writing

I’ll Have a Margarita

by

“I am bored Ray. Let’s do something other than blog, blog, blog.”

‘What do you suggest, La Flor*? You got your start because of a blog and now you’re turning your back on it? It smacks of being a bit ungrateful, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. You don’t listen to the same song all the time, do you? I am so tired of you playing the same songs every morning over and over again. I’ve memorized all of them.

“I like those songs. Besides, you don’t sound like George Strait.”

“It’s the same food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Today’s Friday, and I already know what you’re going to cook for Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. How about the time you leave for the Y? Shall I continue?”

“Stop. I get your point. What do you suggest we do to break the routine?”

“Let’s go to the Riverwalk. You can order your iced tea. I’ll get a margarita. And, we will people watch and make snap judgments.”

“A Margarita?” I asked.

“What other kinds of drink do you suggest for a beautiful, tough, and edgy PI on the San Antonio Riverwalk?”

“How about ice water with lemon?”

30 minutes later we were sitting under red, white, and green umbrella at a table next to the San Antonio River on the Riverwalk. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments.

A mariachi band was playing close by. I like mariachi music. There’s something about it that will never make the top of the charts, yet, it tugs at the heartstrings – especially when you’re writing a blog. When the song ended, the leader of the mariachi band came over. He took off his sombrero and bow, then said, “Senor, would you like us to play a haunting romantic melody for the señorita and you?”

I was about to say no, when La Flor said, “Perfecto.”

I wondered where La Flor was picking up her knowledge of the Spanish language. Within seconds, a trumpet player, a violin player, and a guitar player who doubled as a vocalist surrounded us. We were the center of attention on the Riverwalk. I wanted to crawl under the table. La Flor moved her chair closer to me. I looked at her and said, “You’re embarrassing me.”

She grabbed hold of my arm. I removed it. She grabbed hold of it again. With my other hand, I reached into my pants pulled out a $20 and asked the leader to move on. A wave of the sombrero, a bow, and thankfully La Flor released my arm to applaud.

“You are not my girlfriend,” I said.

She said, “I’m a girl, right?”

“Right,” I answered, too blind to see the sixteen-wheeler approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.

“I’m your friend, right?” she said.

“Right,” I answered and switched metaphors. ‘Houston, Houston,” my mind screamed, ‘I have a problem.’ Only problem, NASA isn’t reading my mind.

I fell head first into the fifth-grade trap.

La Flor said, “Then I’m your girlfriend.”

“What about Jack Reacher?” I asked.

“What Jack doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said.

“How many margaritas have you had?” I asked.

“Not to worry, Ray. The chips and salsa absorb the Marguerite.”

“What are you talking about?”

La floor didn’t answer me. She took one more sip of her margarita and said, with the littlest voice I’ve heard in years, “Ray, I’m so happy you are the designated driver. La Flor PI is taking the rest of the day off. Can we go home?” Burp

We went to the Riverwalk with the intention of making snap judgments on other people. All in good fun. Not intending any harm. We didn’t make any snap judgments. There may have been many snap judgments made about us and deservedly so. I have no intention of making any towards La Flor. She’s sleeping so I can tell you she has a heart of gold and her rough edges, at times, obscure the wonderful person she is. That is true of all of us. Our rough edges often hide our genuine goodness.

* 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.

 

 

You Can’t Keep Your Feelings Bottled

by

“Why are we here, La Flor? I’m only going along with this to keep you happy. A happy character is a contented character.”

“If our relationship is going to work, Ray. We need counseling.”

“What relationship?”

“Why are men afraid of relationship counseling? Don’t be afraid of letting it go, Ray.”

“Letting what go?”

“Your feelings. You can’t keep them bottled inside.”

“BTW, men are not afraid of relationship counseling. It’s just, just that it conflicts with ESPN, the Comedy Channel, fantasy football, and wondering what’s for dinner. Besides, I’m not afraid of counseling. I just don’t need it because there is no relationship between the two of us.”

“There is the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You’re in denial.”

“About what?”

“Our relationship.”

“What relationship?”

We’re going in circles, Ray. Can we change the subject?

“Okay, what is the name of the psychologist? Is it a male or female? Why didn’t I get a voice in the matter?”

“He is very famous. He comes highly recommended. I thought having a male psychologist would make you feel more comfortable.”

“Who recommended this psychologist?”

“My mystery writer girlfriend. She used him in one of her mysteries to break a cold case,” said La Flor paying more attention to her emery board than to me.

“La Flor, let me see if I have this straight. I’m going to counseling with a fictitious character I created because she thinks she and I have a relationship problem?”

“Right.”

“I’m not finished. Your good friend, who writes a mystery writers blog, whom I’m never met, recommended a psychologist she uses in her blog to solve cold cases.”

“Right.”

“I have more. I believe the mystery writer is the alt ego of a real person and is a created character like you.”

“You’re on fire, Ray.”

“What am I, a real person, doing going to counseling with a fictitious psychologist suggested by a fictitious blog writer and character I created over relationship problems?”

“He can help, Ray. He’s a very, very famous psychiatrist.”

“And, whom might he be?”

“Dr. Joe Brothers. He’s Joyce Brothers twin brother. He married Dr. Phil’s sister. Sounds strange, right.”

“I’m having a difficult time following you, La Flor. Are you sure about your facts?”

“You’re confusing Dr. Joe Brothers with Sigmund Fraud. Check that, Dr. Phil. That’s it, you’re confusing Dr. Brothers with Dr. Phil.”

“You did say Sigmund Fraud, not Freud? Does Joe have a mustache?”

“Yes, Sigmund Fraud was the famous one, the other one stole all his ideas. As for Dr. Joe, he did have a mustache, just like Dr. Phil, but he went to an alt ego dermatologist from Dr. Oz’s blog and had it lasered off. The dermatologist worked the laser like LeBron James works a basketball.”

“He must be good.”

“The best in the blogosphere. Be quiet, here he comes.”

Dr. Joe Brothers ignored me and walked over to La Flor. She rose to greet him. They hug. He said, “La Flor, how delicious to see you again.” Kiss, kiss on each cheek.

I said, “La Flor, is this the Dr. Joe Brothers you were telling me about?”

Brothers looked at me without turning his head, nice trick the way he moved his eyes so the one blue iris and one green iris rested in the corners of his eyes. From the way he kept his face toward La Flor, I was sure he had a crush on her. He mumbled something about my nose and ears I didn’t catch. He should talk, he’s got at least three-quarters of an inch on me if we’re measuring noses. He took La Flor by the hand and ushered her into his office, I trailed behind.

Brothers had an iPad he pretended to type notes on. I know he pretended because Siri kept saying “Please change your settings if you want to access this site.”

He turned the iPad over and said to me, “May I call you Way?”

He attempted to sound like he was from some European country. But you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the boy.

“My name is Ray, not Way.”

“Are you making fun of my wisp?”

I turned to La Flor and said, “Why are we here? This isn’t real. He’s not real. He’s a character like you.”

“Way,” Dr. Brothers said, “Have you considered that we are weal and you are not weal?”

“What do you mean by weal?” I said, irritated.

“It’s this way, Way. What’s weal is weal.”

If I didn’t think he was real, what was I doing here? Had I lost my grip on reality? It’s all La Flor’s doing.

He turned to La Flor and said, “Ways denial is wery deep.

“I’m going to rewrite the whole thing,” I said.

He turned to La Flor, “Darling, I thought you said it was your blog?”

“Matter of time, but don’t call me darling, one man has my heart.”

“Is it Way?”

“No, it’s Jack Reacher.”

“I thought we left that two blogs ago,” I said

“A girl can dream can’t she right? Can’t she?”

Every now and then our relationships hit a bump in the road. Small bumps may seem like mountains. When both parties have the courage to step back and acknowledge their relationship is worth the effort to save it; it is the first step to smoothing out the bump, growing closer, and becoming stronger as a couple. It takes two, it always takes two to make it work. When both express their feelings in an open, honest and non-threatening way, breakthroughs happen.

 

Did You Get Gift Receipts?

by

Something I’ve vowed I would never do, I went ahead and did. What did I vow never to do and go ahead and do it, you ask?

It’s quite simple. I called Orkin, the pest control people. When they refused to help, I went on Angie’s list and started calling the pest control experts one after the other. Some were rude to me. Others laughed at me. And, others told me they were going to report me to one agency or the other. I really didn’t do anything. All I wanted to do was to get rid of La Flor for a couple of hours.  I’ve come to like La Flor. I won’t tell her that. And, I ask you to keep my confidence. If I did, she would want a bigger role in this blog.

I thought it would be a good idea to let her take my credit card and go shopping. What could it hurt? I have no idea what this is going to cost. But the peace of mind I’ve achieved over the past two hours has been worth every cent. What was I thinking?

“Ray, Ray. I’m back. Did you miss me?”

All of a sudden, my stomach hurt. My heart is pounding. My right eyelid is sending signals across the cosmos. I take a lesson from the U.S. Navy Seals and breath deeply to a count of four. Or, was it five? Maybe three? It’s not helping.

I said, “How many bags do you have? Do I see one from Saks Fifth Avenue?  Nordstrom’s?  What are you doing with the bags from Victoria Secrets? This is a family blog.”

“Do I ask you where you go shopping? Do I ask you what you buy?” La Flor is clutching her bags close to her body.

“Yes, to both questions. Did you consider Target? Old Navy? Gap? BTW, I don’t want your bags. Relax, por favor.”

“No. No. And, No. And, I didn’t consider the big W if you know what I mean. See, this is the difference between you and me. When you go shopping, you go to H-E-B and buy groceries – boring. When I go shopping, I go out to have fun and spend, spend, spend. Besides, everything I bought is a necessary expense for La Flor, PI.”

“Did you get gift receipts, La Flor PI?”

“Why? I’m not giving anything away.”

“I’m talking about returning everything.”

“No can do, Ray.”

“Did you go shopping by yourself?”

“Duuh!  Beautiful, tough, and edgy girls never go shopping alone. If Jack were with me, I’d let him carry my bags. You’ll also notice lunch at La Cuisine Upscale on your credit card.”

“Get over Jack Reacher. He’s beyond your reach. Pretty good, right? I never heard of it.”

“The restaurant? It’s the overrated, overpriced French restaurant with the snobby wait staff. And, never enough food to fill you up. But the wine is excellent.”

“You couldn’t go to a barbecue joint? Whataburger? In-N-Out Burger? Subway? Tony’s pizza?”

“When girls go shopping, Ray. They don’t do those kinds of places. The only time I do those restaurants is when you take me for doing a good job. I can’t wait to renegotiate my contract.”

“What contract?”

“The one my agent is going to send to you.”

“How did this happen? I created you?

“Save it for another blog post. You’re already over your head in this one.”

“I think you’re carrying the tough and edgy parts of your persona a bit too far. What is the tab on my credit card?”

“I never keep track of that kind of thing.”

“You’re making my heart race, La Flor.”

“It’s only money, don’t be so tight.”

I’m online checking out my credit card. La Flor you spent . . .”

La Flor is a good teacher. Oh, she goes overboard now and then. But she’s right, it’s only money. Money is a useful thing, and it has its place. When it rules our lives, it becomes destructive. People love me, money doesn’t love me. People lift me up when I’m feeling down, money doesn’t. People inspire me that tomorrow will be better than today, money doesn’t. Thank you, La Flor, for prying my fingers loose, a little bit.

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. 

 

What Kind of Hell Am I In?

by

“How about a serious blog today La Flor? It is La Flor or did you change it?”

“Do you mean to tell me that your blogs are not serious? And, I am keeping my name for the time being La Flor has a nice ring to it.”

“Are you still pursuing a career as a PI?”

“It’s my dream job, Ray. I want to start on something a little less demanding. Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a great idea for you. Why don’t you co-write today’s blog on making the perfect meal?”

“I’m on it, Ray. Move out of my way.”

“Try not to be impetuous, La Flor. Let’s take it slowly.”

“Don’t get in My Way, Ray. This is my chance for the big breakthrough. You’ll see my star power. I’ll rocket to the top. After this blog, I’ll be on the Food Channel. I’ll have my own show. I’ll need a lawyer and agent. You won’t do. If you’re nice to me, I’ll give you a cameo. Don’t worry, I won’t forget your birthday or Christmas.”

“As always, La Flor, you always have others in mind first. What’s your idea for our food blog?”

“I don’t like the sound of our. I’m going to start easy with a five-course vegan meal.”

“Let’s simple it down a tad. At least for the first one. We’ll still keep it vegan. Do you want to hear my suggestion?”

“Let me guess, a hard-boiled egg?”

“No. I believe a peanut butter sandwich will do.”

“What’s the title of the blog, Bag Lunches for Kindergarten Students?”

“Peanut butter sandwiches bring me back to a kinder, gentler time when I …”

“Don’t go there if you’re going where I think you’re going, and I know that’s where you’re going.”

“Where do you think I’m going? I don’t look like I’m going anywhere. I’m sitting listening to you.”

“There you go, Ray. Don’t give me that look. You are going where you’re not supposed to be going if you want your peanut butter sandwich. And, I might call your Uncle Joe.”

“Leave Uncle Joe out of it. He never forgets me on Christmas. Where did you learn to read minds?”

“Oprah.”

“Oprah?”

“And, The View. Okay, creamy or chunky?”

“I prefer organic, creamy.”

“This is so boring. White bread okay?”

“I prefer a whole grain bread with at least 7 grams of fiber, five grams of protein, toasted, not burned or charred, it has a golden hue and the outside is crunchier than the inside.”

“Who do you think it’s going to read this blog?”

“Organic peanut butter lovers?”

La Flor covered her eyes, and said, “What kind of hell am I in?”

Everyone has the right to change his or her mind at least once. Make that as many times as he or she wants to change it. Life is filled with rapid changes and when we adapt to changes we discover new challenges, new adventures, and a wonderful opportunity to keep learning and growing.

 

 

The Blog Is Not About You

by

“Good morning Ray. I’ve been giving my personality a lot of thought.”

“I’m glad one of us has. Don’t roll your eyes. Why are you folding your arms across your chest? Don’t turn away, what is it?”

“I want to be a PI. One of the hard-boiled kind. You know the old-fashioned rough and tough. Look at me. I’m beautiful, edgy, and tough.”

“You have the perfect personality to be a hard-boiled PI. I don’t have to add anything to it. Can I go back to writing my blog?”

“Will you help me? Let’s try one blog and see how it works out.”

“I don’t know anything about writing a PI blog.”

“How hard can it be? Every PI show uses the same recipe. We’ll substitute me. Someone is in distress.  They come to me for help. I take the case after a bit of haggling. I walk on the edge because I’m edgy. I get my way because I’m beautiful. I get the bad guys or girls because I’m La Flor the PI.”

“La Flor?”

“Clever. It’s Spanish the flower.”

“I know what it is.”

“Honestly, La Flor, I don’t know anything about being a PI. I only know about pi equals 3.14. And, even then, that’s where my knowledge stops.”

“I will dictate the blog for you. I will speak slowly enough so you can comprehend what I’m saying.”

“You’re not going to leave until I do this, am I correct?”

“You got that straight, Buster. See how easy I slip into my role?”

“Fantastic. I can only hope Hollywood is calling you. Start telling me your story.”

“La Flor struggled against all odds to achieve her dream to become a private investigator. She was tough, beautiful, and edgy. The only hindrance to her being the best in the business, was the wannabe blog writer, Ray.”

“Hold on, La Flor. Let’s leave me out of your stories. I’ve got enough going on without you creating more problems for me.”

“Thanks for the line Ray. You proved my point. I’m going to use that line in my story.”

“Hold on this blog is not about you.”

“If not me, who?”

Our lives are our stories. Each moment we are creating our stories with our conversations, relationships, and actions. La Flor wants to write a PI story with her as the heroine. I like that. Our life stories should have us as the hero or heroine in our unique story. I am going to start writing a new chapter. I know I can always end a chapter any time I desire and start a new chapter. 

 

Girlfriends, I Need Some Help

by

“I’ve been thinking, Ray.”

“Okay, I’m paying attention. This is new territory for me. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about me.”

“I see we are going where no human being has ever dared venture before. And, I see nothing but Trouble with a capital T.”

“You writers think you own your characters, but I have a news flash for you …”

“I don’t watch cable news Sunflower. Let’s get back to you.”

“It’s not Sunflower. It’s Daisy. My personality is bland. I have a sharp mind. I keep you focused. But I am not an administrative assistant.”

“Daisy? What happened to Sunflower?”

“Oh how slowly you men are to understand.”

“What am I missing here, Daisy?”

“You are missing the whole point. And, if Daisy too difficult, you can call me D.”

“The point? I don’t see any point in this conversation?”

“Girlfriends, I need some help with this guy. Okay, I’m going to spell it out for you. I don’t do coffee, bathrooms, floors, or mirrors.”

“How about dinner on Mondays?”

“No.”

“Okay, I get the point.You’re here for the free ride.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning again, Ray. My personality is bland, bland, bland. It’s white rice. It’s borracho beans without the borracho. It’s chilies without the chill. See where I’m going? I’m adding a little spice.”

“I may have my eyes checked, but go on.”

“I’m adding a little spice to my life. In your language, I’m putting some chili pepper into my personality. Maybe a little sriracha sauce. I might even throw in a habanero or two. I’m thinking of a tat or two. Pretty cute they way I said it, right?”

“Can I use it in my blog?”

“Sure thing. Make sure you attribute it to me.”

“Well, this new spicy personality is giving you an independent streak.”

“Just in time for the 4th.”

It is our personality that makes us interesting. Different personalities add color and a bit of pizzaz to our world. It’s good we’re not all alike or think alike or act alike. When we are open to accepting another and his or her personality as he or she is, we become open to discovering new worlds and learning much more about other people and ourselves as well. Go for it Daisy, D, Sunflower, or whatever your name is. I can’t wait to see how you develop your personality.

 

Are There Dating Sites For Alt Egos

by

No writer’s block today. I feel as if I’m on a rocket named mood swing. I have blog ideas riding my dendrites as if they were at the San Antonio rodeo. If only one of them would hang on for eight I might have something.

“Ray?”

“Z uh? What’s wrong? You sound depressed. Did you catch it from me yesterday? Your name is still Z uh, right?”

“I didn’t have the energy to change it.”

“You want to talk?”

“Are you going to listen or pretend you’re listening?”

“Can I do a little of both? You know how my mind works. Don’t take it personally. You have a good three or four minutes of my full attention. After that, I lose control. An alien force takes hold of my mind and sends it at warp speed to places in the cosmos that no man or woman have ever traveled.”

“Give me a break with the

Z uh’s comment took me aback. I’ve never thought about Z uh having a boyfriend. “What kind of boyfriend?” I asked with a bit of trepidation in my voice.

Z uh gives me a look that tells me not to go there. She said, “Are there any dating sites for alt egos?”

“Dating sites for alt egos? You mean characters like you who’ve taken on a life?”

“Duh! Of course.”

“Let me check. I’ve found one. It’s called Alt Egos Need A Life dot com. Let’s check it out.”

“Thanks for helping me, Ray. Maybe I’ll find that special alt ego.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Z uh. I got to warn you, there are a lot of sick, weird, seriously warped alt ego personalities floating around.”

“Give me your laptop. I don’t trust you filling out my profile.”

“It sounds like you’ve done this before.”

“I previously used one or two or three or four of my aliases.”

“Any luck?”

“All bad. But I haven’t tried this site. I’m feeling better already. I’m taking charge of my life.”

“There’s a phone call for you.”

“Who is it? I’m busy.”

“Your girlfriend from the mystery writers blog wants to know if you want to go with her to an alt ego club tonight.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“Be careful.”

“Okay. You’re a good friend, Ray.”

What is a friend? We all need them. It’s nice to have lots of friends. It’s even better to have at least one or two real friends who’ll drop everything to help when you’re in trouble. The kind of friends who don’t count the cost, time, or want payback. They pitch in because they’re your friend. This is the kind of friend I want to be. As Bruno Mars said in his song, Count on Me. “You can count on me like one, two, three I’ll be there. And, I know I can count on you like four, three, two you’ll be there.” 

 

 

The Black Hole All Writers Fear

by

“Ray? Ray? Ray? Quit hiding from me. Where are you? It’s not like you. I’ll find you. Ah hah! The scent of a rich dark roast coffee, with a hint of a smokey, yet filled with the unmistakable trace of the world’s richest chocolate. There you are. What are you doing in your closet grasping hold of your coffee with both hands? What are you afraid of, Ray? Together, we can face your fears.”

“Please, Tay. Leave me alone. I don’t want to see anyone, especially you.”

“What’s wrong, Ray? You can call me  Z uh.”

“Who? What happened to Tay?”

“It rhymed with Ray. My name’s spelled Z space uh. I need my own identity. Don’t take it personally, but look at you, you’re a wreck. You’re worse than a pileup on a San Antonio freeway where a taco food truck tipped over. Worse, a barbecue food truck back ended it. The people of this city will do anything for either delicacy.”

“You are driving me nuts. I’ve writer’s block. Nothing is coming to me. Nada. I’m looking into the black hole all writers fear and I see no way out.”

“I was afraid of this, Ray. I could see it coming.”

“Why didn’t you warn me? Why didn’t you give me a clue?”

“Come on, Ray. What’s the first rule of your species?”

“Don’t ask for advice.”

“And, the second rule of your species, almost tied for first place, Ray?”

“This is painful Z uh. It’s, it’s …”

“Spit it out, Ray.”

“Lord, it hurts. It’s when given advice, ignore it at all costs. Why was I hiding?”

“The Sox lost. You take losses hard, Ray.”

“You sure? I think it was something else.”

“It’s another thing about your species, Ray. The mind can only hold so many facts.

 

Ego, a sense of foolish pride, a spirit of independence all can get in the way of seeking advice or listening to it when offered. Seeking advice, listening, testing it to see if it makes sense helps us to navigate through life’s choppy waters.

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.

 

 

 

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