Back at Wally’s Pond.... again ...

A visit to this mind sanctuary is long overdue to help with a bit of reflection, and perhaps also to help a sometimes-over-busy mind cope with the demands of day to day business.

It has been one of those sequences of days when unresolved and unexpected issues come and queue up at the door, just like patrons at a post office line on a busy holiday, waiting to place the responsibility of handling and delivery of their late gift packets on someone else’s hands.

Since this is my forum (it is … Isn’t it?) I think it is a good place to vent a little bit. “They” (after 73 years, I still don’t know who “they” are) say that putting one’s thoughts out there will make it easier to cope, as well as to visualize what or where a solution might be. But the truth is that I am not sure the “grievances” are about others and their issues or about my own shortcomings, if I am going to be honest.

I am told constantly that as one gets older --yes, in this case, me-- all traits and qualities are accentuated. The good ones (you may have to look deep for these) as well as the not-so-good ones (these tend to be a little closer to the surface, apparently). If you have been a kind person, you become kinder. However, if you have been a short-tempered person, you become truly grumpy, with a capital “G”. You become your own worst nightmare.

I have said it before, although not sure if within the entries in this forum, that as age advances, my patience accepts more but my tolerance diminishes. Is this sentence self-contradictory? Some people to whom I express these thoughts tell me that it is not possible; that if you are more patient, then you are also more tolerant. And, the corollary, that if I am less tolerant, then I can’t be more patient.

While I do believe these two are totally related, their relationship --in my belief system-- is more symbiotic than individual or separate.

As my time on this earth gets longer --or shorter, depending on differing points of view-- and after having lived through many experiences (some of which I’d rather not have experienced) it is true that my patience has become  more accepting of different people and ideas, as long as they are themselves accepting, and where the differing ideas are presented with a degree of coherence. Some who know me -or even live with me- would probably say, contrary to my own understanding, “Not True”.

Let’s look over a couple of situations. (1) Young and starting to get on with life and work, or (2) older and engaging in a new environment or set of responsibilities. Mistakes are made, ideas are lost, and re-starts become the norm for a while, on both scenarios. In situations like this, patience helps me understand that I must wait out the results; that mistakes are valid, that this is a time investment in the betterment of someone and something. Ok. Well and good.

Tolerance will not, in looking at these same scenarios and while accepting the fact that mistakes will be made, easily or calmly accept repetitive or foolish mistakes. Nor will it accept that enough time and dedication is not given to the specific process of learning, as required. I can say that tolerance is what sets the limit of how far patience will go in managing any given circumstances.

Tolerance will also set patience limits towards general behavior of people (including oneself) especially when it may deal with ill treatment or abuses against those who cannot defend themselves (human, animal or vegetal). Toward this, the limits are truly, down to near zero.

Now, notice the tolerance limits being referred to are very specifically directed at defined circumstances, not at life in general. The phrase “defined circumstances”, identifies circumstances which are identified by each of our separate growing and living experiences. In my case, I believe that intentionally wasting time, effort and knowingly inflicting abuses which can’t be answered by those being abused, definitely test my tolerance. However, a child yelling, running and just being a child, won’t.

So, while these are two different parts of our internal trait system, I do believe they, while being closely related, are differently managed and work on a symbiotic level, where Patience is the real-world expression of the limits that tolerance sets within the mind.

I am sure all this has been nicely explained elsewhere, but it has been on my mind lately. Especially with assorted (abusive, I am sure…) insinuations that I, in getting older, am becoming an impatient grouch of sorts. Not True!!!

Somewhat intolerant? Probably … but very patient.

Yep.

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

Then, there will be another one

Is that a real title? I don’t know. Probably not. As you can guess, I am trying very hard to get back on a “writing groove” -whatever that is- so as not to let far too much time go by between “appearances” on this “blog-stage”

Surprisingly, these entries are creeping up to the 20,000-hit mark, since they were first started as a “filler-of-time-while-recuperating-from-cancer-and-other-assorted-issues” hobby. Yes, I do understand there are many bloggers who will get that many “hits” on a daily basis but hey, let me enjoy the moment.

This blog was meant for a relatively small group of friends, who nicely told me they liked the way I wrote. They are/were also mostly from Cuba, the same as I, so the memories which were put on paper (Ok, digital paper!!) -although my own- were memories to which they could relate. And they did. That, combined with the fact that I spent then most days sitting or lying on my rehab bed, allowed me to give the blog the undivided time and effort it needed.

However, the algorithms of computing search kicked in, and suddenly there were readers in different parts of the world, places where I’d never think readers would appear. This made me very curious. To see how many countries would produce readers for a blog that, in essence, was meant as a personal travelogue through time and space. My own time and my own space. And yes, those with whom this time and space had been shared along the way, for they could read it and understand references and episodes lived, since they had lived similar ones.

Little by little, countries began to appear on that reader list. From South to Central and North America, to Europe and Asia. There were comments beginning to come in. Not all sweet and caring. But all comments were/are appreciated. Some from those friends who had shared this conceptual and real journey. Some encouraging me to put all these into a book format. Some telling me to leave “things” alone (still trying to figure out what “things” these folks were referring to) but the fact these regular people I don’t know took the time to read and to comment, was not lost on me.

It is said that a person (well, originally this said, “a man” but let’s be P.C.) should do three things while alive, to leave an impression of his/her passing through life: “plant a tree, travel, write a book”. I can vouch about having planted not one, but several trees and related living entities along the way. If you have followed this blog, then you know my travels have taken me around the world more than once.

And as for writing a book, technically, that has also been done. There is a book cataloged in the Library of Congress which includes my name as co-author. But I don’t really count this one, for it was a book on medical transcription and it was my first wife who really had the knowledge on this subject matter. She was an excellent, experienced medical transcription expert. I just helped with the editing and the putting together of the book.

This brings me back to said item. As mentioned somewhere in these -about 1,300 – 1.450- pages of “blogger-ing”, my forte is not long writing. I am not sure if it is short writing either. However, there is a compendium in the works, trying to put what I consider the better entries into a coherent format which, eventually, may or not see the light of day. This is up to about 400 double spaced pages which would probably translate into 220-240 regular printed pages. If it comes to pass, I guess enough will be printed to be given away to my children, so they don’t forget their roots. And some to my close friends… I’ll even sign them … Ok, maybe not.

There is another, longer shot also being slowly worked on … But that, is a totally different story.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

One More Anniversary

This morning I woke up with a heaviness in my mind and heart. I have been fairly busy lately, so it was assumed that perhaps this was the reason for this tired, but not quite tired feeling. Still in bed, but thinking about some strange, but unremembered dreams that have come along these past few nights and trying to make sense out of this whole scenario, I looked at my phone to see the time and noticed the date.

October 18^th. The anniversary of my son Eric’s death as a result of an accident. Then I understood. In my heart I knew this was a special day, even if my mind – in its ever-ongoing effort of self-protection- chose to not recognize it right away.

The years go by and blur into a non-distinct date and time. It becomes a moment, a late evening phone call with news no parent wants to hear or should have to hear.

Is the hurt gone? No, not quite. Yes, time does have a way of lessening it, but it is an empty feeling that never goes, or will go away.

Memories? Many. Some great, some not so great, some painful, some happy. And yes, some not so happy. But then, this is the amalgam of life.

My clearest memory and the one which defines Eric for me, was his personal struggle to deal with the ever-present specter of addiction. Alcohol was his nemesis and it gave him his darkest moments as well as -I believe- his most shining moments.

In the latter years, he fought to regain his life and wrest it away from this nightmare. He managed to fight it to a functioning draw and this, in of itself, was a tremendous life triumph. This is my memory of him. Smiling, loving, working, regaining his self-respect and beginning to trust in the possibility that he had, after all, the right to a good future. This made him a winner.

In my eyes, he was -and will always be- a champion. So yes, he is gone from this physical world, but in my proud heart he will always live on and his smile will always shine.

Eric Charles, my son. R.I.P.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

RAMBLINGS … September 19/20, 2019.

I have been watching a TV series which features a writer as a primary character. A recurrent theme is the (in)famous “writer’s block”. I can totally identify with that concept, since it has kept me away from my computer time and again. Lately, whenever there is an urge to sit and write anything, that writer’s block thingy pops up and nothing happens …

It’s a real killer …

Or … probably a much more honest appraisal would be (at least in my situation) a case of the “lazies” accompanied by a rather busy schedule. So, I guess we can call it a “lazy block”. This is a far more serious than a mere “writer’s block” because it affects the writing, the sitting, the thinking, the doing, the undoing, the wanting “to do or not to do” … Hey, is this last bit similar in scope to “to be or not to be”? Wow… if it is, I’m running in some heady circles!!

It isn’t? … Aw shucks … And just when I was getting used to think about “deah” (that’s “dear” to you, uninitiated Brits) “cousin Will”.

Anyway … back to the task at hand… there are a couple of pages to be filled and at this rate it’s beginning to look like it will be mid-winters’ night (OK… OK… I’ll stop with any more references to cousin Will) before I do.

Sitting here and thinking about the many characters that have come to life on these pages -and yes, most are real, a very few being a product of my imagination but based on real people (most notably my dear cousin/friend “Cheíto”)- the places visited or lived in and all the (mis)adventures along the way, I wonder where to go next on these pages. Some of these adventures were intended, some unintended. But equally interesting and equally demanding. And highly disappointing and frustrating. On “a very often basis”.

Most times, the written words which have “graced” these entries, have been based on my own experiences. Memories from childhood, “younghood”, early adulthood and, of course, stories which came out of attempts to do business all over the world. First, as an ad-hoc “roving ambassador”, trainer and corporate consultant within the life insurance world; later, as a corporate “entrepreneur” to help create what all around me said could not be done and then…  well, then came a long haphazard train ride with a rollercoaster tendency for which I was, truly, utterly unprepared.

But this ride has brought me into a world that simply doesn’t exist for the vast majority of people, providing for me a fountain of material for the memory vaults and of course, for these entries. And, dare I say it, some of the more interesting entries.

On the parallel side, there is a long narrative being written (slowly… very slowly) about these adventures. From the beginning to the end, and end which is still up in the air and not available. There is no guarantee there will ever be one.  Also, there is no guarantee this narrative will see the light of day (or night, for that matter) since long writing is not my forte.

I have come to realize that writing more than these short entries takes a serious long-term commitment of continued time and effort. There’s always been admiration and respect for those authors whose books I have read. Their creativity, writing, content imagination, organization and commitment is indeed amazing. I am in awe. Weeks, months, years totally immersed into a project which may or not be accepted by others. Do I have what it takes to do this? The honest answer is most likely, no, I don’t.

On a parting note to these ramblings, today (well, yesterday) is(was) my birthday. And as I see one more year go by, with all it may carry with it, there is a realization of a bittersweet feeling in the air. Bitter for all that is yet not done and the realization that time begins to take on a premium value.

Sweet, for all that the incredible things that have indeed been done over the years. Some of the results may have not been all that could have been wished, but the fact that the effort, time and intent to do was and is always present, is a sweet feeling of being; of living. Of having lived.

I tell my students this all the time, so I will end this entry with the same little piece of advice… Never give up on your dreams. Always move forward and dare to think differently and to be different. Don’t become just a follower.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

Love, After all These Years.

In my regular visits to the gym, I run into all kinds of people. There are the regulars, who go to do what they came to do and leave; I count myself among these. There are the socializers. These come to get together with other regular socializers, sit on one of the benches and talk. Then, there are the “I am here to be admired” group. Yep, you guessed it. The latest gym fashions and freshly coiffed hair, who do a couple of repetitions of whatever machine they fancy best, taking care not to mess the clothes or the hair.

What do all of the above comments have to do with the picture or the title? Nothing.

After a while, one gets to know most of the faces and, once in a while, there are new folks who come along; sometimes out of town visitors or, perhaps, just trying out the facilities. Yesterday as I began my walk, I fell behind the couple in the picture, folks I had not seen before. As I followed them for a while, it was clear they were in deep conversation and oblivious to the world around. I don’t know whether they were recently married, or simply two people who, after years of sharing a life, still felt close and intimately linked enough to one another to walk hand in hand while talking. I believe the latter was the case. It simply radiated this feeling.

Understanding and sharing love, is a learned skill. Easy, don’t jump just yet. I know it is a feeling, deeply rooted in its truest form. However, being able to fully accept this feeling, to live it and to share naturally and openly with someone we love is a learned skill. Some are fortunate enough to grow up in a home where this skill is taught and nurtured, along with the feeling that allows it to be so learned. Usually by a set example; this is not one of those “do what I tell you, not what I do” kind of learning. Unfortunately, in today’s non-committal and overly permissive society, this nurturing environment is being cruelly eroded.

Then, there are everyday turns and twists which will chip away at the concept of total commitment. Losses; life events that will critically maim the established roots and create an “it-is-difficult-to-trust” mind-set; a love lost, a wrongly placed trust.

Do I believe in love? 

Indeed, I do. 

Has it been difficult for me to get to the stage in life where I can feel total commitment? 

Yes, it has. 

I won’t go into the details or reasons as to why or why not. The road has been long and, unfortunately, quite unpaved and very rough at times. Yet, in the long run I have had, as most of us come to have at some point, the opportunity to review and value those many turns and twists. I cannot speak for you over here, or you over there. I can only speak for myself. I can’t blame anyone for my mistakes. Nor can I -or should you- carry the burden of these mistakes for a lifetime, allowing them to destroy the good inside us. The ones that could be resolved, I have tried to and, in some cases, succeeded; the ones that cannot be so addressed, have to be put aside in order to move on.

Only when your mind is without those extra negatives or guilt, it is that it can it set itself free to commit. To experience and enjoy. It is never too late for this. I have come to know and accept this; to experience it.

This is why, when I see an older couple walking together, holding hands, expressing their mutual love and trust openly, that they hold my utmost respect and admiration. And my wish and prayer that they can continue to experience this beautiful mind/heart connection for the rest of their time in this life.

And that is my wish for you and your loved one as well.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

Exercising and Years.

There isn’t much going around right now other than politics and, although we have dabbed into that a couple of times in the past, that isn’t really what this blog is about.

Years ago, in another time and life, I’d get up in the morning ready to take on the world. Play tennis, do some gym work and tackle the day with a full-frontal attack.

Today, forget tennis… I still have a racket and a bag of tennis balls which are becoming rusty and somewhat deflated. The bag lies there in the dark closet in my office at home, until those times when one of our younger set members comes bearing his/her four-footed children. At that point, that bag of balls becomes handy and it gives up one or two of its well-guarded treasures so they can become the object of a chase and play game.

If I ever manage to create a 3 on 3 tennis game (me, being one of the third players, stationed semi-motionless at mid center court…) I may be able to play again. Otherwise… no comments, please.

Sometime during this past January, I went through my clothes and 75% of them simply did not fit. I did not feel well and looked worse for the wear. My waistline must have increased dramatically, for I remember one pair of jeans that showed at least a 2+ inch expanse between where it might close and where its buttons actually were.

But, hey… it’s January, very close to new year and still in time to make good on one of those (in)famous new year resolutions, right?  Except on this occasion, that pant waistline reality-check tells me that I better make it work.

What to do?

I like to eat. Not in excess quantities, but I am omnivorous and some of the fare, although home cooked, might tend to be not on the lean side of the scale. As mentioned before, I used to exercise regularly, so I was able to eat well. One routine stopped; the other did not.

So, I took stock of the situation…

There’s this incipient arthritis on the left shoulder… so my possible arm exercises are limited to waving hello and goodbye.

A long-standing ulcer (now finally healed) on the inside of my ankle had not allowed me to walk much, because the socks would rub on the sore skin and make it worse.

My hips were bothering me, and the left knee was letting me know those beautifully fluid motions that allowed me to, ages ago, gracefully slide on the tennis clay courts, were no longer fluid nor beautiful. In fact, sometimes it felt downright creaky.

Especially when carrying around an extra 30 pounds or so. But, hey… other than those previous details, all else was great and I was set to go. Right. Yeah.

I looked at the mirror and said to myself: -“Self… you are close to letting things get out of hand … on the verge of becoming old, bald and fat (at least, at 6’2’’ I can skip the “short” part)

- “What are you going to do about it?” Asked I to “self” …

- “How about looking through Amazon to see if I can find a newer model?” came back the immediate answer … You can imagine my state of mind …

I am not going to bother you with the intervening moans, groans, and ouches. Changed my eating habits, increased the green stuff and decreased the red stuff (including wine, a painful decision), stopped eating anything between meals, making the night meal a very light repast.

Started walking. In the beginning, my walking goal was 3 x week at 2,000 paces. Kind of Sunday walk-about paces. Pitiful. But true. Now I am at 6000 paces x 5 times per week. Brisk paces, just short of “double-time” (for you, Army buffs).

I feel a lot better; my hips don’t bother me, my knee stopped creaking and I have actually lost some 28 pounds. The tennis part is still in the future... and here is where I say … - “If I can do it and you need to, you can do it too …” It’s true.

And those bloody jeans are on me right now, as I write this.

And answering your silly question (I can hear you!) … Yes, they are properly buttoned.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

My Generation Is Blind to the Prosperity Around Us.

A friend sent this piece to me and, after reading it, I can’t truly add or take away any of what is presented. I can only say I wish I had written it but then, its impact would not be what it is. It was penned by a 26-year-old, a so called “millennial", who is coming to understand the danger of populism. I do not know his name; I wish I did to give him/her proper credit. It can only be surmised from reading that he, or she, is a Florida resident. Would that this and other notes like it could find their way to the eyes and minds of many young people who, for the sake of going “against the establishment”, are willing to make important decisions without the benefit of different, or differing, viewpoints.

I understand and know the dangers of wielding blind opinions; I was there once. 

A long while ago, it seems.

It reads:

“I’m sitting in a small coffee shop near Nokomis (FL) trying to think of what to write about. I scroll through my newsfeed on my phone looking at the latest headlines of Democratic candidates calling for policies to “fix” the so-called injustices of capitalism. I put my phone down and continue to look around. I see people talking freely, working on their MacBook’s, ordering food they get in an instant, seeing cars go by outside, and it dawned on me. 

We live in the most privileged time in the most prosperous nation and we’ve become completely blind to it. Vehicles, food, technology, freedom to associate with whom we choose. These things are so ingrained in our American way of life we don’t give them a second thought. We are so well off here in the United States that our poverty line begins 31 times above the global average. Thirty. One. Times. Virtually no one in the United States is considered poor by global standards. Yet, in a time where we can order a product off Amazon with one click and have it at our doorstep the next day, we are unappreciative, unsatisfied, and ungrateful.

Our unappreciation is evident as the popularity of socialist policies among my generation continues to grow. Democratic Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recently said to Newsweek talking about the millennial generation, “An entire generation, which is now becoming one of the largest electorates in America, came of age and never saw American prosperity.” Never saw American prosperity! Let that sink in. 

When I first read that statement, I thought to myself, that was quite literally the most entitled and factually illiterate thing I’ve ever heard in my 26 years on this earth. Many young people agree with her, which is entirely misguided. My generation is being indoctrinated by a mainstream narrative to actually believe we have never seen prosperity. I know this first-hand, I went to college, let’s just say I didn’t have the popular opinion, but I digress.

Why then, with all of the overwhelming evidence around us, evidence I can even see sitting at a coffee shop, do we not view this as prosperity? We have people who are dying to get into our country. People around the world are destitute and truly impoverished.

Yet, we have a young generation convinced they’ve never seen prosperity, and as a result, electing politicians dead set on taking steps towards abolishing capitalism. Why?

The answer is this, my generation has only seen prosperity. We have no contrast. We didn’t live in the great depression, or live through two world wars, the Korean War, The Vietnam War or see the rise and fall of socialism and communism. We don’t know what it’s like to live without the internet, without cars, without smartphones. We don’t have a lack of prosperity problem. We have an entitlement problem, an ungratefulness problem, and it’s spreading like a plague."

Thank you for sharing this note Douglas.

I can only push it forward.

Be well; Be back!

Lost in The Folds of Time

There are moments when I truly feel that I am lost in the folds of time. Functioning within a slow-motion, somewhat off-color and loosely patched-together film. Yet, fascinating and sometimes difficult to watch because I am the primary player and I guess the unwitting or, perhaps, very willing scriptwriter and director.

Looking through a discolored window into a sometimes foggy garden; a garden of life, my life. Moments, places, episodes, conversations, silences… There are many instances of this long passage included in this running blog (lately, more of a “crawling” blog) but when I look at the total picture, there is the realization that much has been relegated to forgetfulness. Because time deletes some of these memories. Perhaps because the mind will do the same, pushed by an encroaching inability to remember some of those details. I think this last may be an expression of subliminal and deliberate self-defense. Survival instincts.

Early summer, many years ago… perhaps another life. My son, then 18 years old or so, in the midst of his confusion and inner turmoil, ran away from home. In the time I had prior to leaving on an extended business trip (another one of those) the communication with his mother (by then my ex) and with several search and poster agencies became, to paraphrase a(n) (in)famous term, “fast and furious”.  

By the time I left, we still had not heard from him, nor had any news from any of the agencies. His mother called me regularly to request funds to continue the search; I called her to learn if anything had happened. After a strange period of silence (no funds requests, no news, no calls) I decided to call to find out if anything had been heard. This time, probably by punching the wrong button, I called her home number rather than her cell phone as had been her request.

The phone rang for a few times and when I was ready to hang up on my end, it was picked up at the other end. No one spoke and I called in “hello” … a tentative “hi” came back over the lines. To my great and happy surprise, it was my son, who’d found his way back and had been at his mom’s for almost a week already.

We talked for a while, he never really touching on where he had been and what had happened. The where we later learned had been Chicago; the what, he took to his grave. I was just happy to hear his voice and to know he was alive and back home, although the “and well” part remained to be seen.

After I hung up, I had a deep sense of relief about knowing he was back. However, somewhere else a feeling of anger began to roil up deep inside.

He had been back for almost a week! His mother had not told me. She had been quick to call for money and to make sure to throw guilt my way about his leaving. Trust me, I had enough guilt to throw around; there is always the questioning and the inner berating.

Yet, when he came back, she had not said anything. If I had not called the home number that day by mistake, I don’t know how much longer she would have kept it from me.

Peevish? … Petty? … Revenge for a failed marriage?

Any and all of the above; none of the above. Her excuse when I called her on this was that she had misplaced the overseas number. Difficult for this to happen unless her phone was lost. She had the number on speed dial. It took some time and effort to force that anger to disappear or, at least, to be relegated to the back of the cage.

A moment from the past; a scene from that foggy garden of life memories. Almost lost in the folds of time… I wonder how many more of these exist.

I am sure many.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com

Airports and Flying.

There were times when an airport seemed to be my home away from home. So much so that, before the advent of the cell phone, my “snail-mail” (the only one available at the time) would wait for me at what was then the Eastern Airlines Ionosphere Lounge in Miami. Yes, waaay back then… The easiest way to “interconnect” destinations in Latin America was to come back to Miami and go from there to the new port-o’-call.

- “Hi Mr. Alcazar…” would say the attendant at the lounge, with her best business smile… -“here’s some mail that came for you”.

Services to the “business club” traveler was much better then than now…

Why does this come to mind today, as I sit here far removed from the air highways of the world?

A few days ago, I went to the local airport to wait for my wife who was coming back from a short vacation, spent with her sister and niece. When I say “local” airport, this doesn’t mean a one-flight-a-day wonder. Charlotte is considered among the top 5 traffic airports in the nation. It is a busy place, even in the later evening hours.

I sat in the baggage area waiting, and there was a chance to see a host of bedraggled, tired looking folks of all shapes, colors and sizes walk by. Some tiredly hauling their respective suitcases, others with that look that says “here we go again, let’s see how long it takes to get my bags from that little mystery tunnel” … And yes, all with their water bottles in tow because we must keep hydrated, especially at 20,000 feet in the air. No wonder today the line at the plane’s bathrooms are longer than the lines at the terminal (never did like this name as it related to air travel).

There were some 20-30 minutes to wait and after a few minutes of “crowd gazing’, my mind began to wander… traveling back in time to when I was one of those tired looking shufflers, getting off at my next business destination or getting back home after 10-12,000 miles (or hours, I’m not sure which but it certainly felt like it) of relentless travel.

At an airport in a small Caribbean island (yes, business!) we stood under a thatched roof (it was a very small airport), looking at our plane while all on hand attendants were around one of the tires which seemed to have gone flat. One of them had a manual on hand; I guess to figure out what to do under the “Tires, Flat” section.  Much to our relief, a spare plane was sent to pick us up and we made it back safely.

Another time, in a small regional airport at a small country town in one of our brother Latin American countries, there was this gentleman farmer who insisted on bringing his pig on board the passenger section. Cooler heads won the moment and he was convinced to send it via luggage cargo.

Then, there was the landing on a very short runway, which dropped into the warm, blue Caribbean water (and rocks) at its end. When we (our plane) finally slowed down enough to turn, the outer wing was totally over water. We had at least … 7 feet to spare before plunging into the water and rocks.

The most memorable for me were two situations.

Once on an L-1011 landing during a terrible storm in Atlanta, GA. I sat at a window by the wing and all I could see were massive raindrops. As we quickly approached the final landing, I couldn’t see any concrete underneath… Apparently the pilot noticed that small detail as well for, at the last second before what might have been a grass touch down, he seemed to shove the power sticks full forward and the plane (a big one) jumped forward about 15-25 meters barely touching down (actually smacking down)at the beginning of the strip. Disaster averted.

The other one was a take-off from Sao Paulo, Br. This was on an older PanAm 747. We had had to land at Sao Paulo due to malfunctions, on a flight from Buenos Aires to Miami. As soon as we took off, the plane began to strongly sway from left to right and then back to the left. It continued this violent zig-zag pattern for about 15 minutes. Then, the pilot simply said – “Sorry folks, we were navigating between electrical cells… we wouldn’t want to get hit by a major lightning strike, would we now?

No, we wouldn’t.

Fleeting airport memories while waiting for my wife to arrive. Considering I logged almost 3 million miles during my business -on air- career, there were few of these instances. Commercial flights with well qualified pilots are the safest mode of travel. Or so they tell me…

But there will be those moments which stand your hair up and set your knees to jelly… and these are the ones that tend to stay in your memory.

Happy flying!!

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

·       Pray for those who are fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and counts!!   

·       Any comments please send to rjalcazar@gmail.com