In life we deal with many issues. Some are run of the mill, some are not, and others fall into that “more difficult to manage” status; often, we don’t really know how to go about dealing with these.   Thinking about this yesterday, while thinking about a situation that was developing, the title line of this entry came to mind. - “You must wield a steel claw covered by a silk glove” It was late 1973 and I, living then in Connecticut, had started working with a young life insurance company out of Miami, as an independent agent. This was the first time I came across a fully prepared ( canned, literally ) sales process. The government had recently passed a law allowing individuals to purchase a retirement account which could be qualified, just like a pension plan, for deductions of the premiums from the income tax basis. The company had an average product with an outstanding presentation. We carried around a self-contained machine, which showed a full 18-minute story as...

I thought about writing this as a purely personal exercise, not to be published. Why? A couple of people I cared about have died recently; this exercise would be sort of a catharsis… Then, I asked myself… “Self, why not publish? What are you afraid of?” I think a probable answer lies in the fact that most people don’t want to talk about the subject of death. It is one of those taboos we as children, especially in the Hispanic culture, are carefully steered away from. Then, we just keep the ignorance-is-bliss attitude into latter life. I have yet to understand why. After all, death is the end where, when we finally meet, we are all the same. There is no difference between black, white, brown, red, rich or poor. The body in which we have been residing as we would occupy a leased car, ceases to be. From dust we come and to dust we go. Or so it is said. Is this a depressive, contemplation of death write-up? No, it isn’t. This is more like a generational complaint. Most people are t...

We all have those moments in life when we may wish to have a built-in “delete” button…   Let’s face it. Just a few of us are near perfect, right? Yeah, I know… I must humbly accept I am not one of those, even if just missed by a little tiny step… you do realize that I say this to make you feel better, don’t you? Hmmm … I thought I would try to sneak one by while you weren’t paying attention… Anyway, back to reality and the thread at hand. Where does this come from? you ask… You didn’t ask? Well, let’s believe you did. No, not that I don’t listen to you, just that I can’t hear you right now… This old computer makes too much noise. A few nights ago, during a class ( familiar grounds?) there was an exercise which consisted of three questions to be answered in paragraph form, to be discussed. They all dealt with the concept of “options” and their consequences. One of the questions asked for the student’s opinion about the meaning of the concept represented by the word “opt...

There are people and then there are people one meets along the way. Not all are good, not all are bad. Most are in between. Then there are those who come forward at a time of need. I have not written lately as much as I would like nor, perhaps, as little as you might want me to. Truth be told, work has kept me away from doing one of those activities which call to me and to which a good deal of my time could easily be devoted. In my last entry, I briefly mentioned my starting something akin to a “memory book” about those years of my (our) life spent in the pursuit of the modern Golden Fleece, in the form of a financial transaction. A question often asked is “Does it really exist?” The answer is “yes” but it proves to be as difficult to grasp as the original one. I still question if a completed account of this craziness will ever see the light of day. - Why? You ask… I guess you have the right to… There is the issue of privacy. Mine, my wife’s and that of some of the people...

Why is it so difficult sometimes to just sit and begin to clatter away at the computer keys? The stories at the beginning of this blog centered around the time and circumstances leading up to my departure from Cuba, at age 15. These were followed by short recounts of my life as it developed during the first few years in my new country and these, in turn, with memories of people, places and moments that have been a part of my life before, and since my coming to the US. The time around the trip to come to the US is worthy of a book in of itself and, in fact, 2 or 3 books have been published by “Pedro Pan” children. To me, writing about it was a way to pass the convalescing time after my cancer treatments and hip surgery, and also -perhaps the bigger reason- to leave something my children might someday read. Not necessarily because of its literary value, mind you… but because it was the story of someone who should have been a larger part of their adult lives but who, for reaso...

I know she has already been mentioned somewhen along this line of sometimes unhinged memories as they relate to moments of my life , but yesterday she came up again in conversation. Why? I don’t really know… all I remember is that, suddenly, there she was… in my mind almost like in the flesh. All 5 feet 3-4 inches of her immense presence; in her starched white blouse and long skirt. Her round - appropriately named - granny glasses framing eyes which, after almost seven decades lived, were still shining in anticipation of things to come, knowledge to pass on, dreams to live and make into a reality. A mind which had learned to live every minute, every moment of a well spent life. Even those moments which to some of us lesser mortals might consider very difficult or to be of little or no relevance. She was a family friend and my first and only childhood English tutor. In other writings, her English skills and ability to pass them on were highlighted. But, what is it that brought...

As you know, if you have had the opportunity to “enrich” your days reading my blog ( OK, at least if not enrich, occupy your days if you’ve not much else to do ) teaching ESL ( English as a Second Language ) is what brings me a needed income on a regular basis. A student who is fast becoming a friend comes from one of the Cono Sur Countries. “Cono Sur” refers to those countries which sit at the far southern end of South America. Usually, after we finish the class, we take a few minutes over whatever is left of the coffee, and converse in Spanish, since it is still an easier venue for him. We talk about how it used to be like for him growing up in his native country, as opposed to what it is like for his own children growing up here. What he sees as an erosion of traditional values and discipline, aided by the advent of the cell phone and/or computer and the consequences of the instant social communication. He acknowledges that it is more difficult for a parent to be aware of ...