Papagni Pages

Tag: life

  • Closure in Unexpected Places: A Martini Glass Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    State-of Mind

    The story told here is non-fiction.

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

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

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

    Kate Winslet

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

  • Luck or Earned Success

    People have called me a lucky bastard my entire life. If I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure how to take it. My friend Mark was told he couldn’t board a Cessna to the Maldives last year because the plane had a weight limit and they had met the limit. The plane went down on route and everyone was killed; Mark is lucky. I ask people why they think I’m lucky and they tell me it’s because everything comes to me so easily.

    I beg to differ. First and foremost, I was born black. I was born blacker than any other black person within 1000 miles of my town. Second, I was born poor. I’m talkin’ about the kind of poor you never shake; like third world poor. And lastly, I was a foster child. Do you still think I’m lucky? Do you think the shade of black you are doesn’t matter?

    Yes, maybe I was lucky that I was born in the good old U.S. of A.; a country where your skin color only matters if you need a job, or you want to live anywhere, or you want to marry anyone. Needless to say I had my struggles growing up. I want to tell you about all of my foster homes, but a few stand out.

    The Mississippi department of Social Services decided that my single mother was unfit to raise me. She worked at McDonald’s and left me home alone a lot. I guess our neighbors heard me crying and reported my mother to the police. I was only two years old when I went into my first foster home so there’s not much I can tell you about it. Subsequent foster parents told me that I was one of 12 fostered children in that home — Social Services had to lock those people up because they were trafficking the kids. Fortunately, I was too young to even be groomed.

    When I was five years old I ended up with this older couple that took me to New Jersey. They were nice people, but they were too old to take care of me and I ended up with people who were younger, but they only took kids for the money. Social Services figured out their scheme and shipped me back to Mississippi. My dark skin made it difficult to find parents for me.

    When I was 12 years old I was brought to a nice house Outside of Atlanta, Georgia. I could tell these people had money because they had five bedrooms in their house, wood floors, and a couple of nice cars. It was a Caucasian family of four — their two children were not adopted. I liked this family and this house a lot. I realized the only way they’d ever adopt me, was if I behaved well and showed them I was worth having around. They were kind people from the start, not allowing me to do more chores than their own children. There were rules, but they were fair and easy enough to follow. I was actually happy for the first time in my life. But, it wasn’t all good and easy.

    People stared wherever we went. Bonnie and Everett made it clear that Anne and Mark were their parents and I was a social experiment. I was meant to make them feel better about their abundant lives. I was fully aware of my role and I was determined to play the part well.

    The first thing I did was ask Anne and Mark if they would call me Scott and sign me up to junior high school as Scott. They said they’d do it with no questions asked. I mimicked Everett’s every move so that I wouldn’t stand out; blending in was the only way to survive. When Anne took me clothes shopping, I picked out clothes Everette would wear. Lastly, I pretended to enjoy every dish prepared for the family. No signs of the food I was familiar with and I certainly wasn’t going to ask for it.

    What I did ask for was writing utensils and notebooks. Anne was happy to purchase them for me. I was quiet, studious, and I stayed out of trouble — never mentioning my past and keeping my eyes on the future.

    About a year after I joined the family, Anne and Mark told me that I should dress for a nice restaurant because we were all going to dinner in the evening. It seemed like an ordinary family get together, therefore, I didn’t anticipate what was to take place that night.

    We were all seated and two bottles of bubbles arrived, one had alcohol and the other didn’t. Glasses were filled and the waitstaff left the table. Mark asked us all to raise our glasses. I had no idea what was going on, having never seen this sort of ritual.

    “This is to officially welcome Scott into the family. That is of course if Scott wants to be a part of this crazy crew. Do you Scott?”

    I was thrown off-guard; shocked really.

    “Scott, what do you say?”

    “Umm, ummm, yes, I would like that.”

    “Well, Scott says yes, after some surprising hesitation, he agrees.”

    Anne gets up from her seat at the table and runs over to hug and kiss me. Bonnie and Everett were coaxed by Mark to join her. This is what I’d always wanted, why wasn’t I thrilled? It didn’t take long to find out why my intuition was right.

    That was one wild rollercoaster of a year. My last name was changed to Stanton and my new parents had to figure out how to hide their regret. Some friends stopped calling, others made excuses. Invitations to parties and dinners became less frequent. My newly dubbed siblings were suddenly distant.

    For me it was an old, familiar story. I knew exactly why the honeymoon was over; I was once again alone; fighting for my right to exist. Anne and Mark tried. They said nice things, bought me nice clothes, they talked to me about piano lessons, soccer camp, and a racing bike. I could tell they wanted this arrangement to work, but I was cautious and dubious. I stayed in the shadows. I kept my head in the books. I focused on the prize.

    By the time I started Harvard, my parents had adjusted to the hate and Bonnie and Everett barely tolerated me. I did everything I could to stay out of everybody’s way. I got a full scholarship based on my SAT scores and academic record. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) was not a factor, but I’m certain everyone assumed that DEI got me in. So once again, I had to work harder than anyone else to prove myself worthy.

    I joined every club, competed in athletic programs, and I considered the things in life that were attainable. During my quiet moments I often thought about my birth mom: why did she give me up? Was she alive? Where did she live? I’m not sure why, but my biological father didn’t enter my thoughts; perhaps I was fed too much propaganda about black fathers.

    I was sitting in Harvard’s main dining hall one day and a beautiful woman sat across from me. She said hi and asked me if I was enjoying Art History. I realized she must have been in the same class, but there were over a hundred students in that class and I had long ago taught myself not to look around or get distracted. She introduced herself as Claire.

    “Nice to meet you Claire, I’m Scott.”

    Claire noticed that I was socially awkward, but it didn’t stop her from talking. I listened, asked a couple of questions, and hoped she’d move on. Claire eventually stood up.

    “Scott, it was nice meeting you, I’ll see you in class.”

    I nodded and went back to finishing my sandwich.

    For the next few weeks, Claire sat next to me in class. She was friendly, but not pushy; I remained somewhat distant. I was attracted to her, but the number of red flags made me very cautious. Claire was white, ambitious, outspoken, and attractive. Any sort of closeness was way too risky. I concentrated on Art History.

    I noticed Claire’s absence for the next few lectures. At the start of her third absence, our professor asked if anyone had seen or heard from Claire. We all looked at one another and then I noticed everyone looking at me. Our professor asked me to stay after class; he once again asked if I’d see her. He told me that she had been reported missing a few days prior. I told him that I had not had any contact with her since the last lecture she’d attended.

    That night the police came to my dorm room. They asked me if I would go with them to the Cambridge police station. They escorted me out of the dorm while several of my fellow students watched. At the station, they informed me that several students had reported seeing Claire and I together. I shared how we were acquainted, however, that did not seem to dissuade them. The media got hold of the story and I was vilified.

    The police couldn’t actually charge me with a crime being that at that point Claire was only reported missing. Still, my photograph was all over social media and I was guilty in the eyes of a jury of my peers. In fact, the University was considering suspending me, I assume in order to show that they were being proactive about Claire’s case.

    My birth mother read about the adoption story and figured out that I was her son. My mother was in a much better place, often wondering about me throughout the years. She did a bit of research and found me at Harvard. When I received her message, I was elated. I had long ago given up on any hope of finding her. My adoptive parents claimed that the records of my birth mother and birthplace were sealed.

    We met at a coffee shop on campus the next morning. Her name is Cassandra. She’s smart and beautiful. She expressed no regret about her youth, having had a very difficult upbringing and very little opportunity early on in her life. She is currently an advocate for single mothers in Mississippi. Cassandra believed me when I told her I had nothing to do with Claire’s disappearance.

    A few days later, Claire returned to campus. She had apparently met a guy a couple of weeks prior. They decided to take his boat out to sea; she failed to tell anyone where she was going. Once she did think about it, she was already halfway to the Caribbean with no cell service. When she arrived in Jamaica, she discovered family, friends, and the authorities were looking for her. Claire immediately flew back to New Haven and apologized.

    What I found disturbing was that no one contacted me to apologize. All that I had known and worked for was in jeopardy at that time. I had no support from anyone except for my birth mother. I truly believe my parents and siblings thought that I was somehow involved with Claire’s disappearance.

    Years later Claire did manage to find me and apologize. She had some lame excuse about being caught up in her homecoming and not knowing I was questioned by the police. For a time I had considered suing Harvard and the New Haven police department, however, Cassandra advised me to move on. She said that I should channel my anger into graduating and finding the right professional position.

    Today I am a U.S. Congressman for the state of Georgia. My parents have often reached out to me, but I am guarded. Turning my back on them would come to no good. My brother and sister have their own lives; they have never shown remorse or interest and that’s fine with me.

    Cassandra and I visit often. I credit her with being elected to Congress. She is often by my side for official ceremonies. I consider her opinions and advice in everything I do. Someday soon, I hope to introduce her to my future wife.

    As a Congressmen I have fought for DEI; not because I am a product of its practice, but because I know and believe that the world is a cruel place for anyone who is different. Creating ways to ensure some resemblance of equality and fairness, is my life’s work.

    By the way, please call me by my given name, Jamal Jackson.

    State-of Mind

    You might be thinking, “How can he write in the first person, as a black American male?” Truth is, I couldn’t possibly know what it’s like to be a black man in America. It’s all conjecture and creative writing, but isn’t that usually the case? Men writing female characters and vice versa. A straight writer writing gay characters; you get the picture. I’m angry about the current politicizing of DEI in the U.S.; politicians and citizens wishing to further divide the country along racial and ideological lines.

    Being a minority in the U.S. is at a huge disadvantage on many levels. White men hold the power and they are afraid of losing it and they will do everything they can to keep it. Of course there are good white men and of course there are people of color who should never have been put in positions they weren’t skilled for; however, the numbers are disproportionate. Sadly, it has been this way since our forefathers won the revolution and wrote the constitution — all men are not created equal and they never have been. DEI is an woke attempt to level the playing field. As a woke white male, I support protecting the rights of individuals; further, I support any opportunity to ensure diversity, equity and inclusion in all aspects of life.

    I’ve shared this before and I still believe it to be true. I applied for a position over thirty years ago, when affirmative action was the law in federally funded institutions. I lost out to a woman of color. At the time I was angry. I thought myself the better candidate. I soon after realized that I was not the best choice and that the administration at the university had done the right thing for many reasons. White men have had the advantage in the U.S. for centuries, why not ensure that everyone is given an equal opportunity to succeed.

    I’m enjoying my stable life in Portugal; my home, Paco, my friends, and Portuguese/EU Politics (flawed, but progressive and working toward making life better for its residents). Dwelling on the rise of authoritarian rule in the U.S. is difficult, tragic and more than I choose to handle. Choose your platform and fight for what you believe in.

    “One day our descendants will think it incredible that we paid so much attention to things like the amount of melanin in our skin or the shape of our eyes or our gender instead of the unique identities of each of us as complex human beings.— Franklin Thomas

  • When Obsession Turns Toxic: Pippin Knows Best

    When Obsession Turns Toxic: Pippin Knows Best

    It started with an occasional glance over his shoulder. A crazy feeling, an odd sensation that someone was watching. Each time Peter would dismiss this notion, knowing that being paranoid is neither reasonable nor founded in truth. After all, he was a nobody, a non-entity.

    Two weeks went by and his cell phone rang at 3:00 a.m. Peter looked down at his phone and saw that it was an unknown caller; he ignored it. It happened again the next night and the next. He’d tried blocking the number, the same ring at the same hour, the caller persisted. It got Peter thinking about several people he might have pissed off over the years; there have been a few. There was that car he sold to this guy on Facebook Marketplace. It was a Dodge Dart that looked pretty good on the outside, but had been a lemon from the start — let it be someone else’s lemon he thought. The buyer’s name was Steve; Steve wasn’t very happy. Then there was this woman Sharon he’d met on Tinder. Sharon was a bit too needy and Peter tended to be emotionally unavailable. Her free flowing tears became a problem and he forgot to leave a note. Then there was this cousin who couldn’t handle who Peter voted for in the most recent election. He told Peter that blood was everything and Peter told him to fuck off and search for his soul, being certain he’d lost it some time ago.

    The ‘do not disturb button’ on Peter’s phone did not deter the caller. He became incredulous; refusing to consider how far this person would go. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he should pick up the phone the next time. Later that evening, as predicted, Peter’s mobile phone rang and he answered, “Who is this?”

    Beth said, “No need to be rude Peter.”

    “It’s 3:00 a.m. and I’m being rude? What the fuck do you want Beth?”

    “Just to say hello, it’s been a long time.”

    Peter cut off the call and turned off his phone. He sat and mulled over what he had done to Beth to drive her to this point. She’d stalked him, annoyed him with middle of the night calls, what else had she done that he was unaware of? Peter couldn’t recall how their relationship had ended. He recalled meeting Beth in Art History at Uni. She was attractive, opinionated, and approachable. They’d gone out for a coffee after a lecture on Caravaggio. Beth found him to be provocative and progressive and Peter believed him to be subversive and propped-up by the far left of his day. They’d had a heated conversation that got him all worked-up and horny; he had to have her.

    Peter hadn’t given her much thought lately, but come to think of it, Beth did seem a bit off; maybe that’s why he had run away so fast. There were moments he’d checked out, but to be fair, there was that intense passion; hard to resist and Beth knew it. When he did finally leave her, she wasn’t having it. They had a bit of a public screaming match and she finally got the message. Peter had been through similar break-ups before, so he shrugged it off. He knew he could be an asshole, but he was young and cocky.

    A week after he’d hung up on Beth, there was an incident that had him confused. He was sitting at his desk at work and a DM popped up on his Mac. It was from a woman he had dated over five years ago; her name was Lisa. Lisa insisted they meet as soon as possible. Peter was half hoping she was interested in seeing him again and half hoping it was something completely unrelated to their romantic involvement. He had a drink with Lisa the following night. She told him that she’d been contacted by the FBI. She had agreed to talk to an agent who questioned her about Peter and their history. At the end of a 15 minute phone interview, the agent told her that Peter was being investigated for treason. Lisa said that since she never had a problem with Peter and because she was certain he wasn’t capable of treason, she´d decided to tell him. Peter was upset about what Lisa shared, but he considered it ridiculous and probably a mistake. They both agreed that he was a schmuck, however, not cut out for crimes against his country.

    Then it happened again a few days later with Lauren, a girl he’d dated briefly in college. Lauren said the conversation with the FBI agent was brief, but concerning. It had gotten to the point where Peter thought he should contact the FBI to find out more about what they were investigating — thinking cooperation would help his case.

    The D.C. FBI office had no record of these phone calls. They told him that this sort of thing happened all the time; scorned lovers and angry neighbors. Peter put two and two together and decided to speak to Beth. He didn’t think calling her would be very effective, so he went down to the bar in the Village where they’d met.

    Sure enough, there she was having a drink at the bar. Peter casually walked over to say hello. Beth was unapproachable, in fact she behaved as if she’d never met him. He had never experienced anything like it before. He quickly realized she was playing games with him and he wasn’t interested in taking part. He told her to stay away from him.

    “If you continue to harass me Beth, I’ll involve the police.”

    Beth looked straight into his eyes, “I’ve never even met you, let alone harass you.”

    Peter just walked away. Things were quiet for a few days, leading Peter to believe his threat worked. That Saturday, he decided to visit his mom at her home in Queens. He usually just showed up and let himself in. As he entered the house, he heard voices in his mother’s living room. Peter walked in and there was Beth just chatting with his mom.

    “What the fuck are you doing here?”

    Beth didn’t flinch, “I came to see your mom, is that not allowed?”

    “Mom, can you come to the kitchen right now please.”

    Peter’s mom followed him to the kitchen. She told him that Beth had shown up at the door saying she just happened to be in the neighborhood. Beth had only been at the house ten minutes before he arrived. When they walked back into the living room, Beth was gone. Peter told his mom what had been happening and insisted that she not let Beth in the next time she showed up.

    Peter was out-of-his-mind with anger, having no idea how to handle the situation. After some thought he remembered that Beth had a small Lhasa Apso. He’d never been to Beth’s apartment, but he followed her home from the bar one night and found out where she lived. He watched her walk the dog from a few houses over. Beth seemed annoyed, practically dragging the dog down the sidewalk. Peter knew what to do and he had to do it sooner than later.

    A friend once showed him how to pick-a-lock; a skill he knew would one day come in handy. Peter wore a hoodie and sunglasses and looked down, in case she had a camera at the door. Getting in was pretty easy. Peter thought Beth had said her dog’s name was Pippin, so Peter called out his name. Pippin came over to him wagging his tail — he scooped him up and carried him to his car. The neighborhood was quiet. Peter drove off with Pippin’s head out the window, enjoying the breeze. He figured he’d have to keep the whole affair on the downlow; Beth knew where he lived. Peter fortunately had a roof garden, making it easy enough to stay away from the streets. He was certain that two weeks of keeping Pippin would shake Beth up a bit.

    Peter didn’t feel great about what he’d done, but clearly this woman needed to be taught a lesson. Pippin was a delight to have around the house. He was well-trained and a great companion, but after a week Peter’s guilt was too much to bear. He had searched social media to see if Beth had put out word that Pippin was missing, but he saw nothing. Still, he thought it best to return him to Beth. When he brought him back to her neighborhood, he didn’t see any street signs asking for help finding Pippin. It didn’t seem like Beth cared that he was gone.

    Peter quietly returned Pippin to Beth’s house. The little guy was whimpering and giving him the saddest face he’d ever seen. It hurt Peter to leave him. The following morning Peter was leaving his building and there Pippin was sitting with his doorman Sal. Sal asked me if Pippin was his dog because he’d seen him carrying him out the day before. He said that he was and Peter took him upstairs to his apartment. He unblocked Beth’s phone number and texted her that he had Pippin and that she should come for him. An hour letter he received a text from her:

    “Hey Peter, I know you took Pippin, but he seems to prefer you to me and to be frank, I don’t want him anymore anyway. So keep the little runt. I’ll stop bothering you, but you should know the gonorrhea you left me with was pretty shitty. I hope I never see you again . . . ever!”

    Ironically, Peter was fairly positive she didn’t get the gonorrhea from him, seeing that he’d never had gonorrhea. He didn’t return Beth’s text or Pippin. Pippin turned out to be a great companion and Beth became a distant memory.

    Side Note: My medical doctor ex read my story and wrote to tell me that he loved it, but that I should know that one could be a carrier of gonorrhea; however, not be aware of it. So then, Peter could have left Beth with that unwanted present. I thought it added a nice little twist and now I know all I needed to know about gonorrhea.

    State-of-Mind

    “I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” G.K. Chesterton

    It’s been a while and I’m tempted to share why that is, but I’m thinking it’s boring and tedious and it might be best to just leave it behind.

    I recently had the great pleasure of hosting two new friends who live in my neighborhood. Both women went to the high school across the street from my apartment. It was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I’ve shared for a long time. A reminder of the joy of getting to know new people, the pride in sharing your nest, and the warmth felt when realizing you are in the exact place where you should be. It’s quite an amazing feeling and I am grateful for recognizing it.

    There has been a major shift in my life and my priorities. This new direction will inform me of my choices. I have come to realize I’ve been spending way too much precious time concerning myself with matters I cannot control. I have never been one to spend a great deal of time on regrets, but I also do not spend enough time on gratitude. My focus for now is taking stock of all that is good and satisfying and real in my life. After all, what else matters?

    “Enough is a feast.” Buddhist proverb

    Sometimes people write and tell me that I should either finish a story or expand on one; that’s fair. I will if the spirit moves me, until then, they will remain as they are.

    Thank you for reading and have a great summer.

  • Coping with Politics: Finding Peace Amid Chaos

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

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

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

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

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

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

    What we have is worth fighting for

    Oh How these words spoke to me

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

    T.S. Elliot

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

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

  • Stephen’s Journey

    Stephen watched and listened to the news: an endless loop of burning neighborhoods, tsunami warnings, earthquake devastation, and political unrest. Never before had his thoughts mimicked what was happening outside, so precisely. Chaos and confusion.

    What had Stephen learned from his Zen Master? In the midst of the insanity, there is peace. That elusive peace, difficult to find in the past, now seemed far, far away. A voice deep within his unconscious mind told him that giving up meant abandoning humanity and himself. Stephen was a fighter, he fought for the right to be his authentic self, he fought for community justice, he fought for the underserved, and he fought for an ideal he knew in his heart was unattainable.

    After all, it wasn’t his war and the drought did not directly affect him. It wasn’t his house or even his cousin’s house. It wasn’t his sister’s body they were trying to manage and manipulate. It wasn’t his religion being used to brainwash and control. It wouldn’t be his home in twenty years or his oceanfront Airbnb in thirty years. Wouldn’t they find a cure for cancer soon? Weren’t pills meant to mask the pain and wouldn’t technology save the planet?

    The answers to the questions he grappled with were way too obvious to overlook. He knew in his heart that there truly was only one force that would determine the course of time; that force is and has always been Mother Nature. Was she pissed off? No, Stephen knew she wasn’t angry. Her only focus is correction. The balance the universe seeks to maintain is non-negotiable; solutions imply that there is a problem to be solved — there is no problem, there is only inevitability. What led Stephen to these complex thoughts?

    When Stephen was 50 years old he suffered a massive heart attack which nearly ended his life. He had always questioned his existence, but this near death experience forced him to take inventory of his life and its meaning. Was he working in the right field and in the right place? Were his friends supportive? Was he communicating with his life partner effectively and did this person do everything possible to lift him up? Was he the partner he thought he could and should be? And so many other questions which he hoped he could find answers to. Not only answers, but a positive path forward as well. If he was going to live, he wanted to live with purpose and fulfillment.

    Stephen contemplated the future of the world, his inner and outer circle, his place. Although it is a lifelong process, he found himself slightly more accepting of the reality of his limitations and grateful for the gifts the universe provides. And his conclusions?

    AI generated

    In his quest to find answers and inner peace, few things were clear to him. First and foremost, his own being was but a minuscule part of the whole — no more or less than any other being, next: however small, each eventually amounted to the totality, and therefore, mattered equally. Lastly, Stephen had the ability to determine his contribution. Would he change the course of nature? The answer was a resounding, no, but he could make an impact on his immediate surroundings. He could make the older woman who lived next door’s day a little easier, he could share a story with his niece that would help her to understand her mother, he could model kindness and consideration. What he learned from experience and feedback, is that all of these things collectively would make a difference in the now. Although the future would be whatever it was meant to be, Stephen could embrace the present and enjoy the sun and a delicious burger.

    Stephen is a fictional Everyman character. We are all seeking answers and punting as time quickly passes. Some of us fill in the blanks with nonsense, some of us see the answers, but refuse to acknowledge them, some of us do not have the capacity to decipher fact from fiction, a few of us realize the search is part of the journey, and some of us want to change facts to suit our own needs. Nature is equipped to deal with an unstable and defensive environment, giving us one less thing to concern ourselves with — all that is wrong with our vessel will eventually be made right.

    I know this story was somewhat hokey, but this is where my head is these days; needing to find meaning in the madness. Today, I will enjoy a burger. Looking forward to some time away on the west coast of France in a couple of weeks. But first, a visit from a good friend living in the U.S.

    “It is change, continuing change, inevitable change, that is the dominant factor in society today. No sensible decision can be made any longer without taking into account not only the world as it is, but the world as it will be.”

    Isaac Asimov

  • A World Where a Head of Hair No Longer Matters

    I woke up one morning a few years ago running my fingers through what I thought was a thick head of hair. As reality hit, so did the realization that I had been dreaming and I was in fact bald. I considered those few moments of joy when I thought I had a full head of hair; better than winning the lottery. My name is Tom and I am follicly challenged. It’s an interesting world to navigate when everyone around you seems to have more hair than they need.

    Lately, I have been imagining a reality where a head of hair doesn’t matter. Why not, we already live in a world where intelligence doesn’t matter, good taste doesn’t matter, and integrity doesn’t matter. So what does this utopia look like:

    For one, we as humans have come to accept our differences. Blue eyes and brown eyes are seen as equally magnificent features. Height, weight, skin color; none of these are considered superior attributes. The old are respected for their wisdom and longevity; the young are celebrated for their energy and ideas for the future. We are all magnificent.

    Let’s get to the root of all evil, the almighty legal tender. We have to have money, but having more than you need is obscene and unnecessary. In this new world, people have an opportunity to do well and make just enough money to have the things they desire. Limits are set based on access and excess. It wouldn’t be fair to take more than you need, because if you are permitted to do so, there won’t be anything left for others. In this world, that doesn’t fly. The earth’s resources are not infinite; therefore, limits are applied and compliance is a given.

    There are infinite freedoms that allow for individuality and choice. People are free to choose how they identify and how they dress; if indeed they choose to dress. There is no such thing as normal, conventional, or standard. Too much, outlandish, excess, greed, over-the-top, are words and phrases that are never spoken.

    Vegetables are all grown organically and widely appreciated. A plant-based diet is celebrated and enjoyed. Waste is used to fuel heating, operate vehicles, and power homes. People are acutely aware of how much they take, how much they discard, and how much they contribute.

    Political leaders volunteer for their positions and do not benefit from serving. The strengths and talents of all individuals are made public in order to serve the greater good. As humans age, they are encouraged to rest and share their wisdom; storytelling is the way that young people are taught history. We finally learn from our past.

    Social media died decades ago, along with plastic surgery, luxury brands, mansions, estates, and jet planes. Travel is done on foot, bicycle, train or people movers. All individuals are expected to consider the least invasive form of transportation when going from A to B. The internet is used for research and as a tool for the betterment of society.

    There are no longer borders. Countries have held onto their culture, but none are seen as superior to the other. Leadership exists for all humans across the board. Healthcare is a global right and so is food and shelter. Animals are only caged if they pose a danger to others, otherwise they are permitted to roam free; after all we are all inhabitants of a planet none of us own.

    Holidays are internationally recognized and celebrated. The energy of the entire world celebrating together is explosive. Religion is rightfully of historical importance; however, it has long been debunked and is no longer practiced. In its place, the universe and its wonders provides for spiritual empowerment and what a universe it is.

    Peace is revered, cherished, and a way of life. War, unrest, starvation, are all words long forgotten. All sexes are seen as equal. Death is an accepted eventuality; as with birth, it is celebrated, we live as long as we are meant to live. Illness is rare, however, when it occurs, an individual is cared for and pain is minimized. Addiction, alcoholism, and life threatening diseases and cancers, have all been eradicated.

    You’re wondering what people do for fun? Fair question. Human beings find immense pleasure and happiness in witnessing the joy of others. We see life as a gift. Being with one another and supporting each other, preserves that gift. The sexual experience is never perverse, never imposed upon another without consent, and never taken for granted. Fun is derived from a simple life, enjoying nature and the wonders of the universe.

    ____________________________________________

    My name is Tom and this is a world I will never live in. Escapism provides momentary relief.

    Just My Opinion

    I’m an avid TikToker. I love the level of creativity you find in this application, I love the length of the videos, I love the people I’ve been introduced to, and I love that so many have been able to monetize their experience. I seldom post content, but I like the freedom I have to choose if and when and how I contribute. The U.S. government has decided to ban TikTok due to security reasons. If this Chinese company is not soon sold to an American, U.S. individuals will no longer have access to the platform. There are many different theories about why some lawmakers would like to see TikTok go away. It seems to me that there are many Chinese (and other foreign agents) operating in the U.S. If all of these businesses were banned it would be devastating for the U.S. economy and all Americans. Personally, I believe this is government overreach and a bridge too far. I’m happy in this case to be living in Portugal where the platform is in no danger of being banned.

    Please forgive all grammatical and typographical errors. I hate proofreading.

  • Blind Not Invisible

    I will always see the world through a child’s eyes. When I was eight years old, I lost my eyesight. I woke up one morning and I couldn’t see past my own hand. I told my mother what was happening, but she shrugged it off. My six brothers and sisters were fighting for her attention while she attempted to get us all ready for school. My father was still in bed; I would never have told him anyway. Clueless when it comes to raising children, I love my father nonetheless.

    My eyesight went from bad to worse within hours, until everything went dark by mid-afternoon. By then I was sitting in the classroom. My teacher noticed that I was starting to panic and called me out into the hallway. I stood up, stumbled and didn’t make it past my desk. I explained my situation as my eyes welled up with fearful tears. My teacher called the school nurse who quickly came to get me.

    My mother left her job to come down to the school. Everyone was extremely concerned; more troubled by how quickly I’d lost my sight, then anything else. I believe by the end of that week I had seen four specialists and not one of them knew what was happening to me.

    Time passed slowly. My siblings helped me get from A to B; my mother did everything else. I pretty much knew my way around the house and I could feel my way to our backyard. Our dog Beau seemed to understand my situation better than anyone else. He stayed by my side as I became more and more familiar with the life of a non-seeing person. Everything I pictured was as I remembered it when I could see. Initially everyone treated me like I was very sick and would never get better. As time went by, our household returned to my pre-blind state. I was not diagnosed until three months after I lost my sight.

    My parents were told I had a very rare virus which had attacked my cornea and caused my blindness. No cure, no hope. I was told that I would have to adapt and so I did. I found that my imagination provided far more color than what I recalled; I was grateful for a fairly decent memory of objects and contrast. I kept my thoughts about my new world to myself, I’m selfish that way.

    What I keenly realized is how it was almost as if I wore a cloak that made me invisible. I was in the room, but people behaved as if I wasn’t there. I wasn’t asked my opinion or made to feel seen; I was treated almost like a family pet.

    As I got older and became more independent, I felt myself developing what I thought were super powers. I heard everything clearly; I could smell sincerity; and I could feel the presence of others before they uttered a sound. I silently wondered if anyone sensed my hyper awareness. Clearly most people around me were self-absorbed and clueless; I was certain I could use that to my advantage.

    I had always been intensely introverted, that didn’t change. What I couldn’t see with my eyes, I could visualize with my mind. I saw the true character of people all around me. One October Sunday, a cousin from Croatia came to visit the family. He had been talking to my parents when I entered the living room. I picked up on a dark aura and many secrets. I heard quiet whispers and sounds people didn’t even realize they were making. When Sal left, my parents expressed their delight; clearly hoping to spend more time with him. The following Saturday we were all out for a day in the country and the house was broken into. I could feel and smell Sal’s aura everywhere, like manure on an open field. I told my parents what I’d experienced and they quickly dismissed any notion that Sal may have broken-in. Months later Sal was arrested for a string of burglaries and our things were discovered in his garage. My parents dismissed my intuition as coincidence.

    Not long after, I was in a restaurant eating at a table not far from what I believe were two gentlemen. One of the two was describing a hit on the restaurant owner. They spoke to one another as if I was not sitting nearby. I got up from the table to call the police. I later learned that the two men were arrested for having murdered several individuals in the Washington area.

    I learned that this sensory awareness could assist investigators in solving crimes. I decided to study Forensic Science at The Seattle Institute for the Blind. It was there that my talents were finally recognized. Upon graduating, I accepted a position with the FBI. I am one of just three individuals in the country assisting in solving forensic crime. Being blind enables me to quietly navigate my environment, rarely being noticed or questioned. Without realizing it, most people think that because I cannot see, I cannot make sense of the world I inhabit. I prove them wrong daily.

    I often use Henry, my seeing eye dog, to confirm my suspicions. Again, Henry is only viewed as my guide dog; very few are aware of his talent for sniffing out the truth. I would never go so far as to say I enjoy being blind; however, the world I see is vibrant; my imagination, a sensory buffet.

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    An old shoulder injury had been making it difficult to carry out day-to-day tasks, so I finally bit-the-bullet and had replacement surgery. Typing with one hand is difficult, but my limitations won’t last long. Physical therapy begins next week and I’ll be back to my old self before you know it.

    Taking a quick trip to Bristol, England in a few weeks. I’ll be wearing my very uncomfortable sling and carrying a light overnight bag. I’m going stir crazy as I convalesce. I know it will do me good mentally and physically. Watching my upper body quickly atrophy is no fun. Time and patience Christopher.

    Like so many, I’m digesting less news these days. My bandwidth for divisive politics has decreased; feeling defeated and hopeless. I do believe people will eventually come to know the error of their ways, but realistically, we are years away from any real progress. The new U.S. administration and a couple of supreme court appointments, will set us back decades and reinforce hate, bias, and religious extremism.

    My goal is to find a place of acceptance and tolerance. Becoming an angry, hateful, bitter old man is not in the cards. I want to remain hopeful and continue to thrive in this new reality.

  • We Are All Suspect

    Five years ago I met a woman who would cause me to question everything in my life. It was at a time when I wasn’t sure I would ever want a partner. The insanity began after I reluctantly attended a friend’s dinner party. She and I were seated next to each other. She was introduced as Doris, but she insisted I call her Dory. I asked her where Dory came from and she said she’d tell me after we got to know one another. I told her that my name was Tom and that she could call me Tom.

    She said, “Taking life a bit too seriously, are we?”

    I resisted her charms that night, turning to the person on my other side thinking that might be enough of a hint to keep her quiet, but alas, it didn’t work. I recall there were a couple of times when she either turned my head toward her or raised her voice to get my attention. I wasn’t sure if I was being set up. Dory was not exactly my type. First of all, she was aggressive. I like quiet, passive women. Second, she was a vegan; I mean, she couldn’t even look at meat. Lastly, she was way too cheerful. Morose and sullen were the way I preferred the women in my life.

    Dory and I spent a solid two hours getting to know one another. If I’m going to be honest, I learned more than I needed to know. For example, she told me that her husband died on a hike in Colorado. Apparently, he stumbled and went over the edge of a cliff and plunged to his death. I couldn’t help but question her reasoning behind telling me this.

    “Where were you?” I asked.

    “Oh I was there,” she said, ” about six feet away.”

    I was somewhat conflicted that evening; I wanted to know more about what made Dory tick, but I was fearful about what I might learn. I’m still not sure why I was so turned on. I only know that I left the dinner party wanting to see Dory again.

    On our third date, I found out why Doris was called Dory. Apparently many of her friends thought that she behaved like the Dory in the Nemo film and they gave her that nickname. Fortunately or unfortunately for her, it stuck. I think she might have thought I’d consider her a dizzy cartoonish character, if she’d shared this with me the night we met.

    Dory had terrible mood swings. Sometimes she’d cancel a date, claiming that her social media fans needed her. I don’t spend a lot of time on social media and I didn’t want to start then. One time we were out on a date at a very high end restaurant. She kept insisting that because of her TikTok presence, she’d be judged on our choice. She told me that she liked that I wasn’t on social media, because it made her feel that I wanted to be with her for her personality, not for her fame.

    One time when we were in bed she asked me if I minded that many men lusted after her. I asked her why she thought that was the case. She told me that men wrote to her all the time; they asked her to visit them or even marry them. I mostly ignored these comments because the sex was good. If I’m going to be honest, I thought she was a bit off. I had never dated anyone like her; I found it strange that she didn’t seem to have friends or a job. Whenever I asked her about work, she would say things like,

    “My fan page pays well.” Whatever that meant.

    I asked my friend who had introduced me to Dory, what she knew of her. She shared that in fact she didn’t really know Dory. She said that Dory was a neighbor who moved in a few months back and that she thought it would be nice to invite her over in order to get to know her. Jane seemed surprised that Dory and I had been going out; she said she had not seen Dory since the dinner party.

    As time passed, Dory became increasingly more cagey about her life. She claimed that she had to be cautious because a lot of people were jealous of her and that worried her. I started to think that she might be having delusions of grandeur. I quickly dismissed the notion being that I wasn’t a great judge of people’s character.

    Dory and I would mostly go out for dinner, sitting at discreet corner tables at small out-of-the-way places. She said that she didn’t want to be approached while she was with me and that the unwanted attention was starting to wear on her. I had never noticed anyone wanting to come up to her, but what did I know about fame?

    Months went by and nothing changed, we saw one another a few times a week for dinner. Dory kept me away from her apartment, claiming it was still unfurnished. Weirdly, neither of us had met anyone in the other’s life. I was too wrapped up in work to notice the stagnation in our relationship.

    We were a few weeks away from a three day weekend. I thought it might be nice to get out of the city. Knowing Dory’s desire to stay away from others in public places, I suggested a quiet cabin in the mountains. Although I have always enjoyed hiking, I figured her husband’s death might trigger a negative reaction, therefore, I did not suggest it. To my surprise, Dory was excited about the getaway idea; it even seemed to lift her spirits a bit.

    The time had come to make our way to Aspen. Dory suggested I bring hiking boots in case we felt like hiking. I assumed she was humoring me, but I packed them anyway. After a few hours in the car, we stopped for food. The grocery store had all of the foods Dory loved and I hated. My debit card didn’t work when I tried to pay. It surprised me when Dory pulled out cash, as she never offered to pay. We arrived at the cabin in the early evening. We cooked an all vegetable dinner and then relaxed by a fire.

    While Dory was getting ready for bed, I went on-line to look at my bank account. I had well over $70,000 in my savings account, but my balance was down to $150. The same was true for my checking account — wiped out. I was about to call the bank, when a thought popped into my head. The times I had left Dory alone in my apartment, my bank pin number carelessly left out on my desk, Dory’s willingness to pay for the groceries, and her suggestion to go on a hike. When she walked into the living room and asked me if everything was okay, I said that I was just tired.

    We went to bed, but I didn’t sleep at all. The wheels were turning and I was certain she intended to get rid of me. She had somehow figured out a way to acquire all of my assets without leaving her mark. I was sure she’d attempt to make me disappear the next day when we were hiking. I had to stay calm so she wouldn’t suspect that I knew what was happening.

    The next morning I noticed some valium in her makeup bag. I figured she intended to drug me before or during the hike. I made it look like I was drinking coffee and then water, but I was only taking a small sip and then spitting it out. When Dory wasn’t looking I put some strong twine in my pocket.

    It was quiet on the mountain and that concerned me a bit. Fortunately, my cell phone showed that we had service. Dory tried to argue that we didn’t need our phones; that it was better to live in the moment and not worry about calls. I told her that I was expecting an important work call.

    When we reached the peak of the mountain, Dory suggested that we take a selfie. I agreed, but I was careful to stand beside her not behind her. After the selfie she said that she wanted to take a picture of me for her TikTok page.

    “It’s time for my fans to see that I have a boyfriend.”

    I quickly turned her around and tied her hands behind her back. She had no idea what was happening, she thought I was playing some sort of game. I gagged her, called the police and waited. She silently sobbed until the police showed up in a helicopter. They didn’t fool around in Aspen.

    After many hours at the police station, I was told that Dory had not wiped out my bank accounts. I had been hacked by a foreign actor. The prescribed valium in Dory’s bag was indeed for anxiety. The police had the cups in the cabin and my water bottle tested, there were no traces of valium anywhere. Dory’s husband had indeed fallen to his death on a hike and there were multiple witnesses to his fall. The police told me that Dory did not want to see me, further, she was considering pressing charges. I was charged with harassment and released pending a hearing.

    I later learned that Dory had millions of social media followers and that she had indeed been harassed and even stalked. Dory did not press charges; however, I was fined thousands of dollars for fees and damages.

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    We are days away from the U.S. elections. I’m not only concerned with the presidential race, all branches of the government are in a precarious state. I, like many, have been feeling that we are at a pivotal moment in time and the possibilities could be dire. It’s not only U.S. politics, instability and unrest appear to be a permanent state of being everywhere. I know that worrying about it will not help the situation, but I’m at a loss about how I can effect change. I can only control my own life and even that seems delicate these days. Unfortunately, my inclination is to retreat, pull back, hide; probably the worst thing I can do. There is a great deal to be said about the cocoon we create around ourselves in order to shield us from pain and/or discomfort.

    Hoping for a favorable outcome.

    Note: All current stories are works of fiction. Trust me, my life is not that interesting.

  • What To Do About Flora

    Maggie watched her daughter play with a stranger, but something seemed off. The other little girl suddenly stopped and looked off into the distance. Her energy was strange and her daughter Lily, seemed to be aware of it. It would have been impossible for anyone else to notice. Maggie considered walking over and taking Lily home. Perhaps she was being a bit rash, after all they were two little girls playing in the park.

    Maggie was a good mother; not aloof like some of the other moms. She was raising Lily on her own and she was determined to get it right. She felt fortunate to have a smart, easygoing daughter, who didn’t cling or whine. On this occasion Lily looked over to her mom as if to say, “Help mommy.”

    Maggie watched closely, knowing she was within arms reach and they were just children. The other little girl’s mother walked up to Maggie and sat beside her. She introduced herself as Kate, her daughter as Flora, and sat beside Maggie. Kate pointed out how nicely the girls were getting along. Maggie thought to herself, I guess she doesn’t see it. Maggie decided to keep her thoughts to herself . . . for a change. Kate spoke to Maggie as if she’d always known her, making Maggie a bit uncomfortable. Minutes into the conversation, Kate suggested a playdate at her house. Maggie reluctantly agreed, she thought it was important not to alienate people. Kate seems nice enough, but still, Maggie’s guard was up.

    Later that evening she was sitting on her sofa with Lilly and Lilly told her that she didn’t want to go to Flora’s house. Lily seemed very uncomfortable and on the verge of tears. Maggie couldn’t just let it go, probing further, Lily finally opened up.

    “Mommy, she told me that I would never be a big girl.”

    “Flora said I was going away soon.”

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought that Lily might have been imagining things or making it up. Then I recalled witnessing Lily’s discomfort at the playground and further, Lily didn’t make up stories. Maggie knew she’d have to confront Kate; she’d have to deal with this.

    First Maggie assured Lily that she would never have to go to Flora’s house, then she told Lily that she surely would grow up and that she wouldn’t be leaving Hillcrest. The next day Maggie got a friend to watch Lily at home for an hour while she did some chores. Maggie’s first stop was the playground at the park. Fortunately, Kate was there with Flora.

    Maggie walked over to Kate and explained that Lily was with a friend. She asked that Lily and Flora’s playdate be moved to her house instead of Kate’s house because Maggie needed to be home for a delivery. Kate agreed to come over with Flora that Friday. It left Maggie three days.

    Friday morning Kate rapped on the door with Flora by her side. Maggie had already made sure Lily was out of harm’s way, safely with a friend on the other side of town. Maggie’s friend also knew that if she hadn’t heard from Maggie by 11:00 a.m., to call the police.

    Maggie noticed Flora’s eyes were black as coal and she appeared soulless; Kate was harder to read. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her child and she needed to make sure this encounter would soon be a distant memory. Maggie answered the door with a welcoming smile.

    Kate seemed somewhat off-balance; angry and unable to understand Lily’s absence.

    “Lily is where?”

    “Why didn’t you call to let me know Maggie?”

    “Sit down Kate, we need to talk.”

    “I don’t understand, this was supposed to be a playdate for the girls.”

    Kate finally agreed to sit on the sofa and listen to what Maggie had to say. Maggie felt empowered by her motherly instincts.

    “You need to listen closely Kate, because what I have to say is extremely important. I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but I don’t like you or trust you.”

    Kate looked over at her daughter who was about 10 feet away playing with a toy she’d brought along. She was about to say something to Maggie, who quickly let her know that she wasn’t finished.

    “This neighborhood is a safe place for good people with good intentions; clearly you do not belong here. My advice to you, is to pack your bags and go as soon as possible. I’m warning you that in the meantime, if you and Flora go near the park or any of the children in the neighborhood, you will pay a price. I honestly don’t know what you’re up to, but you’ve come to the wrong place. Is there anything unclear about what I’m saying to you.”

    Kate stood up, walked over to Flora and grabbed her hand. She refused to look at Maggie or acknowledge her words. It was at that point Maggie knew she was dealing with pure evil. Kate walked to the front door with Flora and opened it. Kate turned, looked at Maggie and said:

    “You might think you’ve gotten rid of us just because after today you won’t see us in the neighborhood, but trust me, we’re not going away. Flora has her eyes on your Lily. Be careful Maggie, be very careful.”

    They left the door open and walked away from the house, Maggie knew there was only one thing left to do. She was certain that Flora would never go anywhere near her Lily.

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    I had some passport issues I had to deal with this week; a trip to the U.S. Embassy in Lisbon, etc. I decided to make the most of it and ended up staying on a houseboat and eating some terrific Mexican food. Despite having an extremely flatulent individual behind me on the bus home, it was a fairly pleasant 24 hours. This was all so I can carry out my much anticipated trip to Poland next week.

    I’m writing this post from Salir, a small town in the Algarvian mountains. Peaceful (no loud motorbikes and/or barking dogs), delicious food, and only 40 minutes from home. I haven’t taken photos because I think I’m overloading my followers with idyllic photos from my travels — probably true for some, not all. Anyway, I’m sensitive to the probability.

    I find U.S. politics extremely unsettling right now. Clearly, other world leaders are exploiting the uncertainty of our elections; killing innocent people in order to expand their own countries and gain more power. I realize voting (yes expats can vote) and waiting for a favorable outcome of our elections, is all I can do.

  • Finding Beauty

    What, Where & How?

    Is there beauty in Everything?

    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.

    “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

    Margaret Wolfe Hungerford (née Hamilton) is widely credited with coining the saying in its current form. Feb 1, 2022.

    “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