Life happens... it barrels along and we, who sometimes think might be in control, are merely passengers on that train. Often, decisions are made; decisions which deviate from the ones usually made. When this happens, we look upon them as merely "doing something different". However, oftentimes that deviation sets us on a different path than what might have been. And we will not be aware of this until much later on, as we look back on that time and that decision.
Sometimes I wonder what is it that keeps me coming back to sit at this cantankerous old laptop and write about french fries to go… or some such thing. Much like my car it is old (as comps go, about 7 years!!) and slow; much unlike the car, this is one baby I will trade in as soon as possible for a newer, longer, lower, wider, more powerful version.
Actually, what does bring me here to fill this virtual paper in, are issues that happen on a daily basis. As my remembrances may allow and when current issues are not that important (to me, that is), sometimes I go back down memory lane into some half forgotten page in that graying old book, hidden in the mind’s recesses. In reliving those pages, moments which should not be forgotten completely are dusted off and, for a while at least, brought back into present focus giving it a different slant, or a different viewpoint. All these put together often give that moment a new meaning and, on more than one occasion, have made me realize just how important whatever happened then was to be in my future life.
One afternoon, in June of 1972, I was freshly divorced, out of my first marriage. Yeah, there has been more than one. I was then living in Greenwich, CT and working at the local hospital. No, I was not a neurosurgeon; I just kept tabs on what those guys did from my perch within the confines of the “Record Room”. Back then computing was in its infancy and most records were physically kept in big’ol folders, color codes and all. It was, frankly, a very boring job but nonetheless it helped pay my rent. At the local YMCA, no less. Actually, as these hostels go, this one was pretty cool; I had a big round, turret like room at one end of the building, where I would rest my weary bones for about 4 months in relative comfort and with weekly payments within my budget.
On that fair summer afternoon back in ’72, I was sitting in the room with not much to do. It was a midweek day, the work was done and the heat numbers somewhere around 95. Being alone after 5 years of marriage, I was enjoying the solitude and the ability to live my life as I chose. What should I do today? I asked the guy staring back at me from the mirror. Honestly, I have never truly had (since leaving Cuba) many friends; people I might be able to call at the drop of a dime, much less stop in on them unannounced. I think there is an emotional backlash there somewhere; maybe for another post.
Anyway, in the midst of my two image, one sided conversation with the guy in the mirror, it was decided that it was a good time to go to the beach. So, I packed my briefs (not the legal kind), a sandwich, a soda, the suntan oil and took myself to the beach in Old Greenwich. Paid my parking fees and drove into the lot. Usually I went to the first lot, since there were bath facilities near this area. For some unknown reason, that day I chose to go to the second lot; still to this day, I do not know why. Went in, put my briefs on and went to lie down on my Winnie The Pooh towel (no remarks please…). During July and August afternoons, especially in still days, there are a lot of gnats at that beach. I guess they have little to do as well, and there is a lot of flesh lying around within easy picking.
As I was lying there, these little pests kept diving at me. Actually, their bark was worse than their bite, since the most bothersome issue with them was the kamikaze diving sound they made when coming at me. The sound was that of little planes dive bombing on my body. At some point I got fed up and this, being 1972 in Greenwich, CT., should be a time when not too many Cubans would be lying around me; so, a typically Cuban expression came out: “Coño!!! Como joden estos mosquitos!!” (loosely translated: “Damn!! These gnats are bugging the hell out of me!!”). Much to my surprise, to my left, an older lady laughed, looked at me and asked: “Eres Cubano?” (“Are you Cuban?”). As I could not deny this reality after that exclamation, we proceeded to talk and, as it turned out, we had many things in common, including hometown and friends; she even knew my mother and her nephew had been a classmate of mine. I was invited to come over to her house later in the week to have rice and beans, picadillo (typical Cuban ground beef dish), fried bananas and flan (my favorite custard dessert). And, oh yes, her daughter would be there, just coming back from a study year abroad.
As we mentioned at the beginning of this post, we never know at any given point in time what the consequences of any decisions (or chain of decisions) we make, will bring unto our lives. As it turned out, my going to the beach that day (I had not gone to the beach in over a month at that time) and my parking in the second lot and not in my usual first lot parking area, brought me to the side of this great lady who, 5 months or so later, would become my mother in law. That marriage eventually dissolved but it left three great children (now adults) as a legacy. So not all of it could be all that wrong.
Bloody gnats!!
Bloody gnats!!
Be Well!!! Be Back…
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