was a big night for me and my focus was on other things.

    I gave my speech and referred to him as my brother and best friend. I was hoping that would cheer him up; it did make him smile, but clearly he was in a dark place. He’d been clean and sober for a long time and I was concerned that he might be so despondent he’d start using again. Anyone who has dealt with depression will tell you that the attempt to help someone is not always met with an embrace.

    Anthony stayed till the end of the party and helped me load my gifts into the car. He had an early morning flight, but he seemed eager to speak to me about something on his mind. He had a history of placing me in the center of challenging times in his life. At one point in his early twenties I found him emaciated and close to death in his North Carolina apartment. There were empty heroine vials and used needles everywhere. I carried him out to my car and drove him to a rehab facility in Charlotte. He stayed for the three week treatment and remained clean (as far as I knew) until a short period prior to his death. He traveled the country speaking to young people about addiction and his journey to a better life — a healthier life. He often credited me with saving him, although I never wanted that responsibility. It was my mother who begged me to go to his apartment on the day I found him. By then, I was close to giving up on him. Rehabilitation, meeting a woman he fell in love with, and then having a beautiful baby girl, all led to stability and some semblance of happiness. Until it all came crashing down. Back to the night we unknowingly said goodbye forever.

    After loading the car, we drove to Brooklyn and went to a diner to talk. Anthony wept and shared his disappointment about a marriage that had fallen apart and the knowledge that his six year old daughter would no longer be a part of his daily life. He was devastated and blamed himself for all of it. I listened and tried my best to be supportive. His tendency toward violence and extreme anger made it difficult to absolve him of any blame. Considering his state of mind, this was not the time to chide him for his bad behavior. I liked and respected his wife, but I also felt that she had in some way brought it on — I’m certain some of those feelings came from being a protective brother; I knew the triggers that brought out the worst in Anthony. 

    Hours of talk painfully passed as the sun eventually showed through the filthy diner windows. I began hearing some softening of Anthony’s sobs and a small amount of relief. His flight was due to take off soon and I needed to get him to the airport. We were both spent and weary. I was deeply concerned about Anthony’s state-of-mind, but I needed sleep. We had been there before and I knew this time we had together would only be a bandaid. 

    When we arrived curbside at departures, I stepped out of the car to hug my brother. As he wept in my arms, I recall telling him that he could come and stay with me anytime. I asked him to call me when he got home and he nodded and left me with a hint of a smile. I was relieved that the night was over as I drove away. This was the last time I saw my brother. He called me several times before overdosing/heart failure in July. After his death, I asked myself if there was anything more that I could have done. The answer of course is yes, there is always more one could have done, but I’m certain that there was nothing I could have done that would have prevented his death. His last call to me was a few days before he took to the streets to find heroin. He was deeply depressed, however, that was par for the course. I know that it was Anthony’s lifelong struggle with depression and addiction that killed him. Those of us who loved him may have at times eased his pain a bit, but none of us could have prevented his death. His struggle and friendship will inspire and haunt me until I die.

    ____________________________________

    If you are struggling with a loved one who suffers from depression, there is no formula for helping them survive. Love, counseling, mental health programs, the sharing of resources, and the support of everyone around you can hopefully get you both through this devastating reality.

    Anthony is sitting next to me on the sofa. My guess is that he was a year old in this photo and I was three. In the second photo, we were in North Carolina sometime in the early 80s.

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    Future Travel

    Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea, end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. My sister Debbie and her husband Lynn, will be joining me on a visit to our father’s birthplace in the Puglia region of Italy in 2025.

    Current State-of Mind

    These last few weeks in Faro have been a gift. Lots of quiet time for reflection and rest. I have once again decided to steer clear of toxic individuals — I say once again because I occasionally lose perspective and use poor judgment; I needed a good jolt. It’s impossible to rid yourself of all who cause you grief; however, you can limit the number by being proactive. Taking the high road is always the best path. Healthy disagreement is good, but not always possible; therefore, when it’s not an option, walk away. Anthony and others I have lost remind me of how fleeting life is.

    ____________________________________

    News: I have been waiting for the following (it will be a deciding factor in my remaining in Portugal):

    After a long battle, Portugal passed a law on Friday legalizing euthanasia for people in great suffering and with incurable diseases, joining just a handful of countries around the world (wikipedia). Bravo!

    Please forgive any typographical or grammatical errors.

  • I Thought it Was the Scotch She Wanted (repost 2020)

    17 years old, naive and eager to please. Pimping myself out on the streets of Brooklyn for tips and a piece of pie. No I was not a rent boy, I delivered booze by bicycle.

    Before you judge me, keep reading. I claimed to be 18 years old, but I’m pretty certain Mr. Park knew I was lying. Back in the 70s you could sell and drink liquor at age 18. Back then, there were a lot of things I could do that I cannot do now. I wasn’t quite 18, but I would be soon enough . . . I wanted the job badly. I altered my baptismal certificate by changing 1959 to 1958 — one little numerical change. Desperate measures, I was moving out of the house and I would have rent and college tuition to pay. Mr. Park, who was a liquor store owner, said he’d give me a chance to prove myself; however, he’d made it clear that one slip-up and it was over. I am certain he was fully aware of my actual age. Deception on both sides. There would be no slip-ups; well, none he would know about.

    The neighborhood liquor store was across the street from the subway station and although not hidden, it was somehow safe territory for the local alcoholics. The Park’s were Korean, very friendly, and way smarter than the rest of us. I recall Mrs. Park schooling her husband on how to talk to customers. I pretended not to understand, but I was intrigued by their culture and language, and at times, I felt more a part of their family than my own. And to be truly honest, the meals they brought me were delicious. Hence why I eat Korean food whenever and wherever I can find it.

    My job was to stock the shelves and make deliveries. Having delivered groceries in the neighborhood for two years, I knew the streets and the people fairly well. I was the kid from that huge family on Marlborough Road. I was polite, shy, and fortunate to have inherited my father’s charm. In early days, I kept my head down and my mouth shut (I have obviously changed). I was surprised to learn how many customers wanted booze delivered to their door. I imagine some people didn’t want to be seen going in and out of the liquor store on a regular basis; others just didn’t want to carry the bottles home. Still others, I came to learn, were clearly shit-faced when I arrived with their refill. I would imagine some started the evening thinking they’d just have a shot and ended up clearing out their liquor cabinet. I encountered a good deal of binge drinking and abuse, not of me, the alcohol. This could very well be the reason I’ve never been a big drinker.

    There were a few characters I delivered to several times a week and others, nightly. The only day we were closed, was Sunday. Trust me, if it wasn’t against the law in New York State to sell from a liquor store on Sunday, we would have been open. Thinking back, it didn’t make sense that you could open a bar and not a liquor store. There was this one customer, I’ll call him Mr. Taylor, Mr. Taylor ordered a bottle of Smirnoff vodka every night of the week. He was very quiet and always tipped me 50 cents (often a 50 cent piece). I suspect he was a raging alcoholic and afraid that if he ordered more than one bottle, he’d drink it all. I’m not judging, but that’s a lot of vodka. I worked at the liquor store for several years and Mr. Taylor seldom if ever, missed a delivery. Then there was Miss Greene. Miss Greene opened the door wide enough to stick her hand out, grab the vodka, pass me two dimes and then close the door. The stench from her apartment always made me a bit dizzy. After a year of delivering to Miss Greene on a regular basis, she offered me money to do her a monumental favor. More about that later.

    There were these two very friendly men who lived in the same apartment, but they were never there at the same time. One of the two flirted with me quite a bit and once even answered the door wrapped in a bath towel. I looked up, but avoided direct eye contact. He was a big tipper, his partner was not. I always hoped the flirty one would be there to accept the delivery, unfortunately it was mostly the bad tipper who usually showed up at the door. There was clearly either trouble in paradise or they had an open relationship, I’ll never know the truth.

    I had dozens of regulars, but I think it was the Flannagan’s I most enjoyed. Very few customers invited me in. With most, niceties and a quick handoff was the norm. The Flanagan’s were different. This Irish couple considered me part of the family. There was usually a snack offered up and always a sweet kiss from Mrs. Flanagan. They were in their sixties, frequently laughing and carrying on and genuinely interested in my day. I knew they drank a lot because I kept inventory. They loved scotch, but oddly only Mr. Flanagan smelled of alcohol; Mrs. Flanagan smelled sweet (over 40 years ago and I can almost recall her scent). Mrs. Flanagan always answered the door. Mr. Flanagan was usually in his Easyboy. I remember seeing him fairly bruised-up a few times; he’d clearly fallen, inebriated and broken most of the time. Sometimes there was a third person, usually a man, always drunk. I would be introduced as “the son.” Keep in mind this all took place in the matter of minutes, I always had other deliveries to make. I knew when they’d cashed their social security check because my tip was always doubled.

    As months went by it became clear to me that Mrs. Flanagan was developing quite a crush; her lips often lingered on my cheek and her hands sometimes wandered to my chest. I would squirm away from her clutches thinking it was all very innocent; however, there was one time when she went too far. On this particular delivery, Mrs. Flanagan was more pissed than usual. It might have been during the Christmas holidays, as if she needed an excuse to imbibe. She came around her kitchen table and moved toward me. I backed myself up against the wall and put my hands up in front of me. She pushed herself on me quickly and before I could stop her, her tongue worked its way down my throat and she started grinding her hips into my groin area. Mr. Flanagan warned her to back off, but she persisted. I did not say a word, pushed her off of me and ran out, this time without a tip.

    I waited days for the Flanagan’s to place an order. I didn’t feel threatened by Mrs. Flanagan because I was clearly stronger and I knew I could resist her advances. I did feel guilty. I thought that perhaps I had led her to believe that I wanted her affection. When the door opened, it was Mr. Flanagan standing there with cash in hand. He said hello and quickly passed the money to me. I started to reach into my pocket to give him change and he replied, “Keep it,” he then closed the door in my face. I didn’t see or hear Mrs. Flanagan that day. The tip was five and change; way larger than usual. Future deliveries to the Flanagan’s were mostly transactional. Mrs. Flanagan usually came to the door; kisses and invitations to enter were a thing of the past. I was both relieved and saddened by the state of affairs. I guess that $5 tip was guilt money.

    I would often return from a delivery later than usual and the Parks would want to know why it took so long. Mrs. Park especially loved gossip and she’d try to squeeze information about our customers out of me. I made it a game. I’d be cagey at first, tease her a bit, let some time go by, perhaps a couple of deliveries, and then when I’d see she was about to explode from anticipation, I’d share a bit; perhaps what a customer’s apartment was like or who answered the door, Mrs. Park was jealous that I got to see a small part of their customers’ lives. I never did tell the Parks about Mrs. Flanagan, that was my secret, never to be told — until now that is.

    I never did learn the first names of most of my customers. I guess an invisible wall existed between them and me. I supplied them their poison and they were grateful, but protective; grateful for my service, but protective of their privacy. So I rode my delivery bicycle through pounding rain, freezing wind, and heavy snow and they rewarded me handsomely. I made enough money part-time to pay rent and utilities, buy groceries, and save for tuition. Of all the events that shaped my experience for those couple of years, the time I spent with Miss Greene outside of her apartment was the most memorable.

    Miss Greene suffered from severe agoraphobia. The idea of leaving her apartment terrified her and made her a prisoner in her own home. When she asked me to take her to the bank I had no idea that she was struggling with this affliction; nor did I know what I was in for. She offered me $20 which was surprising because she was a terrible tipper. I picked her up after school, eager to get the deed done.

    I must admit I was pretty cavalier about the whole thing. I honestly thought it would all be over in 30 minutes and I’d be picking out a new sweatshirt at Korvettes (department store now out-of-business). When I got to her door it was slightly ajar, which was never the case. She had on make-up which I found shocking, and a long heavy overcoat; it was early June and fairly warm. She asked for my arm and told me that she had called car service. When she grabbed my arm, I noticed her nails were long and dirty. I had to remind myself that I had a good tip coming. Miss Greene was shaking from head to toe, her lips quivered, and her nails were tearing at my skin. The walk down the two flights of stairs took over 20 minutes and at times, I was fairly certain she was going to collapse. I was strong, but I feared she’d fall and I wouldn’t be able to pick her up. When we got to the front door of the building she began to gently weep. I offered words of encouragement. I honestly wasn’t sure we could pull this off, in fact, I was certain we would not.

    The car service driver noticed our struggle and came toward us to offer a hand. Miss Greene clutched onto me even harder and wouldn’t look at the driver. I winked at him and he seemed to understand. He asked me if Miss Greene was my grandmother and I told him that she was — I believe at that moment, she could have been my grandmother. We made it into the car. Miss Greene remained quiet and stared down at her feet. I cannot describe my feelings as all this was going down. I was filled with dread, fear, and pride. I worried for her; her fear was visceral and she seemed so tiny. The pride I was feeling had to do with the trust she had in me. I was only 18 years old, but on that day I was a man.

    From start to finish, it took two hours to get the task done. The bank manager agreed to allow us to remain in the bank after closing. Everyone around us seemed to understand her pain. Up until that point in my life, I’m not sure I had witnessed that kind of empathy. The day did not get easier for Miss Greene. When we got to her door she was drenched in sweat and clearly spent. I lowered her onto her sofa, repulsed by the horrible smell in her apartment. Her sister peeked out of the bedroom door and retreated when I saw her. Miss Greene thanked me and gave me $40. It was the largest tip I ever received from one of my customers. I tried to refuse it, but it was important to her that I take it. I knew that I would never be the same. My arm remained black and blue for a week, but my pity for Miss Greene stayed with me a good deal longer. I kept my deed secret for a long time, never sharing what I had done with the Parks. When I arrived late for work that afternoon, I lied and said that I was held up at school. I felt no guilt, only sadness. Miss Greene continued to order vodka and increased her tip from 20 cents to a quarter. Her demeanor never changed and she never mentioned our afternoon at the bank. I have thought of her often since that day. I imagine her liver must have failed her at some point. I wondered which one of them went first, her or her sister, perhaps mercifully they died at the same time. I also wonder how many Miss Greenes wake up a prisoner in their own homes each day. My problems seem so small in comparison.

    When I see a young person working, I imagine they might be learning the kind of life lessons I learned working for the Parks. I think, good for them, and I’m grateful for having had the experience.

    Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Several grammatical errors were corrected.

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     “Summer is the annual permission slip to be lazy. To do nothing and have it count for something. To lie in the grass and count the stars. To sit on a branch and study the clouds.”  ~ Regina Brett

    Future Travel

    Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea, end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. My sister Debbie and her husband Lynn, will be joining me on a visit to our father’s birthplace in the Puglia region of Italy in 2025.

    Current State-of Mind

    Refreshed, grateful and hopeful. That which doesn’t kill you . . .

    Reposts for new readers and when I’ve had a busy week. With well over 200 posts, I have lots to choose from. Please forgive any typographical or grammatical errors.

  • What or Who Inspires You?

    What Lights a Spark Under Your Bum

    inspire

    verb

    1. 1.fill (someone) with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially to do something creative. “His philosophy inspired a later generation of environmentalists.” Google def.

    To fill with the urge to do or feel something. Not so easy is it? Do you inspire people? Does it matter to you? Did it once matter, but it doesn’t anymore? With age, cynicism often follows. You’ve been around the block a few times; therefore, you’re no longer easily impressed and/or moved.

    I love that they use the word “environmentalists” when providing an example of inspiration in a sentence. Inspiration can sometimes be when you are moved to act; when something touches you in a way that causes you to take a stand. These days I am inspired by Ukrainians who are fighting for and standing up for their freedom. I also have a fair number of prolific artists in my life; their ability to create beautiful works of art inspires me. Photographers, painters, creative cooks, carpenters, weavers, sculptors, stained glass artists, woodworkers, writers — I have wonderfully creative individuals all around me.

    How Do You Know When You’re Inspired?

    Inspiration comes in many different shapes and sizes. Sometimes you wake up and suddenly feel you have to make something. Sometimes you pick up a pen and the inspiration runs through your fingers. Other times someone says something to you and it hits you like a brick thrown from two feet away. Whatever form it takes, receive it with gratitude.

    Ask yourself, what has happened to me lately that looks, feels, sounds, or smells like inspiration? It is more than likely something inspiring. Words, deeds, nature, a friend, a celebrity, a photograph, a vision, a dream — any and all can be personally inspiring.

    How Do You Act on Inspiration?

    If you indeed recognize that you have been inspired, do not hesitate to act on it. Always best to start out by taking small steps with a goal in mind. If you think you’ll paint a masterpiece in a day, you’ll only end up feeling defeated. When I wake up inspired to write, I set out to write a paragraph or two; in most cases I’ll write a lot more, but when my expectations are reasonable, I’m usually feeling good about what I’ve accomplished.

    DO NOT listen to naysayers who will tell you that you’ll never finish a novel or write a piece of music that will sell or build a model . . . people sometimes impose their own fears and limitations on others. Let’s build one another up instead of putting one another down.

    “If people are doubting how far you can go, go so far that you can’t hear them anymore.” —Michele Ruiz

    “Write it. Shoot it. Publish it. Crochet it. Sauté it. Whatever. MAKE.” —Joss Whedon

    Do You Have to Be Talented in Order to Create?

    This answer to this question fills me with hope and gratitude. The answer of course is no, you can be horribly untalented and create an untold number of things: you can write (I am the perfect example), you can paint, you can choreograph, you can compose music, you can build castles in the sand, you can create delicious dishes that might appear inedible, but delight the taste buds, you can spin a potter’s wheel . . . you get the picture. Whether talent is a natural gift or acquired doesn’t really matter at all; if you enjoy creating, do it for yourself without concern for what others may think.

    A Story

    I never felt that I had artistic talent — can’t paint, can’t draw, can’t act, can’t make music, but I sure can tell myself I can’t. I had a junior high school teacher that encouraged me to write. She gave me topics and said, “Just write a few words for me. It’s not a test, I won’t judge you, I just want to see what’s inside of you.” Her sincerity and interest made me want to please her. I think she saw a little boy struggling with life and it touched her for reasons I will never know. That year I won an essay contest and I’ve been writing ever since. Don’t wait for someone to pry it out of you; let your inner voices be heard.

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    Future Travel

    Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea, end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. A brother and sister and their partners will be joining me on a visit to our father’s birthplace in the Puglia region of Italy in 2025.

    Current State-of Mind

    I’ve come to realize how closely linked my happiness is to the amount of sleep I get and my health; also linked to sleep. When I was a younger man, I didn’t need as much sleep and I took my health for granted. The older I get, the more acutely aware I have become. A friend asked me if I had distractions. Funny thing is that I do have many distractions, but when you’re alone with yourself in the dark, all bets are off.

    Thank you to those of you who wrote to me about my last blog. I always appreciate your words and feedback. I will write for as long as my fingers are able to tap the keys.

    Please forgive any typographical or grammatical errors.

  • I Want to Know the Bits About You that are Unknown to Even You

    The Unknown You

    I had a friend visiting from the States this week; we had some very intense and interesting conversations about many things. It occured to me that what I enjoyed most was discovering things about Carrie I didn’t know. That’s what got me re-thinking about Johari’s window:

    A Very Simplified Discussion of this Model

    “The Johari window model is used to enhance the individual’s perception of others. This model is based on two ideas — trust can be acquired by revealing information about you to others and learning yourselves from their feedbacks. Each person is represented by the Johari model through four quadrants or window pane. Each four window panes signifies personal information, feelings, motivation and whether that information is known or unknown to oneself or others in four viewpoints,” Communication Theory.

    In lay terms: The open area is what you know about yourself and everyone else knows about you, the blind spot is what others see in you that you do not see in yourself, the hidden area are the things you keep to yourself and purposefully do not reveal to others and lastly the unknown is that part of you that is not yet discovered, by you or others.

    When I’m with friends and family, it is the “unknown” I am most interested in exploring. I love it when I’m having a conversation with someone and they say or do something and discover that they are addressing it for the very first time. They get excited about this part of themselves they didn’t know existed and their excitement is contagious and possibly even sparks a new revelation about my own being.

    For example, I had a little retreat cottage in Pennsylvania and I asked a friend if he wanted to join me for a weekend of relaxation. Mark happily accepted my invitation; we set out for the country on a Friday evening. Our only agenda was to enjoy the quiet of nature and be with one another (as friends). Mark and I were sitting by the fire on the first night and he said, “So what are we doing tomorrow?” I replied, “Not sure what you’re doing, but I’m going skydiving.” It was something I always wanted to do and I thought it was time. Mark was shocked and for a minute he thought I was joking. He decided to come along for the ride and he’s been skydiving ever since; unlike myself who did it just the once. Mark discovered that the freefall during skydiving gave him a high/thrill he’d never experienced prior; he uncovered a part of himself he might never have known existed. Of course I take full credit. An example of the self-discoveries of which I spoke about earlier.

    When I lived in Brooklyn, I had this (above) country place in Milford, Pennsylvania — ten years of grilling on the deck, crazy cocktails, and great conversation. Also a place for Giorgio to taunt coyote and deer. I did lots of soul searching, nature walks, and skydiving. The house was a labor of love, but worth the effort.

    Back to Discovering You

    A great deal of my content is dedicated to communication; specifically listening. Listening is a beautiful thing when done properly. If we truly stop to listen we will learn so much about one another. Asking the right questions is also essential. For example if someone spends ten minutes telling to about a horrible experience they had with their contractor and then you ask: “So what did you pay for those tiles?” What that says to me is: 1) you weren’t really listening, and/or 2) you lack empathy, and/or 3) you couldn’t care less. Not one of those is positive. We need desperately to hear one another and be seen.

    Last week I started to speak, a friend nearly interrupted me and then stopped herself. I said, “Oh no, I’ve made you paranoid.” She replied, “No, you make us better listeners.” Well ain’t that the cat’s pajamas.

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    Upcoming Travel

    Two months at home and I couldn’t be happier. Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. A brother and sister and their partners will be joining me on a visit to our father’s birthplace in the Puglia region of Italy in 2025. We have time to prepare and I think it will be a life changing trip for all of us.

    Current State-of-Mind

    We are having remarkably mild weather in the Algarve. It is warm, but it’s not a scorching heat. I hate extreme heat. I’m not sure where the world is headed with climate change affecting so many worldwide, but I worry about it a lot. Since I’m always candid I will tell you that I have gained a bit of weight, which tends to happen when I am content. Time to cut back on cake in the morning and wine in the evening. I’m also considering Portuguese/U.S. dual citizenship. The biggest obstacle is language; however, I am well on my way to a passing score. Dual citizenship is in case I someday choose to reside somewhere else within the European Union. One day at a time . . .

    The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling is a podcast I’d recommend if you have any thoughts on the transgender/feminist debate currently being broadly covered in the media. I’m struggling with this issue; although I am sympathetic with transgender and gender dysphoria individuals on rights and freedoms, I also believe that it is unfair for boys or men who have completed the surgical transformation to take part in women’s sports. In addition, I’m concerned about the age of individual’s going through gender transformation. The numbers of individuals who have changed their minds and are going through reverse transformation is increasing. The question, “what is the correct minimum legal age for undergoing gender affirming surgery?” is weighing on my mind. This podcast leans more heavily to the “gender at birth” POV; however, I believe all arguments are fairly presented and discussed.

  • Owning Your (My) Political Truth

    Half In Half Out of the Proverbial Political Closet

    Many of my readers will skip over this blog and with good reason: people are sick and tired of politics. I am! Still, I firmly believe we have an obligation to take part in politics simply because it impacts all of us.

    Nevertheless, so many have buried their heads in the sand or chosen to ignore politics due to its divisive nature today. I mostly blame the media for the strong divide and I don’t see it getting any better, anytime soon. News organizations have figured out that if they get us angry enough, we will engage. In some ways it feels like an addiction — we’ll reel you in by giving you a small taste of uncovered or speculated criminal behavior and then we’ll keep you engaged by sharing snippets of hearsay and innuendo. This is not a conspiracy theory, it is known truth. In a way it keeps us off-balance; always seeking the real truth and a favorable outcome. Please note that none of my observations refer to all individuals.

    Woke, Liberal, Socialism & Taxing the Wealthy

    I recently posted a definition of woke. Above the definition I said that if you are not woke, I do not want you in my life. I was fully aware that some people would read that statement and think that I was addressing them. Don’t get me wrong, I was being serious. But if I were to break it down, what I mean essentially, is that if you do not care for your fellow human being, I’d rather not hang with you. Now how many people would fall into that category? No one I know. But . . . if an individual thought that I was specifically speaking to them, so be it. There will be no begging in my future.

    Politicians and the media have made “woke” a polarizing term because they want us to hate and distrust one another. I can’t help but wonder where this polarization will take us as a society. I’m preparing for the worst.

    I am a proud liberal and I believe there is a place for socialism; words that have been demonized by conservatives. Will the world ever come together on this? Not so long as capitalism is the world economy. Unfortunately, I believe that someday capitalism will implode; mostly due to greed. I hope I’m not around to see it.

    As long as wealthy individuals are contributing to politicians, taxing the rich will be a contentious issue.

    When it comes to being woke, I’m not sure why anyone has a problem with it . . . I’m being honest. I don’t think some people understand the meaning of the word.

    Picking Sides

    I am an independent voter. I want to hear from all of those individuals wanting to represent me and I want to analyze what they have to say. The problem with this scenario is simple: our (the U.S.) political system is not designed to support an independent politician. Other governments in the world are much more inclusive (see Scandinavian governments and some European countries), where representatives of all elected parties are active members of parliament. There are a few independents in the U.S., but the majority of them are democrats who like to portray themselves as free thinking and progressive politicians. It’s difficult to take them seriously knowing that their voices will be drowned out by the majority. Angus King, senator from Maine, is a good example of a bright, moderate leader, who claims to be independent. I’m not sure of his voting record and I don’t want to get mired in detail, but I doubt he ever votes with Republicans on the highly public and media covered issues. I wish I knew more about politics in other countries. I live in Portugal and I understand very little about the politics here.

    Currently, the following major issues are meant to divide us: abortion, immigration, taxation, healthcare, gun control, big versus down-sized government, climate change, and others I honestly do not keep up with.

    What we have are people voting: along party lines, based on the gender of the candidate, the candidate that will vote to keep their money in their pockets, religious affiliations, and sometimes whomever their spouse or best friend is voting for. How can we ever hope to have a fair and unbiased political system? Some of us like to think that best leader will rise to the top or emerge victorious; however, that leaves far too much to chance. Also, these days the separation lines between church and state are blurred in some places. This might be one of the most dangerous outcomes of politics today.

    Who is right and who is wrong? In my mind it’s about what is best for humankind in the long term. I know not everyone agrees. In the end, I pick the side preventing the extinction of human beings and a government that takes care of those in need. If we keep going in our current direction, we will indeed kill one another to the point of extinction. Mother nature can only do so much to protect us. And if you’re of a religious persuasion, history should show you that God does not prevent death, pain or destruction.

    Why State Your Case

    I’m old fashioned in my thinking about politics. I like to hope that people are gathering information; information that will help them decide which leader that like to have representing their particular agenda. If immigration is at the forefront for you, you’re going to want to know which leader will create policies or vote to accomplish what you believe will be an effective and fair immigration agenda. I would then use my voice to offer up my thoughts on the perspective leaders who see immigration as one of their most important initiatives: how have they voted in the past, what do they have to say on the issue, who do they align themselves with, who do they receive donations from, do they listen to their constituents, etc. Unfortunately many following politics today only listen to one side and unfortunately, that media outlet or individual is only presenting facts or information that create a distorted portrait of the truth. If you show a photograph of individuals running across the border at 3:00 a.m. with a caption along side of it: “Thousands cross the border illegally in the wee morning hours.” This clip is manipulating negative thoughts about immigrants. There is no information about why they’re running, what they are running from or toward, what alternatives they did or did not have, whether or not they attempted to migrate legally — all facts I want to know before I determine the best policy for dealing with it. Instead we have anger based on political bias. “These people are murdering our babies and taking away our jobs,” or our current leaders don’t care who they allow in to our country.”

    Where is our compassion? Aren’t the majority of American descendants of immigrants?

    I don’t look for conflict, when people disagree with me or have a different point of view, I’m happy to have a civilized conversation.

    How You Know When People Don’t Want to Hear Your Opinion or Don’t Like What You’re Posting/Blogging

    There are four ways that may inform you when people do not like what you have to say:

    1. People who normally respond to your words (posts) will just ghost or ignore you.
    2. People will straight out tell you they disagree and why (I love this). I enjoy when it initiates a good debate. Listening to all sides, not pointing fingers or placing blame.
    3. People will respond with a generic reaction: eg., you post something about Republicans holding up a vote in the House; someone replies: Republicans and Democrats, they’re all the same.
    4. People will unfriend you on Facebook. This is sort of extreme or passive aggressive, but I have come to realize that most people hate confrontation . . . and with good reason.

    I find it’s best to stand by your convictions and accept whatever comes your way. Integrity wins out over comfort and being well liked. We are all motivated by different things.


    “There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.”
    ― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

    Subscribe: it’s free and easy and my blog will just appear in your inbox whenever it’s published (whenever I’m moved to write).

    Upcoming Travel

    Two months at home and I couldn’t be happier. Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea end of October/November and South Africa land & sea in February. I’m learning how to be a better traveller.

    Current State-of Mind

    My neighborhood is finally quiet; the area schools are on summer vacation, home renovations are on hold, the work on my building has been completed (for now), and it’s too hot for people to be out on the street. The quiet is sublime. Knowing it’s temporary makes it even more special.

    I don’t want silence 24/7. A little bit of city noise (traffic, sirens, airplanes in the distance) is nice; it’s a reminder that life is going on all around you.

    Please continue to enjoy your summer. I travel to find truth and the best bowl of pasta.

    Please forgive all grammatical and typographical errors. Thank you.

  • Saying Goodbye to Mom (repost)

    I held my mother’s icy cold hand and I whispered, “You can go now mom.”

    Mom and me. I know, I’m working that stache
    I apologize for the blurry photo. My non-digital photos are all in storage. I’m reposting this blog because it’s therapeutic for me to revisit the end of my mother’s life. It was extremely difficult and I’m only now beginning to forgive myself.

    “Why don’t you feel good about this? Wasn’t it the kindest thing to do?” If my intention was to have my mother pass in order to end her suffering, that would have been kind; however, that was not my intention. In truth, I thought it was wrong to keep her hooked up to a respirator and I knew she’d try to hang on for as long as she could; mom was fiercely stubborn. We had a complicated relationship and I was tired of the drama; I was done. Before you start hating me, I’d like you to consider a few facts. For one, my mother had been in and out of hospital for several years and near death numerous times. She was resuscitated and even though she told my stepfather that she did not want to be, he went ahead and ordered it anyway. She had not completed the paperwork in hospital, no surprise to me or my siblings. When I say that my relationship with my mother was complicated, I believe an explanation is warranted. In many ways, throughout my youth and twenties, I was the parent. My mother was a heavy smoker (even during her pregnancies), a gambler, cheated on my father, a thief (insurance fraud and groceries to name two), and she did psychological damage to all four of her daughters. Three out of four of my sisters had eating disorders due to my mother’s unhealthy weight obsession. I was constantly reminding her about the hazards of smoking, begging her to cut back; also to slow down the gambling, and to see a therapist in order to deal with her self-inflicted pain. So when I said, You can go now mom, it was after many years of shame and disappointment, as well as a strong belief that modern medicine was prolonging the inevitable. Some people will say that I judged her harshly; others will say that it does not matter how awful she was, I should not speak ill of her. You can be certain that my living siblings would attest to my account of our upbringing and the chaos she rained upon us as adults.

    How I handle my grief and remorse is my choice.

    When she was alive she would actually say, “I know you’re going to write a book about me when I die.” That was her way of telling me to wait. The irony is that I loved her. When family members would scorn her, I would jump to her defense. But deep down I believed that she was selfish, disingenuous, and should probably not have given birth to children. True, she had an abusive father and she got pregnant when she was 16 years old, but that does not excuse the poor mothering; she knew better. I’m certain she knew better.

    Future Travel

    Scotland very soon — Glasgow, Oban and several islands off the coast; a brief September trip to Basel Switzerland, followed by Dubai, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Hong Kong in late September and October; South Africa in early 2024.

    Current State of Mind

    Mellow, very mellow. It was sweltering hot and then we had the most glorious, cool, breezy day on Friday. It felt good to be alive.

    Mom always made Christmas special

  • Accepting Who You See in the Mirror

    Revised and Updated

    “Today is the oldest you’ve ever been, and the youngest you’ll ever be again.”― Eleanor Roosevelt

    Eleanor Roosevelt

    Eleanor seemed to have it together. My goal is to think the way Eleanor thought. Well, we know that’s not happening. I took these selfies recently and let me tell you, I’m not a selfie taker (I read that all selfie takers say that). I’m not sure why I took them or where I took them, but they do pretty much sum up how I feel about getting older.

    Getting older is not for the faint of heart (a friend shared that it was Mae West who gets credit for this quote). Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think:  it’s not fair that my father was handsome his entire life or see that wattle under your chin? — you deserve it for teasing mom about her’s. I want to love every line on my face and embrace my sagging eyelids and I want to believe that there is a reason there is more hair in my ears than on the top of my head; although I might have to let that one go.

    I was coerced and cajoled into going to a Carnival party last night. You know the feeling:  I’m too old, I’ll be invisible. I don’t want to dance, the food will suck, and so on. I pushed myself so that I could prove to myself and my new Portuguese friends, that I could party with the best of them. I decided to wear whiteout make-up in hopes that it would cover my lines, I sported a new t-shirt, newly refurbished black boots and some borrowed red lipstick. I made an effort and it worked. I had a great time and although I wished the party had started a bit earlier, I stuck it out for a few hours and I went to sleep smiling; facial lines intact.

    I know all of this is normal growing older stuff and I know that at some point I will probably embrace it, but that doesn’t mean I should stop trying to be better at it now. In the meantime, I need to continue to push myself outside of my comfort zone.

    Some Things One Can Do to Embrace the Aging Process:

    1. Take care of your skin — Twenty years ago, I paid quite a lot of money for a facial in New York City just to learn how to take better care of my skin. The biggest lesson I learned was about toner. It’s really important to close your pores after you’ve washed your face or shaved. If you do not close your pores or use toner to close your pores, anything you put on your skin will go right into your pores and clog them up. That’s when you end up with blackheads and pimples; yes I still get pimples — moisturizer is also important for preventing wrinkles; dry skin is more likely to wrinkle. Some men are way too macho to care about this stuff, but for those who do, it is possible to have good skin your entire life.
    2. Take care of your body — We all know that unless you eat right and exercise, your body will give you all sorts of problems. Thirty minutes of exercise a few days a week will go a long way for good health. Eating fresh food and taking vitamin supplements are also essential. I do it all in moderation (or I won’t do it). Genetics plays into aging; however, how well you take care of your body, is a huge factor in how well you age.
    3. Stay sharp — Mind, body and spirit are usually the three aspects of your life that experts point to when discussing good health. Keeping your mind sharp means that you have to exercise your brain. Sitting in front of your television can be relaxing and benefit your mental wellbeing, but doing things that stimulate your mind are key to staying mentally sharp. Reading, puzzles, attending lectures, and participating in stimulating conversation, are examples of things you can do to stay sharp. Don’t let your brain atrophy.
    4. Dress Up — This is a difficult one for me. Give me a nice cotton t-shirt and some soft cotton sweatpants and I’m good to go. That’s okay for grocery shopping or taking a brisk walk, but when you’re going out for dinner or to a concert, make the extra effort and dress up a bit. People around you will show you how much they appreciate the effort. When we get lazy and let ourselves go, it affects the way we feel about ourselves and has a negative impact on the way we interact with others. It can be so subtle we don’t see it, but trust me, it’s there. Experiment with this and wear a sports jacket and tie to dinner; you’ll see a big difference in the way people treat you — you too ladies (without the tie though).
    5. Pamper yourself — vacation, massage, long walk on the beach and so many other things you can do to say “I love you” to yourself.
    6. Be graceful and gracious — Always put your best self forward. Good manners and a positive attitude go a long way in navigating the world around you. We all need one another at one point or another. Show the people around you that you appreciate them; when you need something, people will remember how you treated them or whether or not you thanked them. We all need to be appreciated. I have had to remind several people in my life that I should not and will not be taken for granted. It’s all part of being a good friend or family member — we can all learn from one another. People always say that the world was once a kinder, gentler place. It’s difficult to know how true that statement is; however, it doesn’t hurt to strive to improve; we all benefit from a kinder world.
    7. Volunteer — An opportunity to give back, do something fulfilling and meet new people.
    8. Remember the alternative is not-so-good

    There was a time I would look at someone with obvious plastic surgery and get all judgy about it. I’ve evolved and no longer care. Do whatever you want to do to yourself if it will help you feel better.

    What to Say to People When They Ask You How Old You Are

    • I used to add ten years onto my age to see what kind of reaction I’d get. One time I did that and the person said, “That’s what I would have guessed.”  Needless to say, I stopped doing that.
    • You can stand tall and proudly declare your exact age.
    • You can lie if it makes you feel better.
    • You can say, “I’m in my 50s but I feel like I’m 30. Don’t I look 30 (update)?” And then laugh at yourself; always laugh at yourself.
    • You can tell people what was happening in the world when you were born. There was a major solar eclipse on the day I was born. I like sharing that for some reason. I believe the strength of the sun on the day I was born had a lot to do with my birth. You don’t have to agree with me, that’s okay.
    • I wouldn’t say, “How old do you think I am?” unless you are prepared for their answer.
    • You can say, “Old enough.”
    • You can say, “I have a few years on you or I think you may be older than me (be prepared to die (update).
    • Fill in the blank __________________________.

    How Others Age

    Try not to compare yourself to others. Like I said earlier, genetics plays a major role in aging. Some people seem to have better skin. Some people have arthritis and some don’t. Some people can build muscle more easily. You get my point; be easier on yourself.

    One of the things I love about growing older is that you seem to care less about what others think — it’s freeing, to say the least. I’m looking forward to caring even a little less. I’m talking about the divisive stuff, not the loving and caring stuff.

    A couple of good articles:

    Aging in Beauty

    Learning to Love Growing Old

    Coping with Aging

    Future Travel

    I am happy to say that I am home in Portugal until July 4 when I will leave for Scotland. We have beautiful weather here in June and the tourists will not arrive in huge numbers for a few weeks (at least not in Faro). So coming up I have Scotland, Asia for three weeks and then South Africa in 2024. That is pretty much it; I hope to keep it this way for awhile. Traveling by air has become exhausting and anxiety producing. I can handle only so much of that insanity.

    My Current State of Mind

    I am happy to be home with Paco and sleeping in my own bed. I have no regrets about getting caught-up in the French air traffic control strike or my 24 hour flight delay, and I missed Portugal. The ol’ allergies are not as bad either.

    Please do me a great favor: if I ever offend you, hurt you, annoy you, etc. find a kind way to tell me. I honestly want to be a better human and you can help.

  • The Upside of Being Single

    To be clear, none of these dudes are my exes; nor do I personally know any of them. They are merely alone in the photograph, so I used these stock pics here. I also think they are all quite handsome.

    “Just because I’m single, It doesn’t mean I’m alone. I have food and internet.”

    — anonymous

    I would add books and a pet.

    I’m not intentionally trying to seem smug and superior about my single status. There is a stigma attached to being single and I’m merely attempting to show it can be a desirable choice.

    Why This Topic

    There is a lot to be said for being in a loving relationship. For the purpose of this blog, I will not be stating the many known positives. Instead, I will focus on the positives of the single life. Why go there you ask? The answer is simple: I need for all of my partnered friends and family members to know why I have chosen to be single and further, why I want them to leave me be — I’m being nice.

    Always the question, “Why aren’t you with anyone?”

    A Bit of History

    I was born single. I stayed that way for years. I was introduced to a beautiful woman who was pure and good and I loved her. We married and divorced. Divorced because I finally admitted to myself and others that I was gay. I was gay and broken and my relationships with men went sideways at every turn.

    After years of trying to make it work with men, it dawned on me that I had to fix what was broken. That is where I am today. I am working on loving the one person who will be with me until I die; me myself and I. It’s not a sad story. In fact, it is a happy story, because some never figure out that there is a path to figuring it out. Some suffer in silence until they suffer no more . . . until they cease to exist.

    “I don’t like to be labeled as lonely just because I am alone.” – Delta Burke

    Never Lonely

    I travel alone, eat alone, go to the movies and theater alone, walk alone, play games alone, but I am never lonely. In order to be lonely, you’d have to either dislike yourself or not have enough interests — neither applies to me.

    I can amuse myself with so many different things, if anything, I wish I had more alone time.

    The Best Part of Single Life

    I finally get to do a list — lists make me happy.

    • Freedom
    • My own big bed (I can sleep in the middle)
    • No arguments with angry partners
    • No second guessing whether there is love, or if the love is real, or if the love will last
    • I can have a second piece of cake without being chided for it
    • Lots of quiet time
    • An introvert (me) gets to be an introvert
    • You get to be selfish without the guilt
    • Spontaneous decisions
    • More time for me, me, me
    • I never have to sit in the middle seat on an airplane to please my partner
    • People invite you for dinner at their home more often, because feeding one is easier than feeding two. Mere speculation.
    • More closet space
    • I always get to pick where I travel and when I travel

    If you have a life partner, disregard the aforementioned.

    The Art of Living Life Without Expectations

    The absence of expectations would be a false narrative; there will always be expectations. In this case the expectations are of me and from me, not from another. Yes, others have expectations of me, but in this case I am referring to expectations related to the making or spending of money, achievements, how I spend time, when I wake up in the morning and when I go to bed.

    “I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.” – Robin Williams

    A Quick Story

    My mother could not stand to be alone. She ended one relationship and started another on the very same day. Seeing herself objectively was not possible and highly improbable. She met a man (not my father), who, like her, could not be alone. They lived in misery tethered to one another for over forty years. The two died only months apart. They might well have loved one another, but it was not a healthy, happy love, theirs was a desperate, codependent love. I learned a great deal bearing witness to their lives; I learned that being alone could be joyous and joyful and that I never wanted to be tethered to anyone. This doesn’t mean I’m ruling out a life partnership.

    Upcoming Travel

    Next week, a return Nantes and Pornic, France, then Belgium a few weeks later; on to Marseilles in June, then Oban, Scotland in July, and finally starting in October, a long awaited trip to Dubai and Asia. South Africa for the first time in late January 2024.

    Being single allows me to plan and execute without having to check with anyone save my dog sitter.

    Disclaimer

    Sometimes I purposefully choose to revisit a topic without looking at what I’ve written in the past. Circumstances change, I change, the world changes.

    Check this out:

    If you live in or plan to visit the Algarve:

    Flying Solo Meet Up (Click for link)

    Please excuse any and all spelling and grammatical errors.

  • Five Years In

    My Politically Motivated Move to Portugal

    Views from my terrace or spots not far from home

    I have no doubt some of the other immigrants in my circle of friends and acquaintances, will read this blog and disagree with some of my thoughts and observations. Please keep in mind that this is my experience, not yours.

    The Best of Relocation

    The weather — I could not have asked for better weather than what I have experienced in the Algarve. We have four seasons, but they are mild compared to what I experienced in the States. Fall is cool, with some (not a lot) of rain and a bit of humidity; winter is a bit colder, however, never below 45◦ (F) after sunset and often above 60 degrees during the day — some rain, but never enough for me; spring is glorious, with an abundance of sunshine, a cool breeze and great sleeping weather; and lastly, summer is dry and hot, with temperatures often above 90◦. I don’t like July and early August; extreme temperatures make me uncomfortable. I also miss thunderstorms, we have very few of those here.

    The Southern Portugal way of life — there are certain things that Europeans do that make a lot of sense. The pace of living is slower and less motivated by packing as much into a 24 hour period as possible. Life is more leisurely and less stressful. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day and more time is spent eating it. The abundance of sunshine sends people outdoors. The Portuguese are pleasant, but private. Children are free to play in yards and parks; their laughter fills the air (I live a block away from a large nursery school).

    Food — the freshness of most foods is one of the first things about Portugal I noticed and embraced. Portuguese people practiced the “buy local” concept long before it became trendy in the States. The seafood is amazing, and although there is some farm raised fish, most of it is done in natural waters and well regulated for sustainability.

    Healthcare — Aging is not pretty, therefore, I’ve needed several specialists over the last five years. I have not been disappointed. My visa comes with a private healthcare mandate and I happily comply. I’m paying 1400 euros a year — a co-pay of 35 euros for a visit to a specialist, whom I can usually see anywhere from the same day to two weeks. I’m impressed that surgery has not been the go-to answer to any issue. If I did end up needing surgery, the out-of-pocket expense would be reasonable. Actually, I did need some skin cancer surgery which cost me 80 euros. Medicines are inexpensive and most are over-the-counter. The only pill I currently have to take is a prostate pill and it’s over-the-counter for 4 euros and change a month.

    Dental care is also excellent. I needed an implant a couple of years ago; all-in 1100 euros. I had an implant done in the U.S. for $4,000.

    Open Space — Simply put, most of southern Portugal is spread out and well planned. There is a bit of traffic during the summer months, but it is light in comparison with most of the U.S.

    English Speakers — Although I am struggling to learn Portuguese (it gets better everyday), I am grateful that so many people here speak English. I was at an auto body shop on Thursday and I typed my question into Google translator, showed it to the receptionist who then replied, “Would you like to speak in English?” We both laughed.

    I love my gym and for 250 euros a year I can visit the gym up to six days a week from 6:30 a.m. to whenever they close — I have no idea when they close because I always go early.

    The Challenges

    Smoking and Men’s Cologne — These two things make me crazy. There are way too many smokers here, often making outdoor dining unpleasant. Young men bathed in cheap cologne is a sad realty I will never understand. I want to yell and scream, but I learned that my opinion is not the popular opinion and so I suffer in silence. My friends who spoke would never light-up during a meal.

    The Roundabouts — I have two minds about roundabouts. I know that they make driving easier; however, many people have no idea how to drive in them, making them dangerous and scary. I have some thoughts on who the worst drivers are in Portugal, but I’m going to keep this bit to myself.

    Taxes — I received a take break for my first ten years in Portugal; an incentive by the Portuguese government for relocation. This being a social democracy with a very different tax structure, I do not know what my tax liability will be after 10 years. I know that I will not be taxed on the taxes I have already paid; however, some taxes are higher and I will be taxed on income the U.S. will not tax me on. I guess I’ll have to wait and see. To be honest, I’m happy to contribute to a system that takes care of its own citizens. I do not see people living on the streets in Faro and there are very few beggars.

    Little Humidity Most of the Year — I’ve been forcing myself to drink water my entire life. Summers here are hot and dry and unfortunately, I have allowed myself to become dehydrated several times. This will become more dangerous as I get older. I’m going to have to start setting a calendar reminder in order to hydrate. I’d rather be where humidity is low.

    What I Might Have Done Differently

    Rent first — I love my apartment, but only after a bit of anxiety and trial by fire. It would have been smarter for me to rent for a year and view many different properties. I recommend that you review your buildings financials prior to purchasing.

    Language — I started a Portuguese language course as soon as I knew that I was moving overseas, but I knew very little Portuguese when I moved here. Take a language course just as soon as you know you are moving to a non-English speaking country. Memrise is inexpensive and easy to follow.

    Transportation — I went without a car for five years in order to do my part in saving the planet. After experiencing numerous train strikes and unreliable bus schedules, I purchased a car. Life is easier with a car, even when you live in the center of a city. Travel outside of your city requires you to have a vehicle.

    Dollars to euros — if you don’t mind checking the value of the dollar frequently, there are times you can get a decent exchange rate. I haven’t been very good at making transfers when the dollar was stronger than it is right now (it’s still better than when I purchased my condo six years ago). Last year there were a couple of days when the dollar was actually stronger than the euro.

    What’s Next

    • I will continue to travel for as long as I can. Travel has been one of the best things about retirement. I am much closer to many of my favorite places and there are several competing budget airlines that help make it affordable.
    • I am struggling not to overplan and to allow life to be more organic. An almost impossible goal for me.
    • Trying not to pay too much attention to U.S. news. I’m finding the media’s portrayal of life in the States to be difficult to take in at times. I think I might have a healthier state of mind if I detach a bit more.
    • I am developing a “go with how you feel, when you feel it” attitude. If I’m itching for some travel, I book a trip. I believe that if I’m suddenly motivated to move to another country, I will just do it. Once you’ve done it successfully, you know in your heart that you can do it again.
    • Spending more time at home with Paco has been my best plan of action over the past few years. There is a 10 acre park across the street from my apartment that was just recently beautifully renovated. I’m enjoying spending time there with Paco and I know he’s enjoying it as well.
    • The friends I have made here make living in Portugal one of the greatest experiences of my life.

    This overview is not all inclusive. There are the feelings of others to be saved, challenges I have not met, and issues that are more my problem than anyone else’s.

    Future Travel

    I’m spending a few days in Ayamonte, Spain this week. It’s only an hour from Faro by car and has a lot to offer. After that a return Nantes and Pornic, France, then Belgium; on to Marseilles, then Oban, Scotland, and finally a 2023 long awaited trip to Dubai and Asia.

    Will I stay put in Faro or will I relocate once again?

    I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE . . . for now.

    Here I am celebrating my birthday in Liverpool last week. This is a Swedish drag queen who was on season one of RuPaul’s Swedish Drag Race. I’d share her name if I knew it. I could go to a drag show in Liverpool at 2:00 p.m.; if I wanted to go to a drag show in Faro, I’d have to be awake at 1:00 a.m. and that’s not happening.

    Once again, please forgive spelling and grammatical errors.

  • Wondrous Women

    A Gay Man’s Thoughts

    "A woman is the full circle. Within her is the power to create, nurture and transform." -- anonymous

    Forgive me as I make some assumptions. Everything I profess to know about women, I learned from either observing them or experiencing them. A mother, five sisters, aunts, female cousins, female teachers, female friends, a wife, and many female interactions.

    I love women. I love women so much, I married one. Women have always been my closest friends, my confidants, my greatest cheerleaders. I need and admire women. But I am happy to be a gay man and here’s one of the reasons why:

    It’s difficult for straight men to be friends with straight women for obvious reasons (see articles below). Don’t make me say it because I’ll get arguments from way too many people . . . of both sexes. If I don’t say it, I can deny it. I can be close friends with straight women and lesbian women. Many barriers to intimacy do not exist in our relationships. For this I am grateful. In many ways, I feel as if I get the best of everything as a gay man. Not my only perk by the way.

    Female Strength

    They say that women can handle a great deal more physical pain than men and I believe it. As I examine the women in my life, I notice a fearlessness as they move about. There are times it seems as if women can do anything, be it of the physical or mental nature. Of course there are exceptions, there are always exceptions.

    The other strength I am referring to is emotional strength; the ability to deal with a multitude of emotions simultaneously — you know, the weight of the world sort of thing. Women often have so many obligations, they cannot just walk away from a crisis or a problem.

    Female Tenderness

    When a woman touches you to help you feel better about something, their concern for you translates from the heart to the hands. There fingers have a soft touch that almost transmits something medicinal and healing. That’s why if I’m in hospital, I want a female nurse.

    Then there is the voice. A woman’s voice when soft, is soothing and reassuring. It must have something to do with millenniums of mothering. There is a reason we call her “Mother Nature.”

    The Scent of A Woman

    I think it might have been a film title, but I like it, so I’m using it. When women smell good, it can be intoxicating. I’m talking about a subtle, delicate floral scent. When done well, it almost seems as if the scent is following them around; almost worshiping the woman and wanting to surround her. I love men, but this is something a man, gay or straight, cannot pull off.

    Beauty

    I was recently looking away from friends at a festival. Someone at the table called my name, but I was distracted. One of my friends said, “He must see a hot guy.” The truth is, it was a beautiful woman who had captured my gaze. When a woman has it right: the hair, the clothes, the walk, the look; she will stop traffic — men don’t stop traffic. Beauty is feminine and to be admired.

    Sondheim’s (a gay composer) Pretty Women lyrics (partial):

    ‘Tis your delight sir catching fire
    From one man to the next!

    ‘Tis true sir love can still inspire
    The blood to pound the heartly pyre!
    What more?

    What more?

    Can man require

    Than love sir!

    More than love sir!

    What sir?

    Women!

    Ah yes women . . .

    Pretty women . . .

    Love

    I’ve been loved by women all of my life and I’m certain that the love I have been lucky enough to have received, accounts for much of my happiness. I’m not speaking of the love that takes place between the sheets, although I have experienced that love as well. I speak of deep, empathetic, compassionate, sweet and tender love, that engulfs you and makes you feel as if you are the only creature that matters. This love is glorious. This love is intimate. I understand why so many of us desire this kind of love and spend a lifetime seeking it.

    “Knowing how to touch her without touching her, really touches her.” — anonymous

    All of you!

    In Conclusion

    I couldn’t cover all of my thoughts and feelings about women in one blog. There have been five women who have made a significant impact on my life: two were teachers during my impressionable years, one was a friend who has burned one too many bridges (yes women can destroy relationships too), one is still a friend and continues to teach and inspire me, and lastly Ruth Gruber, whom I knew when I lived in New York City. Ruth helped Holocaust survivors leave Italy. She left an impression on me that will last a lifetime. Most of the women who have had an impact on my life will remain nameless for fear of leaving anyone out.

    I’ve heard puzzled and sadly confused straight men say this about gay men, “Women are so incredibly sexy and beautiful, why would you ever choose to be with a man?” What these men do not understand, is that it isn’t a choice.

    A gay friend said to me a number of years ago: “You know what your problem is Chris, you spend too much time with lesbians.” What the fuck? Don’t listen to nonsense and be yourself.

    I love women, gay, straight, or otherwise and fortunately for me, they love me too.

    Some Resources I Found Post Writing (Click on Title for article)

    Why Do Gay Men and Straight Women Make Such Great Friends

    Women Warm Up Faster to Gay Men Than Straight Guys

    Women’s trust in gay men: An experimental study

    Typos and grammatical errors will occur now and then; my proofreader is gone forever (ha). Please let me know if you see anything obvious.