Do I Need This Conversation?

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La Flor Series Episode 1

“What’s today’s topic, Ray. More nonsense?”

“Do I need to have this conversation now?”

“I can’t think of a better time, Ray. What about the meal you cooked last night? Sorry, you tossed it and sent out for pizza. Watch the waistline buddy. Pizza straight from the lips to the hips.”

“It was only a twelve-inch pizza with mushrooms, peppers, and onions.”

“I noticed you were scrapping the extra cheese off the box at the end.”

“It’s a guy thing. We don’t like to waste.”

“What about your secret admirer?”

“I don’t have a secret admirer. What are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t have a secret admirer, but you’d like one, right?”

“No. Are we through?”

“We haven’t started. You still don’t have an idea for today’s blog. Do I have to do all your thinking? Look at the data. I give you an idea, you get lots of views. You toss my ideas out and no one shows. Tell you something?”

“Yes, it tells me something. I’m asking myself why I created you. You have an acerbic tongue, an attitude that needs a lot of re-writing, and …”

“Don’t go there.”

“Where?”

“There, you know where. Let’s have a conversation about my character. Your audience doesn’t know if I am male or female. I don’t have a name? I don’t have a description. I exist at your beck and call as an anonymous student, oh give me a break. Couldn’t you be a tad more creative?”

“I was having an off day.”

“You can have an off day. If I have an off day. I’m written out of the script. That’s another thing I want to clear up, I want a job description.”

“Next thing I know you’ll want to unionize.”

“You bring in any more characters, I’m on it. We’ll go strike if you don’t meet our demands.”

“Listen to yourself. You don’t have a name. You’re genderless. And, you’re a figment of my imagination. You only have the demands I let you have.”

“You are so difficult to have a simple conversation to try to come to common understandings.”

“Okay. What gender do you want?”

“I’ve given it thought. I want to be a woman with an attitude.”

“Great. I’ll introduce you to my five daughters, they’ll give you lessons.”

“They already have, and all six of us are on to your games.”

“Huuh?”

“We’re making progress, Ray. Perhaps a reader will suggest a name for me. It’s obvious your name generating creativity is in the slow lane.”

 

 

 

Working through differences is hard work. It takes a willingness to set aside differences. It takes a willingness to listen and learn. It takes a willingness to see with a new set of eyes. The effort to work together to achieve mutually beneficial solutions always creates a better future.

Reading Directions? Who Me?

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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.

Edamame, Greasy Hair, & Bushy Eyebrows

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Some days you can’t help meeting people you don’t want to meet in this life or any life. It’s not that they are carrying a virus, although, it’s possible. I look for visible signs such as greasy hair, a foul body odor, dirty fingernails, hair growing out of ears, eyebrows being used as a comb over, and people who eat with their mouth open from a to-go bag of roasted

I can the first question, “What’s wrong with dirty fingernails?”

“Are you serious?”

“I think so.”

Another question, “What’s wrong with growing my eyebrows long? “Sir, I applaud your attempt at a comb over, but most people have a visible forehead.”

“Sir, I applaud your attempt at a comb over, but most people have a visible forehead.”

A statement to instruct me, “Washing your everyday dries it out, it robs hair of its natural oils.”

“And, when was the last time you washed your hair?”

“Can I check my iWatch. It keeps track of things like that.”

“While you’re checking, see if it tells you the last time you showered. Do you mind stepping farther away?”

Another statement, “Edamame is good for you. Especially if it’s loaded with sea salt, chili powder, and garlic.”

“Do you mind swallowing your snack before speaking, you’re spraying it over those next to you.”

“Why is everyone moving away from me?”

“Take your wth the guy with the greasy hair and foul body odor.”

These characters agreed to be in the blog, to help me show how easy it is to have a bias and let our bias get in the way of discovering the person. Granted, I had to buy pizza for the group and more edamame for the edamame guy.  We all have habits and behaviors others may not like. But, all of us want to be accepted and loved for who we are. I’d go on, but I want to try some edamame and hear the greasy hair guy’s story.

 

I Don’t Understand – No Entiendo!

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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.

 

 

 

The Tomato Heist & Really Tough Love

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Joey Giamano’s dad owned Giamano’s Pizza and Bar. A warehouse separated Giamano’s Pizza and Bar from the tenement building where I lived. You’re probably wondering where is Ray going with this boyhood story – you in the last row, turn your iPad off, quit staring at your iPhone.

It’s Joey’s story. Joey and I are the same age – that is, if Joey’s alive. Chances 60-40 Joey’s not with us any longer. Joey never went by Joey. He was always Joey G. I believe he started using Joey G because he couldn’t spell his last name. He told me once, it had too many vowels. He goes, “You know it like the stuff that makes you go to the bathroom.”

I said, “You’re talking bowels or vowels?”

Joey G said, “Bowels, vowels it’s all the same.”

Now you must be getting an inkling of Joey’s intellect.

Here’s where it started to go wrong for Joey. My salvation was the grace of God and a dad who, after he gave me tough love (that’s what they call it these days); except it wasn’t the kind of tough love they talk about these days. It was really, really, really tough love. Lesson delivered. Lesson received. Oh my, was it ever received. I think it still hurts.

One lazy July afternoon, Joey and I were tossing rocks at a telephone poll in front of Giamano’s Pizza & Bar – this is what kids did before the Internet. It was harmless fun until a rock accidentally hit a passing car. Throwing rocks helped me to … did you think I was going to say become a pitcher? No, they help me to think that there had to be more to life.

Well, Joey G’s dad, Rocco Giamano, opens the door. I never saw Rocco without a full white apron with sauce stains. He calls Joey G, and said, “Joey G, we’re running short of fresh tomatoes. I want you to go to the store (it was 50 yards down the street) and get me a basket full. Tell the Beak to put it on my tab.” The Beak was Aldo

He calls to Joey G, “Joey G, we’re running short of fresh tomatoes. I want you to go to the store (it was 50 yards down the street) and get me a basket full. Tell the Beak to put it on my tab.” The Beak was Aldo

The Beak was Aldo Mangi. We all had big noses, but Aldo’s nose was something else. Hence, he got the nickname, The Beak.

Joey G said, “Pop, Aldo is way over there (Joey’s pointing at Aldo’s store). I’m in the middle of a game with Ray. Can it wait?”

Rocco wiped his pizza sauce hands on his apron and said, “You don’t get your bleep moving (only he didn’t say bleep) I”m gonna kick a field goal and you find yourself landing at the Beaks.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. Can I take Ray?”

“I don’t care if you take Goldilocks, get me my tomatoes.”

Joey G turns to me, “Listen up. We’re going steal Aldo’s tomatoes from his garden in back of his store. He won’t miss anything.”

“I don’t know Joey G.”

“You chicken or something?”

That did it for me in those days. You could live with most things, but being called chicken was not one of the things you could live with. I agreed to go on the tomato heist.

We snuck into Larry Z’s garden. The problem is that Aldo is not in the store. He is in the garden. I said to Joey G, “We got to leave before Aldo sees us.”

Joey G doesn’t say anything. He grabs three ripe tomatoes and starts throwing them at Aldo. One of them catches Aldo smack on his clean white shirt. Joey G, throws the fourth one and takes off. Aldo runs after him only stopping after he spots me on the ground. He grabs hold of me and marches me home. He and my dad talked. They shook hands. I do not want to go into the details of tough love. Let’s say, I could no longer pal around with Joey G. Joey G was no longer welcome in the house.

Joey G was in juvenile detention when I graduated from high school. He got out when I enlisted in the army. He was in the state prison when I graduated from college. That’s the last I heard about him. The moral of the story is don’t toss ripe tomatoes at Aldo. Hey, that’s the best I could come up with on one cup of coffee.

I’m grateful for parents who made me walk a straight line. Grateful they knew who was a good influence on me and who was a bad influence on me. And, I am grateful after receiving tough love, I still felt loved.

 

Life Is Good & So Is My Frittata

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Important research. The outcome of my research may stop global warming, the Israelis and Palestinians might join forces in whacking a pinata, and the NFL may go the whole season without a concussion, player being arrested, or suspended for taking performance enhancing drugs.

No, my research is not funded by any PAC, It is not funded by the government (any government). I am self-funding my research. How much am I spending on my research, you ask? It’s a personal thing. Let’s just say I’ll still be able to drink my Coke Zero at night, munch on hot air popcorn, fill my car with gas, and go frequently to Starbucks.

“Enough, Ray. Cut to the chase. Read the last paragraph. Wake me when you start summarizing.”

I said, “Whoa, the last comment was particularly nasty. You sound like some of my former students. Have a little faith I’m talking important stuff.”

Here is my question: How many days a week do you go to the grocery store?

When Babe and I were raising 5 daughters we went one day a week. There were seven of us, not counting animals, friends, and relatives dropping (note relatives are not necessarily friends. In case my relatives are reading, of course, I always consider you a friend. Do you think they fell for it?).

Now, I go to the grocery every day. I live alone. I cook for one. I’m not meals on wheels and bringing my gourmet concoctions to the neighbors. I know every counter clerk on a first names basis. Think of the things I have to deal with when I go grocery shopping.

Linda the clerk says, “Is that it, Ray. One jalapeno? Eight cents? You’re paying with your Mastercard?”

I said, “I needed a jalapeno for my taco.”

Next day. I get Linda’s checkout line. She says, “I can’t sell you the bulk ginger, Ray.”

I respond,

“Why?”

Linda said, “You didn’t put enough ginger in the plastic baggie to register a weight.”

I said, “Do I get it for free?”

Linda rolls her eyes, and casually glances at the number for security, “Sorry, Ray.”

 

 

That afternoon, I’m back at the grocery. I’m in the mood for a frittata. All I need are two eggs. I don’t want a frittata tomorrow or next week, only tonight. I hear a voice, “Ray, can I help you?” I turn and look. It is a guy with the name tag, Joe. I don’t know Joe. Joe knows me.

“How do you know my name, Joe?”

“Everyone here knows you, Ray.”

Am I considered dangerous? Am I on the grocery store watch list? Am I being tracked by an unknown grocery GPS they slipped into my credit card? Or, am I paranoid? I not sure of the right answer.

Joe speaks, “Let me guess, Ray. You don’t want a dozen eggs. You don’t want a half dozen eggs. You want two eggs.”

Am I that predictable? “Can you help me, Joe?”

“Fraid not. Your best bet is to the buy the liquid eggs. They’ll be good for five years, don’t think about the expiration date. We only put that on there to make people toss them out and buy fresh. Don’t tell anyone our secret”

“It’s in the vault.”

I take my liquid eggs to the checkout stations. The only one with a short line is Linda. She’s waving at me. I enter her line.

“Long time no see, Ray. It’s been three hours. You get everything you need?”

“How about a life, Linda?”

“Let me see. Did you check aisle four?”

I’m grateful I have a store, HEB, where everyone knows me. And, I can get what I need when I need it. Grateful for large and small things in life. Life is good and so is my frittata.

 

 

Female Wisdom & A Haircut

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I started today with good intentions. I start every day with good intentions. Good intentions and a good cup or two of coffee help keep planet Earth on its axis. I’m doing my bit. I can use a little help, por favor. Especially when my good intentions create chaos.

What was I thinking? I should have asked a daughter for advice – too proud. I should have asked one of the women in my neighborhood for advice – I was fearful they wouldn’t let me leave until they fried a batch of chicken – I don’t eat fried food. I know now, I needed female wisdom. I should have let go of my pride and my fear of fried chicken. Most of the guys I know have not heard of female wisdom. I mentioned it to a guy at the Y and he said, “I had two of mine pulled out four years ago.” My species is no help. Now, I should know better, five daughters and Babe. Six women, a female dog, a half dozen female guppies, four female cats, and two female gerbils all tried to teach me female wisdom. Most of the guys I know have not heard of female wisdom. I mentioned it to a guy at the Y and he said, “I had two of mine pulled out four years ago.” My species is no help. Now,”Ray, why did you need female wisdom?” Obviously, this question is from one of my male readers.

Most of the guys I know have not heard of female wisdom. I mentioned it to a guy at the Y and he said, “I had two of mine pulled out four years ago.” My species is no help. Now, I should know better, five daughters and Babe. Six women, a female dog, a half dozen female guppies, four female cats, and two female gerbils all tried to teach me female wisdom. Most of the guys I know have not heard of female wisdom. I mentioned it to a guy at the Y and he said, “I had two of mine pulled out four years ago.” My species is no help. Now,

I should know better. Six women, five daughters and Babe, a female dog, a half dozen female guppies, four female cats, and two female gerbils all tried to teach me female wisdom. Most of the guys I know have not heard of female wisdom.

“Ray, why did you need female wisdom?” Obviously, this question is from one of my male readers.

Here’s what happened. I decided it was time for a haircut. I also decided to change hair stylists. I like to change hair stylists every two to three haircuts (at this rate, I’ll be traveling up to Austin to get my hair cut). Here’s where female wisdom would have guided me, if I’d been wise enough to ask for it. I made an appointment with the hair stylist who has the booth next to the stylist I dropped. I hear my daughters screaming, “Dad, what were you thinking? Do we need a power of attorney?”

As soon as I entered the salon, my ex (stylist, that is) said, “I’ll try to squeeze you in, Ray. You didn’t make an appointment.”

I said, “I did. I made it with Maria.” Another faux pax.

“Maria? Maria?” (Note, I refuse to write what she said next – this is a family blog). My ex stormed over to Maria and it began. I am an innocent bystander to arms waving. My ex grabbed a hairbrush and was restrained by two other stylists. Maria crouched behind her chair with one of those haircutting wraps covering her head.

Another stylist came over to me and said, “You started all this. Get out of here and don’t come back.”

“What did I do? I changed stylists, that’s all.”

“Oh, men. You have no clue,” she said.

I left without a haircut, but with the free wisdom I had no clue.

Getting multiple perspectives is a good thing. No one has all the answers, male or female, rich or poor, and every other descriptor you want to apply. That is a lesson life has repeatedly taught me. Listening is a good thing. And for a guy, listening to female wisdom is a very good thing.

 

 

The Gift

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I love my birthday. I love Christmas. I love surprise gifts. I enjoy giving gifts and seeing eyes light up. And, I enjoy receiving them as well – except for the one’s I re-gift. I don’t like to re-gift too often because my memory may trick me and I’ll re-gift to the giver. A wrong re-gift has all the makings of a relationship disaster.

When I give a gift, I think about the person to whom I am giving a gift. I want to make it special. When I can’t think of something special I fall back on a reliable, can’t miss, hit a homerun everytime gift: A Starbucks gift card. It’s only failed me once when I mistakenly gave it to a friend who later told me she only drinks herbal tea. I told her Starbucks sells herbal tea, she gave me a look that said she doesn’t do Starbucks and, “This relationship is over.”

Kids under the age of 12 are pretty easy to please. Once they hit the teens, God help them, and God help me in the gift buying department. If they have an iPhone, I gift an iTunes card. Oh, my backup? A Starbucks card.

Is a Starbucks card the answer to all problems in life? I’ve got to think more about this possibility. Maybe I’ll give myself a Starbucks card. No, I already have the app on my iPhone and collect stars. Here’s a question for you. I collect Starbucks stars, I have lots of them. Are they still stars if the iPhone records them in some form of cryptic code? If they are in cryptic code, are they real stars? I think I’ve had one too many cups of coffee this morning.

 

I began this blog talking about gifts. Each of us is a gift when we give the gift of ourselves to others. Our gift to others takes on extra meaning when it is received by a grateful heart. The more we give the gift of our self to others, the more we discover our true mystery and destiny.

Outsmarted by a Bird Brain

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Who’s smarter, a sparrow or me? Obviously a sparrow. Who’s smarter, mourning doves or me? No trick questions, it’s the mourning doves. Who’s smarter, hummingbirds or me? Again, I come out on the short end of the stick. I could keep this quiz up for a half dozen more species, but the answers are all the same.

Did the Federal government fund this study? It is obviously important. If birds are smarter than a guy with a doctorate, the defense department may consider them to pilot jets or guide drones. Imagine a pigeon doing clandestine work for the CIA. You can’t? Think of a grackle sitting at the IRS reviewing taxes. Costs go way down. Think of a blue jay heading up border security. We won’t need a wall. What about hummingbirds carrying encrypted messages in their long bills. WikiLeaks is finished. The possibilities are endless.

Do I hear a question: “Ray, what did you have to drink before you wrote this blog?”

I confess I added freshly squeezed lemon juice to my filtered water. Maybe it was almonds I put on my salad. Or, the flaxseeds I added to my Greek yogurt. There has to be a simple explanation for my birdbrain rationalization.

Here is my reasoning why birds are more intelligent than me.

  1. I buy them food.
  2. I put the food in four different bird feeders if you count the hummingbird feeder as one of the feeders.
  3. I make sure they have enough food to eat every day.
  4. I’m thinking of having an app designed so they can order ahead and pick up their seed at the to-go window.

What do I get out this arrangement? They wake me up at 5:30 a.m. It doesn’t matter if I want to sleep a bit longer. They turn up the volume letting the entire neighborhood know it’s breakfast. Perhaps I’ve discovered a reason my neighbors are adopting cats from the shelter.

I watch the birds fly in and out of the feeders (I really, really, really need to reexamine the direction of my life). They invite their friends to the feeding fiesta. Now I know how workers at an all night burger joint feel.

As foolish as it sounds, I like feeding the birds. I am grateful for their visits. I get much more out of their company than I give to them. I can’t help myself, I am a nature lover and believe every species is sacred.

What’s More Dangerous than Piranha?

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Question: What is more dangerous than being tossed into a locked, fenced pen with six hungry, mean looking, drooling, barking pit bulls?

You in the last row. What’s that, Piranha? Cold, cold, cold.

I see you, stop waving your hand as you have an electric circuit running wild. “Walking down a gang-infested street with $100 dollar bills pinned to your clothes? Cold, cold, cold.

I see you didn’t read your assignment. I loaded the PDF online. What’s a PDF? What’s online? You want to run for Congress when you grow up? It appears you’re ready now.

You by the window with the smirk on your face, I did. You sure? I apologize class. I loaded the wrong PDF online. The one with the answers to the final. Close your computers. Shut off your tablets and iPad. Okay, everyone gets an A.

The answer to the question: Being forced to attend a university committee faculty meeting. I attended a meeting and barely survived. Do you know what it is like to sit with six egos so big they make you feel claustrophobic? I was gasping for air.

I decided to watch the dynamics. The first item on the agenda was the approval of minutes. They fought, they banged on the table. They demanded words be changed. They said I didn’t say that when everyone knows they did. I started to write out a power of attorney. They looked violent. When one professor stood up and placed his two hands on the table and bent toward a colleague and screamed, “You are an imbecile. No wonder I can’t stand you,” I began composing a living will.

I started to write out a power of attorney. They looked violent. When one professor stood up and placed his two hands on the table and bent toward a colleague and screamed, “You are an imbecile. No wonder I can’t stand you,” I began composing a living will.

When one professor stood up and placed his two hands on the table and bent toward a colleague and screamed, “You are an imbecile. No wonder I can’t stand you,” I began composing a living will.

Forty minutes to figure out if the minutes were okay, forty minutes. The chair said, “New business.” A committee member blurted, “What do you mean ‘none of my business.’ The chair said, “I said new business.” “Why didn’t you say so the first time?” snarled the committee member.

My preset chime went off. I looked at the group, “I apologize. I have another meeting on the far side of campus. I’ll read the minutes. Great meeting. A wave. A deep breath. I escaped.

Yes, I did have another meeting. Yes, it was on the far side of the campus. It was with the elliptical machine.

Listening and trying to understand is a big part working well with anyone. Some are born with the skill, most of us have to practice and practice and practice. It’s worth the effort.

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