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 ...

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 l...

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 ...

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 airpor...

According to the Thesaurus, the word “musings” has several synonyms, all of which have to do with the action or concept of thinking without a definitive direction flow, of letting “things happen”. Apparently, the original home of the “what ifs”. I must admit this limbo-like mental state is one in which I find myself immersed occasionally. Sometimes by my own choice, sometimes by circumstances’ choice. During these periods I tend to do my most creative thinking; note I do not say “productive” thinking.   Then again, the definition of “productive” is best left to the eyes of the beholder. These are the times I think about someone like our friend Cheíto, how he would react to a given situation. Then I wonder about what this reaction may, when I put it into his words, say about me and my own thought process. These are the times I allow my mind to roam in the near and far past to re-discover moments that can be shared with you, moments which allow me to live -one more time- th...

What is the line between persistence and obstinacy? Looking back, I am not sure I am entitled to answer that question. After many years of pursuing what may be thought of as an impossible dream, the reality of all that has and has not been done in the course of this process is coming home to roost. At this time of my life, after 54 years of almost non-stop work, there should be rewards accumulated along the way, a means to relax a bit and enjoy the time that is left, alongside those who have stood by me all this time. At least, in most fiction books that would be the ending of the last chapter of most stories like this one. There have been many times on this twisted road when giving up, when looking elsewhere away from this madness would have been not only the right thing to do, but totally and completely justified. The expressed reasons for not doing this were varied … ·          “The next deal would sure be the one”. This reason should be...

A trip to New Orleans (a favorite city) that comes to mind as a “special occasion” happened sometime in the summer of 1999. I don’t remember the exact month; some of these events have become blurred images in my memory. Yet, I remember the details of the trip, as it became -several years later, and when looking back- an image of much of what was wrong with what became my interests for a good chunk of the years that came immediately after. This happened during my tenure with -let’s call him- “Ralphie from the Bronx” the guy mentioned elsewhere in these ramblings and who shared an office in lower Manhattan with a friend who dealt in wholesale women underwear. Ralphie had a bank document which had come into his hands and after some unsuccessful attempts to unload it or place it, he was told there was this visiting “Financial Guru” who was sure to be able to help him with this. The catch? He would be staying at an out of the way Mississippi plantation, and only for a week or so. Of c...