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Do You Think You’re Better Than Anyone Else?

Do People Know When They Are Being Fake?

I chose this photo because I immediately judged the subject; Look at me, look at me, I’m different, I’m beautiful.” In truth, he (if this person identifies as a he), is probably just making a buck modeling and what’s wrong with that — this is my internal dialog around tolerance and acceptance.

A Recent Observation

I took a long walk to a trendy restaurant in Basel, Switzerland last week. I have to say, I definitely dig hipster food. Young up and coming chefs trying to stand out in a crowded field are showing up these days. Their food can be fresh, delicious, and creative; I want to eat it whenever I can. The clientele these chefs are attracting, can be horrible people — by horrible, I mean fake . . . pretentious . . . showy . . . ugly.

I observed a group in this restaurant in Basel and it got me thinking.

What I Witness All Around Me

I love the city of Faro for many reasons, but mostly I love it because it is a working class city that doesn’t pretend to me something else. For the most part, people live in modest homes and drive small, inexpensive cars. Buildings are not ostentatious and grander than they need to be. If you like places that boast garish, way too massive homes, more power to you — live there, play there, stay there.

Whether it’s where you went to university, where you live, the hotel where you stayed in Paris, your child’s accomplishments, etc., shut up about it and let people learn of those things from either asking you or from others who might boast for you.

Perhaps it was my upbringing; having been born into poverty and a city in decay, I don’t appreciate excess. It seems to me that a big chunk of humanity is biting off more than they can chew. At some point, the world will implode. Or perhaps climate change will wipe the slate clean.

Ask me about my travels, I’m happy to tell you about the two-star hotels I stay in.

The Best Thing About Being Retired

I do not have to impress anyone in order to make a buck. I cannot count the number of times in my career when I had to smile when I could vomit or listen to someone spewing nonsense when all I wanted to do was flee. Work socials, conventions, visitors to campus; so many insecure or narcissistic nobodies trying to be somebody. There were a few authentic and modest individuals I truly enjoyed being around, but there were more ego inflated buffoons who were legends in their own minds — celebrity chefs come to mind. Inflated egos are difficult to navigate.

Tolerating Fake People

We are surrounded by individuals who for one reason or another need validation by boasting about what they have or relying on people to tell them how incredible their lives appear to be. Social media has accentuated this in a perverse way.

Here are some ways to deal with these individuals:

  • Avoid them by going nowhere near where they might be
  • Buffer yourself by having a friend who doesn’t seem to mind them, sit right next to them
  • Say something like, “Oh I wish I had time to pay attention to such things, or I drove into that neighborhood once, but I was profiled by the police and escorted out.”
  • Stay quiet until you can no longer control yourself and then tell them to fuck off
  • Lead by example
  • Do what’s best for you and ignore the rest
  • Just be better

Do People Know What They Sound Like?

Humans have this uncanny habit of believing something to be true just because it’s been said a number of times; even if it’s an internal voice and even if it’s false.

I often wonder, while I’m listening, if people have any clue about how pretentious and ridiculous they sound? I wish I could say something right while they’re doing it. I believe that some of the people I know will read this blog and think, “I know people who brag about everything; it’s disgusting.”

I know that I have been focusing on what is real and true a lot lately. Why? The death of siblings, living on a budget (I hopefully have a few good years left and I’ll need groceries right up until the end — I worked in the education sector, not hedge fund management), having friends that are so ill they cannot leave their homes, aging, self-reflection, empathy, our current political landscape — it’s a combination of all of these living realities. Maybe pissing and moaning makes me feel better. I never want to feel superior; however, I do want to feel good, safe, and hopeful.

It’s a good time to remind myself that I am no better than anyone else. That includes you. I know that when I’m dead, no one will care about the car I drove or the size of my condominium — these things will not have defined or informed my life or character.

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Future Travel

Asia land & sea, end of October/November, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025. The United States in 2025 is likely: Brooklyn, Portland, Maine, Maryland, North Carolina and maybe the west coast.

Trust me, it’s all done on a budget; no business class or Four Seasons. I should note that travel is a big part of my blog, therefore, I do not consider this section of my blog boasting. Let me know if you believe it is — always interesting to get your perspective.

Current State-of Mind

I have to admit that sometimes I’m pissy and I don’t know why. The weather is great, I’m seeing good friends, I’m eating well, sleeping well, my health is good, Paco is healthy; it’s all good, but I’m still pissy. Not all the time; it comes and goes and I refuse to take a pill in order to hide or mask it. Instead I just walk around trying to manage it.

Pissy defined: negative attitude, short tempered, difficult to please.

Maybe it’s the high school students revving their motorcycles on my street? Maybe it’s my ginger beer price going up 50% from one week to the next (I hate how business owners are profiting from inflation)? Could it be the dog shit I stepped in yesterday? Perhaps it’s friends who seem completely self-absorbed? Yes, it’s all of the above that is making me pissy.

Remembering Dianne Feinstein, who lived an exemplary life and served us well. Rest in peace Dianne.

Please forgive any and all typographical and grammatical errors. I hate proofreading and I often get crazy with commas.

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Missing in Italy

A personal story I posted several years ago — many of my readers have not read about this nightmare from my past. Sometimes I shake my head wondering: did this really happen?

Alma graduation photograph from their website (not ICA class)

I’ve waited for quite awhile to tell this story. It’s a rather sensitive matter, therefore, I will use fictitious names to protect those involved. There are people in this story who were supportive, sympathetic, and brave and then there are the rest. I should start by saying that the entire matter was surreal. As I went through the motions and experienced it, I felt as though I was on the set of a film shoot; none of it seemed real, and all of it bizarre. What I know for certain, is that it happened and it changed me.

Searching for a Needle in an Italian Haystack

It was an ordinary day at The International Culinary Center (ICC) in New York City when I received the call. At the time, I was School Director and Dean of Student Affairs. The year was the early 2000s. I had worked with others to create an Italian cooking training program in Italy. Students would start their training at ICC and then travel to Alma in Colorno, Italy for the final six weeks of their training. I had traveled to Colorno (by way of Milan) several times. Our relationship with the staff in Italy was solid and the student experience was exceptional. I was proud to be a part of a very unique cooking school experience. Most of the students were in the 20s and 30s; very mature and focused.

We did several rotations a year and enrollment was better than expected. I was the administrator-in-charge of the program; however, there were over ten faculty and staff members doing the real work of executing the experience. The cost of the complete course was close to $50,000 and because half of it was overseas, there were many moving parts. My father was born in Italy; in many ways, it felt as if I had come full-circle in my Italian heritage. While I worked with others to create the program, I learned a lot about regional Italian cooking, its rich history, and I got to try every dish taught. In addition, I was a proud judge during finals in Italy, on several occasions.

Francesca (her real name) was my contact person at Alma. What we were about to experience created a bond and lifelong friendship born out of a terrifying situation. Francesca’s call about one of our students in Italy, continues to make me anxious all these years later. There are deeply felt emotions that are never lost and never leave us.

“Chris, I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to worry too much.”

My body tensed and I stayed quiet and I listened.

“One of your ICA (at that time we called the program Italian Culinary Academy) students has disappeared.”

Francesca was not an alarmist and she took care of nearly any incident on the Alma campus, so I knew this was serious. Sal was gone for two days and no one had heard from him. His passport and toothbrush were still in his room and there appeared to be no foul play. Administrators at both schools agreed that he had probably met a girl and he was with her on a sun drenched beach. Sal’s friends and classmates didn’t believe that was the case and this caused great concern. Apparently, there were witnesses to an argument outside of a bar the night before he’d gone missing; in fact, the last time Sal was seen. The argument was between Sal and several locals. Some students speculated that the argument was over a Russian girl from the bar, but no one was certain. Francesca and I agreed that Sal’s parents should be informed. She was also going to call the Colorno carabinieri (local police).

I quickly booked a flight to Milan, packed a small bag, and headed for JFK. Alma had a car pick me up in Milan and I attempted to rest my eyes and calm my brain on the 2.5 hour drive to Colorno. It had been 16 hours since hearing from Francesca and by this time, I imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios. Growing up in Brooklyn during the 60s and 70s made me tough, street smart, and terribly jaded. Film and murder mysteries didn’t help.

Riccardo (head of the school, also his real name) and Francesca met me at the school when I arrived. There was no news from Sal and everyone was thinking the worst. Sal’s parents were on their way from the States and Francesca was arranging their accommodations. Jet lag was helping make a bad situation untenable; my thoughts toggling between despair about what might have happened to Sal and dread concerning meeting his parents. A living nightmare and nowhere to hide.

Francesca drove me to the police station for a conversation regarding next steps. I sat with several carabinieri officers asking every question I could think of. Francesca was interpreting for me and I could tell she was exhausted and worried. The carabinieri would not confirm or deny a street argument or that there might have been a Russian girl involved.

After hours at the police station and talking with students, I headed for my hotel room to close my eyes. Francesca agreed to contact me with any news.

There was one particular bar not far from the school that was popular with the American students attending Alma. Colorno is a very small town and everyone knows everyone. There were rumors among the students a number of Russian woman were available for hire and that Sal might have owed money to one of the handlers of these woman. Administrators at Alma seemed genuinely surprised to hear that prostitution was taking place under their noses. My mind took me to dark place; imagining Sal buried six feet underground somewhere outside of Colorno.

Sal’s parents arrived the evening of my first day, however, they did not show up on campus until the following morning. By then, I had slept a few hours and I was more prepared to meet with them. Alma was very sympathetic to their anxiety and did everything possible to make them comfortable. Looking back, I was actually quite surprised by their calm and decorum. They too spent time with the local police. They also took several students close to Sal for lunch and tried to better understand where he might be.

At some point at the end of our first full day, we all met to discuss what we might do next — parents intentionally left out. Alma seemed reluctant to contact the press, for fear the school’s reputation might be harmed. I believe we were secretly hoping Sal would turn up on campus behaving as if he’d done nothing wrong.

As time passed, the street argument became more of a factor; all involved were called in and questioned by the police. The carabinieri were convinced that there was no there, there. I started to feel as if there might be a cover-up and Sal’s parents were skeptical as well. Although his parents and I were in communication throughout the day during early days of the incident, I felt fairly distant from them; detached. They were understandably frustrated, tired, and concerned.

On the fourth day, none of us believed Sal would just reappear. If he had run away with a girl or decided to bail from the program, he would have taken his passport at the very least. We were all fairly certain foul play of some sort had taken place. The Italian state police were brought in after Alma’s administration began to feel as if the local police were not doing enough. Word got out to the press and just about every local and regional news outlet was covering the disappearance. When word got out that an American student was missing and there was speculation that the Russian mafia might have been involved, a search party was dispatched and the rivers and lakes in the area were dredged. I silently hoped Sal would call us to say that he’d see the reports of his disappearance and wanted to let us know that he was fine and that he was sorry for all of the trouble he’d caused. That didn’t happen, but all I had was hope.

I wasn’t sleeping very well and couldn’t help thinking that this would probably be the last class studying at Alma. One incident, completely unrelated to the cooking experience could threaten the viability of a program we worked on for two years. The pubic relations machine at both schools was working hard to highlight how positive the Alma experience was and that this was an unfortunate one-off situation. Sal’s parents were angry that the Italian police and government were not doing more to locate their son; we were mindful that they alone could potentially raise enough concern to shut us down.

His parents decided that a trip to the American Embassy in Milan might help get the Italian government to take this more seriously. I regretfully volunteered to drive them to the embassy. They sat together in the back seat; Sal’s father consoling his mother most of the way to Milan. Over two hours in a vehicle with someone crying hysterically is not easy for the person at the wheel. I didn’t say much for fear of saying the wrong thing. I tried my best to be supportive and reassuring. I didn’t think the people at the embassy would help, but it wasn’t my son who was missing.

When we got to the embassy it was a well-guarded fortress. I dropped them off as close as I could get to the entrance and parked the car. Just as I arrived they were being escorted in. The guards told me that only the parents would be allowed. I called for Sal’s father and he walked over and apologized. He knew that I would be staying in Milan that night and flying back to the States the next morning. It had been a full week since Sal had gone missing and there was nothing more I could do in Italy. Sal’s father agreed to call me if they needed anything and we said our goodbyes. I felt very sorry for Sal’s parents and I was exhausted.

I recall making a call to Gary (real name), ICA’s president, that afternoon and becoming emotional on the phone. The fear of learning that a dead body was found was becoming more and more real. Gary, as always, was extremely supportive and grateful. He and the rest of the staff at ICC were hoping for the best. He asked me to remain calm and to get home safely. The administration at Alma was also very supportive and assured me that they would do everything possible to find Sal. I flew back to the States the next morning.

Time passed and still no word from Sal. His parents stayed in Italy for a couple of weeks and then returned home when hope of finding him had diminished. They became angry, resentful, and blamed both schools for gross negligence. They claimed that we had placed their son in an unsafe environment. Sal’s brother publicly posted a scathing letter, claiming the school was completely negligent. Threats of a lawsuit were being bandied about. The students in Italy had gone on with their studies hoping to complete the program. I had all but given up hope.

Graduation at Alma was scheduled a few weeks out; I knew it would be best for be to return and attend. When I arrived on campus, the students, whom I had stayed in contact with, greeted me warmly. They all assured me that the ICC was not to blame for Sal’s disappearance. We all wondered if this great mystery would ever be solved. I met with the local and state police for an update — there was none. Still much speculation that there was foul play, however, the guilty party or parties, had not revealed themselves. I returned to New York having lost quite a few pounds and feeling like I’d let a lot of people down.

Thanksgiving came and went. Each day brought less talk of Sal’s whereabouts. My emotions had gone from remorse to sadness to anger; acceptance was not within reach. Then, out of nowhere, shorty before Christmas, a call from Francesca in Italy, Sal had been located. He had joined the French Foreign Legion. Apparently, when you join, you leave behind the material world and those you once cared about; some join to escape their lives. Sal somehow managed to slip a note with his parents telephone Number to an Asian guy who was leaving the Legion and had agreed to make a call. It was the best Christmas gift of my life.

There are several takeaways from this life event that are forever etched in my brain. First, Sal’s family never apologized for their treatment of the two schools. They blamed us for Sal’s disappearance for months and when he turned up, not one of them came forward to acknowledge they were unfair and had hurt several good people. Lastly, when Sal left the French Foreign Legion he did not contact me to explain himself, apologize or thank me or the ICC for trying to find him. Oddly, I didn’t care. It bothered others at the school and it made several people in my life angry, but I had something far more important to me, I had peace-of-mind and Christmas that unfortunate year.

Disclaimer: This incident occurred over ten years ago, therefore, I cannot swear by every detail outlined in my accounting of the story. Due to the seriousness of the situation and my own personal involvement, I can only vouch for my own recollection of what took place.

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Future Travel

Asia land & sea, end of October/November, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025; it’s about time I visit the birthplace of my father.

Current State-of Mind

Just back from Basel, Switzerland. Three days were perfect. It’s a beautiful city, offering magnificent architecture, excellent museums and galleries, good eating options, easy to navigate transportation and only 2.5 hours by air from Faro. Transport from the airport to the city center by shuttle bus in 20 minutes (leaves airport every 10 minutes). Be prepared to spend some money, Switzerland is pricey. If you go, Steinenschanze Stadthotel was excellent and affordable. If you spend more time there, the city borders France for other travel options. Several other countries are close by.

I seldom return from vacations feeling rested and rejuvenated; Basel was a perfect city getaway.

Please forgive any grammatical or typographical errors. No AI software used in the creation of this blog.

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Truth, Lies, & Gossip

Trust Issues? Me? Nah. How about you?

I suspect most, if not all, adults have trust issues. Human beings can be deceptive and deceitful; uplifting topic no? Unfortunately, gossip and minding other people’s business are also some of our glorious and not-so-attractive traits.

The “who cares what people say” attitude is admirable; however, not my truth. Therefore, the best I can do is find a way to navigate the current landscape. By the way, I’m as guilty as the next guy when it comes to telling white lies; however, 9 out of 10 times, it’s either to save someone’s feelings or avoid unnecessary conflict.

Short Story

I recently received a text from an individual who said he was coming to the Algarve for a short visit. He was wondering if he could stay with me for a few days. A couple of details factored into my reply: first, this was a friend of a friend I had spent five minutes with in New York, and second, I didn’t like him — you know one of those slick willies who tries to get you to invest in shit you have no business getting involved with. I told him I’d be away for a few weeks during the time of his visit. I gathered that he got the message because I didn’t hear back. This was a lie I didn’t mind telling.

It would be so much better to just outright say what we think, but it’s not the way our culture works; we thrive in a sea of lies.

What We Say to One Another

Have you ever told someone you had to get off the phone because you had an important call you had to take or make? Have you ever told a party host you had to leave because you had an early flight (your flight was at 3:00 p.m. the next day, for some people that’s early)? What about I can’t travel with you to Greece because I spent all of my discretionary income last month? I imagine these are lies we have all told at one point or another in our lives. These lies keep us from hurting feelings. Most of us know when it’s happening and just accept it as common practice. Then there is the knife in the back distortion of the truth or partial truth.

What I am talking about is deception among friends; the telling of untruths specifically meant to damage an individual’s reputation or standing. I’m going to use an example that cannot be traced back to one of my friends:

I’m sitting at lunch with Mary and she tells me that she heard that Mark is having an affair with Lilly; all mutual friends. My first response should be, “I don’t want to hear about it.” But because I’m human, my interest peaked. You know about this kind of gossip, it’s the worst. Is it based on speculation? Is someone jealous? Has someone been scorned and seeks revenge? There are so many different reasons people start these kinds of rumors. In truth, it’s unfair to everyone involved. If it’s a fact and someone is being deceived, that’s different. There are discreet and appropriate ways to handle these indiscretions, gossip or whispering behind one’s back, is not one of them.

For me there are two red flags when someone is about to share something inappropriate with me: 1) I’m telling you this because I care about you, and 2) it’s for your own good. You see a person once a week and she never asks you a single question about how you’re doing or where you’ve been, but then she cares so much about you, really?

This is a big one: We all know people who spend a great deal of time talking about mutual friends and acquaintances who are not present. Did you hear about so and so; I can’t believe he did that to her; she couldn’t possibly have that much money just sitting around; I’m sure they did it to look better than everyone else . . . call it gossip, talking behind someone’s back, spite talk . . . whatever it is, it makes you wonder what that person says about you when you’re not around.

I recently confronted an acquaintance about what she was saying when a friend was not in the room. Her reply was clever, but dubious: “Sally and I had it out on Thursday and told her I’d be asking around to verify her story; there is no other way to find out if what she was telling me was true.” If that isn’t a load of bullshit. At the very least, this person knows that I’m onto her. These days, I don’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about what individuals say when I’m not around; it’s out of my control and I trust people to consider the source. Your time and energy is better spent on positive and productive matters.

When I was married, 24 years old and working at a university on Long Island, there were three different rumors going around about older women I was sleeping with. I thought that was pretty funny considering I was spending so much energy hiding my sexual orientation.

What We Say to Others

What do you say to those you care about? Often, it’s what you don’t say:

  • You look really tired
  • Why isn’t Gary working yet?
  • You’ve been sick for a long time
  • Did Emma invite you to her birthday dinner?
  • Why did you buy that house?

Obviously questions you might ask that would make people defensive, seldom leading to open lines of communication.

Here are some things you might say to gain trust and respect:

  • Yesterday you told me you were feeling a bit down, how are you today? Do you want to talk about it?
  • If you don’t mind I’d rather you didn’t speak about Mark, he’s a good friend and I don’t want to betray our trust or tarnish our friendship.
  • Tell me about that restaurant ordeal; was it difficult to be at the table?
  • I’ve been noticing that you’re quiet lately; I just want to make sure you’re okay.
  • I just want you to know I’m here.

A friend recently said, “There is something I’d like to share with you, but you should know I’m not looking for answers or advice.” I heard her loud and clear and I respected her honesty.

Navigating the Absence of Trust

In my mind there are limited options for interacting with individuals you do not trust. You can work on building trust. This takes time and investment, but it could be worth the payoff. I think it’s important to go with your gut; if after a while you’re not feeling it, you should probably walk away or distance yourself — not so easy if it’s your sister-in-law or boss.

Then there are those who have earned your trust only to have it all collapse after a devastating incident. A good friend who sleeps with your husband, a sister who steals cash from your wallet, a friend who tells everyone something you shared in strictest confidence . . . difficult to regain trust after betrayal.

The last one I’ll mention is the one I struggle with most: You have someone in your life who says and does all the right things, but it’s all surface stuff. You crave substance, but it’s just not there. You constantly wonder if this person is hiding something or questions your discretion. You ask questions; however, the answers just don’t come. It’s a conundrum because you’re fully invested. This may be one of those times where you may need to examine your own life. Are you trustworthy; are you asking the right questions? Objectivity is difficult when self-examination is warranted. In cases like this, I engage with someone I trust; they will usually provide some solid advice or help me with the right questions. But once again, in the end walking away may be your best option.

A thought: I have recently discovered that a great deal of the anxiety I have related to this trust issue, is self-generated. In short, drama that I have either initiated or created. It’s so much healthier to step back and let things be. Stirring the pot or looking for problems that do not exist is unhealthy and unnecessary. Time to trust yourself and let life play out as it inevitably will. Forgive yourself Christopher.

For those of you who may be feeling guilty (ha) because you occasionally partake in small-time gossip: relax, we’re all (okay most of us) a little guilty of it. When people spread lies or damaging, unsubstantiated gossip, now that’s a different story (see aforementioned example).

“Trust takes many years to build, few seconds to break, and forever to repair.” ~ Invajy

Holding Onto Those You Can Trust

You know the expression, “I have your back?” When you discover that you have a family member or friend that always has your back, nurture that relationship; these kinds of friends are hard to come by.

A thought: Today’s political landscape makes candid conversation and trust very difficult. There are times when I can put politics aside; however, if it’s about personal freedom/rights, race, guns, sexuality, etc., all bets are off.

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Future Travel

Basel, Switzerland coming up soon, Asia land & sea, end of October/November, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025; it’s about time I visit the birthplace of my father.

Current State-of Mind

Super excited about Switzerland after two months of staying away from travel. Keeping it special and occasional, is the way to enjoy time away (for me). Other than that, body issues related to aging; sucks to get old, but as they say, “It’s better than the alternative.”

“You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don’t trust enough.” ~ Frank Crane

Please forgive any grammatical or typographical errors. No AI software used in the creation of this blog.

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You Never Truly Leave Your Home Country

I’m headed for trouble with this blog. It’s my candor, it’s too much for some people. One of the benefits of aging is that you (some) get to a place where you no longer concern yourself with what others think. This piece is about my mindset before I left the United States, once I arrived in Portugal, and the kinds of issues related to the United States that are currently swirling around my little head. Again, a reminder that I write about my own experience and POV. I am reminded how important it is to keep all things in perspective.

The Tipping Point

Summing up my reasons for leaving the U.S. in one paragraph will be challenging, but for your sake, I will make it happen. I had been thinking about making Europe my home for many years. I thought I would be much older when I’d make it happen, but the election of Donald Trump (I was and still am miffed and angry). The housing market (sellers market) in Brooklyn, made it possible sooner than later. New Yorkers who pay attention were/are very familiar with Donald Trump and his failed business dealings. He was all bluster and bravado and I can’t stomach him. Getting out was one way of coping. It obviously did not solve the problem, but at the very least, I was doing something about it. Portugal is the first country you come to going east and there you have it. I figured I’d be flying back and forth and I wanted the shortest amount of time in the air. At the time, it was the number one place to retire in the world and I figured that was good enough for me.

My father was born in Italy, therefore, I had an early orientation to the European lifestyle and I wanted that in my later years. Europeans value their leisure time and overall, take better care of one another. I had this opinion when I lived in the U.S. and that belief is even stronger after living in Portugal for almost six years. This is not to say that Portugal doesn’t have its problems; no place in the world is perfect. Earlier blogs map out my ongoing disappointments.

Arrival, Challenges & Stability

Early days: It hasn’t always been easy. When I first arrived in Portugal, the thought of having a big ocean between me and the people I cared about, made me feel very much alone. I did not know a single person in Portugal and the language was challenging. I did all of the complicated paperwork myself, rather than hire an attorney like so many others do. The challenge helped me gain a sense of accomplishment and I saved boat loads of money. My dog Giorgio was by my side and that made it much more bearable. I also felt secure knowing that I could always go back to the U.S. if life in Portugal became too difficult.

I quickly learned that not knowing how to speak Portuguese was not going to be a problem. I arrived with a vocabulary of about 100 words, making it easier to order food and exchange niceties. The learning of the language has been a slow and steady process; I am quite enjoying the progress I’ve made and I have many friends here who are helping me with this challenge. Certain words are elusive and the Portuguese speak quickly.

Having most of Europe at my doorstep has been one of the nicest surprises since my arrival. My hometown airport is a hub for several budget airlines that fly direct to many European cities. The short trips I take to various places in France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, the Scandinavian countries, have been a delight in so many different ways. Although I have learned to pace myself and be more thoughtful about smarter, more practical travel. Things like when to travel, traveling lighter, Airbnb versus hotel, how to eat out on a budget, how long I can stand to be away from Paco (my pet), etc.

With Asia closer, I will finally be on my way next month. Visiting the Far East has been a lifelong dream and if I’m to be honest, I still don’t believe it’s real. Many expats who retired here take advantage of travel — there is lots of comparing of notes and personal recommendations. I enjoy solo traveling, whereas many of my peers refuse to go it alone. For me it’s not bravery, as an introvert, alone time is required.

What People Share

Being in expat groups has been enlightening. Some people expect their new country to adapt to their personal needs, others fully embrace the cultural and procedural differences, and still others seem hell bent on creating a smaller version of what they had in the United States.

I never wanted, expected or needed Portugal to change to suit my needs. There are things that frustrate me about living here, however, that’s to be expected and would have been the case no matter where I landed.

Expats are constantly looking for products from back home; many that they cannot find in Portugal. I have found, for the most part, European products are better and less expensive. Granted, there is the occasional product from the U.S. that cannot be beat. I often see Dunkin Donuts at my supermarket and at times, I cannot resist — it’s a little taste of home and an indulgence I can occasionally afford (not financially, but weight wise). I try my best to stay away from McDonald’s and Pizza Hut, with more and more of these American food chains opening every day. Reminders of home are a double edged sword.

Why I Say You Never Truly leave

Your past is so much a part of who you are: shared experiences, family, the way you were raised; it all informs your orientation to life. You can either retain fond memories of your past or spend time longing to repeat it or get it back. For me, life is about new experiences and creating new memories. I don’t find myself looking back much these days. Instead, I enjoy each day as it unfolds and I wonder what the future has in store for me. I’ve spent a great deal of time regretting decisions I made in the past — what I have learned is that one’s inability to change the past, makes moving on more practical and overall, healthier.

I will never give up my American passport; I love knowing that I can always go home if I choose to do so — permanently or temporarily. Several of my friends here feel differently about the United States. Some appear to be done with the U.S. and prefer not to return there mentally or physically if possible. For me it’s home; I’m fairly certain it will always be home.

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Most of your comments are relayed through messenger and that’s just fine with me. However you choose to share your thoughts is the right way to go. I’m often pleasantly surprised to learn that “certain” people in my life are reading my blog.

Future Travel

Basel, Switzerland coming up soon, Asia land & sea, end of October/November, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025; it’s about time I visit the birthplace of my father.

Current State-of Mind

I’m in a great place emotionally and psychologically. Time in a country that is not my own, has helped me to thoroughly examine who I am and what I want from life. I’ve come to terms with not knowing what the future will bring; in fact, I embrace that reality and welcome whatever comes my way. I am of course grateful for Paco and my beautiful surroundings. Gratitude is the single most important life lesson that I have learned on this journey overseas.

I have also learned that I cannot run away from Donald Trump and Trumpism; the best I can do is remain informed, keep news watching to a minimum, and hope for the best. I often remind myself that Obama was elected for two terms — if someone had told me when I was 20 years old that the United States would have a black president, I would have thought they were mad. Knowing that anything is possible, makes everything possible.

I started from Brooklyn, New York and that will always be home. In many ways, it’s more of a feeling than a place; it’s a big piece of my heart and mind. Brooklynites tend to be loyal to their city; most see it as being a part of their soul. Admittedly, it is a very special place. I love returning to Brooklyn; it’s more worldly and sophisticated these days.

Please forgive any grammatical or typographical errors. Artificial intelligence (AI) not used in the creation of this content.

Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

Righteous Rants Get You Nowhere

A Periodic Reminder (to myself)

This blog is not meant for anyone else but me. I’m making notes for future reference. Righteous behavior, righteous thoughts, righteous finger pointing; all harmful to one’s health and well-being. I figure if I consider it and write about it, it might someday actually stick. I’m taking bets, anyone interested?

righteous*

adjective

*morally right or justifiable.”feelings of righteous indignation about pay and conditions” Oxford Languages

If you think that someone behaves or lives in a way that is morally good, you can say that they are righteous. People sometimes use righteousness to express their disapproval when they think someone is only behaving in this way so that others will admire or support them. Collins COBUILD

Example: One morning this week, I was walking Paco and a man and his unleashed dog were walking toward us. I politely asked him if he would leash his dog (there are signs everywhere in the park). We are not in a controlled environment and Paco is not always friendly when dogs run up to greet him. The man told me his dog was friendly and I replied, “My dog is not always friendly.” He ignored me and kept his dog off-leash. I had to keep myself from chasing and threatening him. Paco has never bitten another dog, but when aggression begins, it can go in several unwanted directions. Herein lies the problem:

This guy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Paco or his reaction. His dog weighed a good 80 pounds more than my 8 pound pooch. So he’s probably annoyed with me for about 10 seconds as he continues to defy the law and my wishes. I, on the other hand, carried the anger around for hours, days even. So who is right and who is wrong and does it matter in the long run?

How Do You Know When You’re Being/Feeling/Thinking in a Righteous Way?

Oh this will be a fun list to create:

  • When your blood instantly starts to boil
  • When you can’t see straight
  • When you write an angry text, press send and immediately regret it
  • When a friend calls and tells you to take down a post
  • When punching your pillow gives you no satisfaction or even breaking a dish against the wall
  • When you keep thinking, “But I’m right, doesn’t that count for something?”
  • When you start screaming while driving your car because you think no one can hear you
  • When you are wide awake at 3:00 a.m. thinking about something someone said to you three days earlier
  • When you find yourself spending more and more time alone
  • When something that happened 10 or 20 years ago is still occupying your thoughts

What Can You Do About it?

This question is more difficult for me than it might be for others; I am mighty righteous. I’ve had a lot of practice when it comes to dealing with righteous thoughts and actions. The following are some of the things I’ve done — a combination of successful and unsuccessful coping mechanisms:

  • Take a step back, breathe, and wait
  • Ask an objective party to evaluate your scenario and advise you
  • Let it go and keep it gone
  • Do some research on the topic and then act to address the problem
  • Escape. Leave the house. Leave town. Get away from your everyday life.
  • Read
  • Meditate
  • Find a positive way to relay your thoughts. For example: a friend of mine carries extra poop bags and when she sees someone leaving their dog poop, she walks over and hands them a bag. She usually adds, “I thought you might need this or did you forget this?” Brilliant.
  • Therapy or life coach (both have helped me navigate through life)
  • Think through the pros and cons of acting on your rage
  • Journal entries where you purge the anger and live it on the page (or blog)
  • Sometimes you just have to tell someone to go f*^k themselves

I do believe personal freedom is important and right; however, when people infringe on my freedom or space, that sets me off.

Finding Your North Star (your center)

The absolute best thing you can ever do is make peace with whatever or whomever is causing you to feel anxious and/or angry. It may mean apologizing even if you’re right. I don’t want to be “that guy.” You know that guy, the one who climbs onto his or her soap box so often everyone stops listening. I used to follow a couple of liberals on social media. I thought they had some great things to say about our current state of affairs. Things quickly changed when they went too far left and you know what happens, people stop listening; I stop listening.

My List

The kinds of things I get all righteous about on a daily basis:

  • People trying to sell you on religion
  • Motorcyclists revving up there engines and/or riding without a muffler
  • People who do not pick-up their dog poop
  • People who refuse to recycle
  • People who try to overtake you in traffic or bully their way to the front of the line
  • People who try to top you when your sharing something (i.e., my accident was worse than yours or my illness is worse)
  • Individuals who cheat and then try to justify it
  • People who lie to your face and know that they are lying
  • People who underpay their workers or cheat them out of their pay
  • People who block traffic by double parking
  • People who throw trash on the ground
  • People who complain about the government and do not vote
  • People who vote for candidates just because someone in their family (or a friend) tells them to
  • People who hate on others because whatever it is someone else is doing goes against their religion or personal values
  • People who accept invitations for parties/dinners/events, but never reciprocate
  • People who refuse to communicate because they cannot tolerate any level of conflict
  • Individuals who always think that we should laugh at their stupid, inappropriate jokes
  • Individuals who for one reason or another, think they are better than anyone else

I could keep going, but it’s making me anxious. This should help you understand why I live alone.

Side Note: I have always been jealous of individuals who seem completely unaffected by an injustice they may have witnessed or experienced. I wonder if they are so healthy that they can clear their minds of any thoughts related to what they experienced or if they can sort it out quickly and move on. Either way it is admirable, but not usually the way things go for me. Two questions loom large: 1) Are they telling the truth about their response? and 2) Is it healthy to be unaffected?

My theme song from La Cage aux Folles: I am What I Am

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zreTvtpTeoU Gloria Gaynor

At this point in my life I don’t see that POV changing: righteous, stubborn, obstinate, cranky, opinionated, emotional, critical, and big hearted. I’m not defending who I am; just stating a fact. Then of course there is the nature vs. nurture question — that’s for another day.

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Future Travel

Basel, Switzerland in September, Asia land & sea, end of October/November, Lyon, France for Christmas, South Africa land & sea in February, and Oslo, Norway July 2024. Finally, a visit to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025.

Current State-of Mind

Milder weather has arrived to the Algarve. My spirits are lifted when the air has a slight chill and a cool breeze is blowing — perhaps even some rain in the near future. I’m sure you can always ascertain from my very telling blogs, that I’m going through some sort of existential crisis. Jotting down my thoughts and tumultuous feelings, helps me to sort it out — I highly recommend it as a tool for peace-of-mind. Either writing or moderate drinking, both work.

I’d love to hear from you on this topic. Please forgive any grammatical or typographical errors.

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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.

Posted on by CP

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.

Posted on by CP · 2 Comments

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.

Posted on by CP

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.

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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

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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. 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.