love

Everyone Loves Me

by

La Flor and I sit at the table. I’m sipping my coffee, a piece of multigrain toast smothered in peanut butter and raw honey sits in a dish in front of me. A bowl of blueberries off to the side. The temperature in the room is a pleasant 75. Yet, I feel as if I’m back in the freezer.

“Are you going to speak?” I asked La Flor.

“No. No. No. I am never going to speak to you again and this doesn’t count for speaking,” she said.

“Yes it does,” I said.

“No. It was a commercial. And, furthermore you blew a great career opportunity for the both of us.”

“How so?” I asked.

La Flor doesn’t realize she’s talking to me for the first time in five days. “That second rate, oily skinned, horrible hairstyle, who has no class now has my job as the image for Carmen’s Pizzeria. Truth be told, and I will tell the truth, it’s all silicon and collagen. And, a little liposuction from the hips. You think those lips are the same one’s she was born with? Let me tell you about her  ….”

“Stop right there, La Flor. Are you talking about Carmela?”

“The itch, I won’t use the B word, stole my job. I am going to trash, trash, trash her.”

“Why don’t you celebrate her success? I’m happy TT is the new manager.”

“That’s because you have no ambition.”

“Do you want half of my toast?”

“No. I’m on a starvation diet.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m restricting myself to smoothies and wine and ghuda cheese.”

I hear the door slam, not a moment too soon. Little Carmen comes into the dining room.

“How’s the beautiful, tough, and edgy soon to be model of the world’s most expensive jewelry.”

La Flor cocked her head toward Little Carmen, “Say what?”

“I was talking to Big Carmen and telling him how’s it wasn’t fair that use is not the image for the pizzeria. He’s sorry he did it because his sales has gone down the toilet.”

“I knew it. I knew it. Everyone loves me.”

“Of course. But he had to do it to keeps peace in the big family seeing Carmela is the Whale’s granddaughter and Big Carmen is her godfather.”

“What’s this thing about being a model?” asked La Flor.

“It’s a deal, ifs use wants it. Joe Tomalina, he’s an importer and exporter of certain things. Namely, in this case diamonds is one of his imports. And, cars left for more three hours on the street are what he exports. Well. La Roche Exquisite Jewels needs the importer to procure diamonds. But upon Big Carmen talking to Joe who happens to be a cousin of Big Carmen, Joe tells the roach he got to have you as the new image. TV, Cable, all the big mags. Use got the best deal possible. There’s only one hitch.”

“What and it better not be a deal breaker,” said La Flor.

No, no deal breaker. You still got to be the eye candy for Pepper, Whale and the 5th. They want to watch you do the shoot.”

La Flor bounded out of her chair, threw her arms around Little Carmen’s neck and began to kiss him. For my part, I took my coffee, toast, and fruit to the patio. I’m not one to interfere with love.

Age Is Only A Number

by

Age is only a number. Its number does not prevent us from giving the gift of ourselves to others. We are never too young or too old to offer our gift that will brighten someone’s life. Don’t wait until tomorrow, tomorrow may never come. Now is your time. Now is the moment someone is waiting for your gift. The following short Vimeo video shares the gift of a 95-year-old woman and a song she wrote. You can tell by looking at her, she is a woman filled with love.

 

A Year of Grieving

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August 19 – Today is the first anniversary of the death of my best friend, soul mate, and wife, Barb Calabrese. I called her Babe. A remarkable woman who taught me more about love than all the words I’ve read on the subject. She touched a large Twitter following, @Barb_Calabrese, reaching out in simple, love-filled ways.

My year has been a year of learning to dance with grieving. A year of learning how to live without someone whom I shared the most intimate secrets of my soul. A year of grappling with why? And, discovering I’ll never know the answer. A year of discovering I am not alone on this journey. All who have suffered a deep loss understand the grieving experience without speaking. They understand by looking into each other’s eyes. Their messages travel silently from heart to heart.

In my year of grieving, I rediscovered a deep faith in God. For unexplained reasons people I know, and strangers enter my life as messengers of love at unexpected times, times when I am low; times when sadness knocks at my door. They pick me up. Make me smile. And, encourage me. I find the strength to go on another day.

Each day, I grow stronger. Each day, I grow more optimistic. And, each day I find my path forward unfolding before me. How does it happen? I believe it is grace. I have no other explanation for it. I don’t think grieving ever ends. But I choose to dance with it.

To all my brothers and sisters who grieve over the loss of a loved one, together let’s find the strength and courage to go on. Together, let’s smile more often. Together, let’s sing joyful and happy songs. Together, let’s celebrate the gift of the life of the person we loved and love; and, together let’s not waste a moment of the wonderful gift of life you and I still share.

Grateful For All

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A grateful attitude is a pathway to happiness, joy, and love. When I view life through my heart’s lens, I see all life as a gift I have no time for sorrow, no time for envy, no time to crawl inside a personal prison. I jump for joy, for each moment is Christmas – it is all gift. Please enjoy this powerful YouTube video about gratitude.

What Is Life All About?

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“What is life all about, Ray?”

I’m sitting at my desk trying to come up with a cute idea for today’s blog and La Flor* asks about the meaning of life. My head feels like it’s performing on the uneven parallel bars at the Olympics. I ask her for clarification, “Why are you asking me, La Flor*? Do I look like I’ve figured it out?”

“Not a chance. Who else is there to ask. I don’t see anyone else in the room with us, Ray.  Who do you think I was asking, if not you,” asked La Flor? A puzzled look on her face as she glances around the room.

I pondered her question. La Flor is serious. I can’t criticize her. I’ve had colleagues accuse me of being ADHD and that was one of their nicer compliments. I don’t know what prompted La Flor to ask me what life is all about.

I turned the question around and said, “What do you think life is all about, La Flor?”

La Flor looked at me, shrugged, and said, “I always do better in deep conversations with a glass of wine, crackers, and cheese. I know you don’t drink. I still can’t figure an Italian not drinking wine. This is one of the mysteries that Leflore, beautiful, tough, and edgy is trying to figure out. I’ll be right back.”

I’m trying to get used to La Flor slipping between the first and third person as if her conversation were normal. I’m still not used to it.

Five minutes later, La Flor places a glass half filled with Sauvignon Blanc,  a wedge of fresh buffalo mozzarella, and wheat crackers and the remainder of the bottle on my desk next to my laptop. I’m freaking out. What if she gets excited and knocks over her wine on my keyboard?

“Problemo, Ray?”

I do my guy thing showing nothing bothers me even when it really does. “No problemo, La Flor. I looked at her wheat crackers and tossed a bit of guy humor toward her, “Good thing you don’t have a gluten allergy,” I said.

“Ray, if we’re going to have a serious conversation about life back off and let me sip my wine, a few bites of my cheese and crackers and I’ll be ready. What would make you want to talk about glue? I don’t have a glue allergy I don’t use glue.”

I made a mental note about the tough part of the beautiful, tough, and edgy description. I’ve not seen it before. It fits.

La Flor took a sip of wine, another bite of mozzarella on a wheat cracker and then said,  “I’m trying to help you, Ray. I’ll keep it simple. Like you say, guy speak.”

“I can use all the help I can get,” I said.

“Life is like the perfect cup of coffee.”

“I hope Starbucks doesn’t steal that as a slogan. That’s pretty good, La Flor. What does it mean?”

“Am I being a little too deep for you, Ray?”

” I’m over my head in this conversation, La Flor.”

“The perfect cup of coffee has the right balance of boldness, a sassy flavor, and an aroma that makes you want to keep coming back for more,” La Flor said with a smug sense of self-satisfaction.

“I think I’m getting your point, La Flor. The perfect cup of coffee is like you.”

“I never thought of it that way, but there are striking similarities. And if I may continue…”

“Please do, La Flor. I’m interested in knowing more about what life is all about.”

La Flor poured more wine into her glass. She took another sip, and said, “When life is all wrong, it’s like a bad cup of coffee.”

“How’s so,” I said.

“Oh, Ray, you really need to get out more. You have to begin to have conversations with people who are interested in things other than the Boston Red Sox, the New England Patriots, Ohio State football, and good pizza venues.”

“I didn’t know there was more to life,” I said. I was worried she may be right. If she is, it will create an imbalance in my perfect world.

“No wonder, girls night out has become institutionalized. We need deep, intelligent, conversations free from football, baseball, and action-adventure flicks. It’s the kind of talk we can only get from each other.”

“Remind me if you would like to see the Spiderman movie with me this weekend?”

La Flor looked at me, then grabbed the bottle of wine to refill her glass. I wasn’t sure if I was the cause.

“You never explained to me how life going wrong is like a bad cup of coffee,” I said.

“Do I really. really need to explain to you what a bad cup of coffee tastes like?”

“I get your point. Did you get your question answered, La Flor?”

“What question, Ray?”

“What is life all about?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Ray.  Why would you want to know? Are you having an existential crisis?”

“Where did you pick up that term? And do you know what it means?”

“I was practicing my PI stuff over at the philosophy blog. They were having a heated discussion about an existential crisis. I walked in and told them to take it to the UN to solve the crises.”

“How did that work?

“La Flor, beautiful, tough, and edgy PI stopped the argument. They couldn’t speak. I think the group leader was hyperventilating. They stared at me with their mouths wide open. I bowed and left.”

“I’m impressed, La Flor.”

“I enjoyed our deep conversation.  A bit of a heads up for you, Ray.”

“What’s that, La Flor?”

“Deep conversations can be very boring. I think I would rather you talk about football. At least you know what you’re talking about, some of the time. Are you going to let me in your fantasy football league?”

“We have six weeks to think about it, La Flor”.

” Okay, in the meantime, I think I will text my alt ego friends to come on over and enjoy life with me. I’ll be happy we can spend time together. You don’t mind, do you, Ray?”alt ego friends to come on over and enjoy life with me. I’ll be happy we can spend time together. You don’t mind, do you, Ray?”

“You go girl.”

I like La Flor’s attitude, life is about living it, enjoying friends, filling the moments with love, happiness, and joy. La Flor grabs hold of life with both hands and won’t let go. I think I’ll do the same.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

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Maybe I Was Flirting

by

“Ray, Ray, do I have your full attention this is really really important?”

“How important is it La Flor? Is it still La Flor?”

“It is until I use one of my aliases.”

“What is your problem? Your eye is twitching. Your left leg is jerking at 90 miles an hour. And, you been popping chocolate truffles one after another as if they’re popcorn. Maybe I’m going to write about your character gaining an enormous amount of weight. How would you like that?”

“Don’t add to my problems, Ray. I told you I am beautiful, tough, and edgy, recall? You made me too beautiful, tough, and edgy, but don’t change anything.”

“I don’t understand. You look beautiful, tough, and edgy. You’re tanned, toned, and terrific. Do you like my alliteration to describe you?”

“I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

“Okay, what is it? I need to go to Starbucks and get my cold brew for the afternoon. Will this take long?”

“Men just don’t get it.”

“Hey, I’m one of the sensitive ones.”

“That speaks volumes for your species. If you are the archetype of the sensitive male, God help all women.”

“You’re making me look bad to my blog readers. What is your problem?”

“Do you know Jack Reacher?”

“Are you talking about the Lee Child character?”

“Exactly. He was hitting on me. I want you to do something about it”.

“Have you read any of the Jack Reacher books? I don’t imagine you have. Jack Reacher is one tough hombre. What were you doing fooling around with Jack Reacher?”

“I wasn’t fooling around with him. Well, maybe I was flirting a bit.”

“Did you go to the Alt Ego Bar with your mystery writer girlfriend?”

“So? How did I know Jack Reacher was going to show up.”

“He hit on you? What did he say? He doesn’t seem like kind of character that mistreats women. Bad guys that’s another story. Besides, I warned you about going to Alt Ego bars.”

“He sauntered to our table, bent over, his muscles popping through his shirt, his deep blue eyes were piercing my soul. It was the way he said it,”

“You’ve got a crush on Jack Reacher. Am I right?”

“No. I think it’s the real thing. Jack said,”I just wrapped up another book and I feel like celebrating. Let me pick up your tab. You beautiful ladies have a great day.”

“The real thing? I don’t think so. That was all? He didn’t sound like he hit on you.”

“That’s the problem, Ray. He didn’t hit on us.”

“Then why did you tell me he hit on you?”

“Because I wanted you to write Jack into the next blog so I can get to know him a little better.”

“La Flor, what am I going to do with you?”

“Love me?”

We all have our crazy moments. Moments when we may not be as nice as we ought. It’s one of  life’s wonderful lessons, no one is perfect. No one is close to perfect. In those moments of imperfection, which are many for me, like La Flor, I ask, ‘Love me?’ Loving another, warts and all, during the good as well as the bad is the glue that holds our fragile world together. 

 

I Don’t Do Fridge’s, Floors or Flamingos

by

Today is trash day. Three cheers for Tuesday trash day. I’ll add an extra T and make it an alliteration. It’s Tuesday Terrific Trash day. It’s terrific because the trash smells. I decided to clean the refrigerator this past weekend.

“Hold on, Ray. Who cleaned the refrigerator this past weekend?”

“I bolted the door. Set the alarm. How did you bypass my security, Tay?”

“I made friends with a mystery writer on a blog close by. Have to say it, Ray. Her blog is much more interesting than some I’ve read.”

“Why are you rolling your eyes? And, what does your friend’s blog have to do with you bypassing my fool proof system?”

“She’s a mystery writer and wrote a few lines having me pick the lock and disarming the alarm. Simple enough. Go girl power. BTW, we’re having girls’ night out and spending it here.”

“I’m fine with that. Can I join?”

“There you go spoiling everything. We’ll hold it at the mystery writer’s blog. Now, let’s get back to reality, who cleaned the fridge?”

“It was my idea, Tay.”

“Who cleaned the fridge, Ray?”

“Not you.”

“Darn right. I don’t do fridge’s, floors, or flamingos.”

“Where did flamingo’s come from?”

“You started the alliteration thing. Now, fess up, who cleaned it?”

“Maid 911. I didn’t catch her name. She was too busy telling me I need to get rid of outdated and moldy stuff.”

“Now you wonder why I like to eat out, often, very often, every night if possible.”

“No, I never wondered. My fridge sparkles. Smells great.”

“When are you going to fill it?”

“Let me enjoy the clean, almost new feeling.”

“We could have cut this blog in half if you came clean quickly.”

“There are guys who read this blog. Coming clean is a step by step process for my species. It’s like tying a shoe. First, you put your shoe on. Second, check to make sure it’s on the right foot.”

“Stop, Ray. Stop.”

“BTW, can I join you at the mystery writer’s blog?”

Being truthful isn’t easy, especially when it comes to acknowledging something we’ve done or failed to do. Being truthful is important to a healthy, loving relationship. It’s the glue that builds trust one step at a time. 

 

I Need More Than Talk

by

I love thunderstorms. I enjoy the fury of the rain, the wind gusts, and the flashes of lightening. I especially like them at night. They help me to sleep.

“Are you nuts?”

“I thought I gave you the day off,” I said.

“Nice try. I have friends who are frightened by thunderstorms.”

“You don’t have any friends De. I should know. I didn’t create any for you.”

“Scared I’ll organize them?”

“You know it. Besides my name isn’t De. I don’t know where you come up with this nonsense. My name is Te. It’s pronounced like a T and an A.”

“Like Tay?”

“It’s sophisticated and yet, edgy.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“All you’re giving me is dialogue. I need more than talk. When we’re through writing this blog, I’m going to start thinking about the look I want.”

“Let’s get back to the weather, Tay.”

“There’s a reason all the weather apps warn you about thunderstorms. Do you have masochistic tendencies?”

“Where’d you come up with that?”

“I follow a psychologist blog. It helps me to understand you. Don’t worry, I don’t use your name when I comment. I only ask him to check out your blog. WordPress might be contacting you. Don’t blame me. It’s the psychologists who turned you in.”

“I like pro football and that’s dangerous.”

“Again, nice try comparing pro football to a supercell thunderstorm.”

“I didn’t say anything about a supercell thunderstorm.”

“Now we are making progress. You think your description could use a few modifiers?”

“What would the guys at the gym say? I can hear it now. “Here comes Ray. He likes baby thunder, bitty flashes of lightning and wind gusts up to five miles an hour. Tell me how I’m going to handle that?”

“I’ll never understand your species. Honestly, I suppose you want to run out in the middle of the storm and video yourself.”

“You got it.”

Relationship building is hard work. It doesn’t mysteriously happen. Two people make an effort to learn about each other and to create a space for two people to nurture the seeds of a loving relationship. It’s not easy. When two people work at it, it is always worth the effort.

 

 

 

Reading Directions? Who Me?

by

Three cheers for the weekend! I got two cheers out and then …

“What happened, Ray? What blocked the third cheer? Was it something I said? Something I was I supposed to say but didn’t?”

“Listen up anonymous poster, this blog is not about you. It’s about me.”

“Being kind of self-centered, a self-imposed sense of self-importance, correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Give me a break. I watched the same episode of Dr. Phil as you did. My excuse was that I was at the gym on the elliptical and bored. What was yours?”

“I’ve not known Dr. Phil to ever be wrong. You fit his description. I thought of you as soon he started talking.”

“Why am I talking to you? You can’t talk unless I write down what you’re saying. Go stand in the corner until tomorrow’s post.”

This is what happened to me, an interruption. A good interruption at that. A phone call from a friend. I stop unpacking my new toaster over. My good interruption led me down a path only the foolhardy will follow. It’s called the man path. I’ve been down this path many times. Each time I head down the path, I neglect to read the warning signs left every twenty feet along the path. The warning signs all repeat the same warning.

“Read Directions Before Using.”

I bought a toaster oven. I brought it home in time to put it into action before lunch. How difficult can it be to work a toaster oven? First issue: Taking the toaster oven out of the box. Do I take it out carefully in case I want to return it? Or, do I show the packing and shipping department who’s boss? The answer: it’s easier to recycle in small pieces.

Why is there a plastic wrap around the cord? Is it sterile? Am I not supposed to touch it? Then there is a tiny plastic wire tied around the cord. The poor thing can’t breathe. Off with them. No prisoners. I hope I didn’t hurt the toaster oven. I hope the plug still works.

I’m staring at it. The toaster oven glances over at the directions. I’ve never seen a toaster over glance, but this is the digital age. It’s all possible.

I pick up the directions and flip them into the shredded box pile. Don’t need them. I will never need them. They are there for the insecure. They are there for those who can’t figure things out on the fly.  First thing. Plug this baby in. So far so good. Did I need a direction for that? I think not. In fact, I’ll wager the directions say, “Read this before plugging the unit in.” Duuh!

The smoke alarm is peaceful. Hmm, it has a couple of knobs. What’s this tray thing? It must go inside. Okay, Ray, pull the handle down, insert tray thing. What’s this other thing? It looks like a small pan. They probably threw in something extra. I wonder where this was made? I can’t read the writing on the side. It wasn’t made in San Antonio, that’s for sure. If it was, it would have come with an enchilada recipe.

Speaking of such. I pull out a tortilla, put some tuna on it, slice a tomato from my garden and put a few slices on the tuna. I sprinkle it all with nonfat mozzarella. I am admiring my masterpiece. I look in the toaster oven, all I see are grates. You’d think they’d give you a pan. Oh, they did. What did I do with it? Did I take it out to recycle? I know, I’ll put my tortilla on a glass plate. It’s looking good. I wonder what’s a good temperature to do a tortilla? I think I’ll play it cool and put it on broil. I don’t have time to waste. What do you think? Five minutes should do it. I figure out the timer. I have the broiler going. I’m going to chill until I smell the ….

I promise, I promise, I promise, I will read the directions. I think I shredded them.

There are directions important to read.

There are directions important to follow.

There are things we know without having to read or be told to follow: Love everyone, forgive, reconcile whenever possible, and lend a helping hand to all who need one.

I Don’t Understand – No Entiendo!

by

There are things I don’t understand. Many times I accept the explanation of experts. How does electricity work? I don’t care. I do care it works. Where does my bodily waste go and how does it get there? I don’t need to know. I’m happy it gets to where it is going. How do they grow coffee? I don’t know. I’m happy they grow it and I get to drink it. Why does asparagus make my urine smell? Pass the citrus spray, por favor. But, I still like roasted asparagus. Enough of these trick questions. Don’t let them keep you awake tonight. Here is a truly puzzling question:

Why do some people stop talking to each other when they are angry when the only way to resolve their issues is by talking?

Here’s how the conversation goes or doesn’t go.

“I’m angry with you.”

“Okay. I’m angry with you too.”

“You are so, so, so … I won’t say it, but you know what I’m thinking.”

“I know what you are thinking and you better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Well, I’m thinking it and I’m going to keep on thinking it. What do you think you’re going to do about it? I know what you’re thinking and don’t you dare do it.”

“That’s it. I can’t take any more of what you are thinking and they way you are thinking it. I’m not only not going to think about you. I am not going to speak to you.”

“Perfect. When are you going to start? Oh cute, zipping your lips like a first grader. I can do that too. Before I do that, I am not only not going to think about you. I am not going to speak to you. And, I will not take Lil Bitty out for a walk when it rains.”

She clutches her heart, “Don’t bring Lil Bitty into this. She’s innocent.”

“Collateral damage.”

“Well, Lil Bitty won’t lick your face when you’re sad.”

“Come on, you know I like it when Lil Bitty licks my face when I’m sad.”

“And, I like it when you rub my feet.”

“What were we fighting about?”

“I dunno. I think it was about some dumb question the guy who writes this blog wrote.”

“Hug?”

“Hug!”

“Kiss?”

“Mmmm, kiss!”

It stops here readers. It’s a family blog.

Arguments. Keep speaking. Most of the things we squabble about don’t stand the test of time. Forgiveness heals. Love heals. And, if you have to move on, it’s possible to forgive and move on.

 

 

 

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