Puerto Rico: Images

Today's MOZEN: From Stella

Words by F LoBuono

In my never ending pursuit of becoming a better human being, my struggle with my perceived arrogance may be my most challenging. I know that I can be seen as being such - too many people have accused me of it to simply ignore their voices. Now, THAT would be arrogant (pun intended!).So, I hear them and respect their opinions. I want to know what that means in the bigger picture of my life and place in the world.

Sometimes, confidence can be mistaken as arrogance. I would like to believe that this is often the case of how some perceive me. I know what am good at. I suppose that I also probably tell people about exactly what that is a bit too much! This is the arrogant part. At least I am aware of it.

However, I also know what I'm NOT good at and readily acknowledge that. I have often taken credit for being a very flawed human being. Funny, but, f you read into the structure of that sentence there are still those who would see even that admission as arrogant, i.e. take credit for being flawed.

It's all in finding balance. It's what I work most hard at to achieve.

While having lunch with Stella the other day, we got into one of our deep, philosophical discussions. They range widely and cover many topics. They are always enriching and rewarding. Somehow, our discussion came to "criticizing" someone's behavior or appearance. I mentioned an incident of boorishness that I had witnessed during a recent stay in an airport lounge. Stella went on to say that it happens just way too often. She worried aloud that this decay in the social order of things may actually lead to the end of civilization as we now know it (We're both a bit "dramatic"). She has always lived by a sort of code with its own strong sense of what is right and what is wrong. If that code is violated, she can be critical - VERY critical (I can be the same. I am my mother's son). Yet, at the same time, she is also a BIG supporter of to each, their own. And, she lives that. She has taught me these things. I continued by mentioning that, perhaps, we can be just a little too critical when it comes to others being "different" i.e. beyond our so-called "standards". I went on to say that I often struggle with striking that balance. This is what she replied:

Frankie, I AM arrogant. I live a certain way- a way I see as right. I have values. I expect the same from others. But, I am also loving, thoughtful, and giving. THAT'S the better part of me. It's the way that I am. And, I'm OK with that.

She's 92.

Today's Mostly True Short Story: White Horses

Words and photo by F LoBuono

As usual, it was a restless night for me. I simply do not sleep well. I do slumber, but usually for relatively short periods: 4 hours here, and hour or two there. It gets me by.  And, despite the fact that I had a most fulfilling, active, LONG day in one of favorite places on the planet, Puerto Rico, this particular night proved no exception. After a few hours in the sack, the ol’ internal alarm clock kicked in.

It must have been about 2 or 3 a.m. when I finally figured it was easier to get up than continue to thrash about in a vain attempt at stealing a few more winks. Besides, my hotel room had a 3^rd floor balcony overlooking a large field surrounded by mist -shrouded hills in the distance. The night was warm and alive with the sounds of all the myriad creatures that inhabit the Puerto Rican night. It was also balmy with a gentle, ocean breeze. If I needed a spot to calm myself back to sleep, that would be it.  So, I opened the door of the balcony and stepped out into a caress of pleasant air.

I found a small table and chair and I strategically placed my butt in the seat and my feet on the table. I breathed deeply and began to soak in the atmosphere. After just a few minutes, I sensed something. I can’t say that I actually heard anything specific to pique my interest. Nor, did I see anything unusual at that particular moment. It was more of a feeling, an intuition, perhaps, that something was happening in the field across the road from my room. I rose from my chair and walked over to the edge.  I placed my elbows on the railing and gazed out over the field. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the field when, suddenly, I saw them. There must have been a dozen or so. They appeared as specters emerging from the distant darkness. I simply could not believe my eyes; a small herd of pure white horses where slowly appearing below me, lit only by the dim glow of a nearby street light.

Was I really still asleep and was this all some surreal dream?

I instinctively looked about to ground myself with my surroundings and realized that I was, indeed, awake. I continued to observe the horses as they moved ever so languidly towards the fence line that marked the boundary of the field. Eventually, as if given some unspoken command by the leader of the herd, they stopped completely and began to graze peacefully. Each animal seemed to know its place in the order of things. There were mares and a few foals. I did not sense the presence of a stallion. The energy seemed more maternal, as if they were being led by a matriarch. It was so peaceful.

It may have been ten minutes or it may have been an hour. I had no idea of the time. At that moment, it was inconsequential, as if suspended. When the herd did move, it was with an almost unearthly quality – as if they were floating instead of walking. Whatever time that did actually pass, I’ll never know. I was transfixed. Eventually, my eye lids grew heavy and it was time to return to bed. Even I need to sleep at so point. But, I made myself a promise that I would return first thing in the morning to see if I could discover where they may have actually came from.

Rising early, as is my habit, and hurried immediately over to the balcony. The small herd was gone. I dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs to the field where I had seen them the night before. I looked everywhere but saw no direct sign of them. I started looking for some evidence of their very existence. I found little. I did see some hoof prints and dung, but they were both dried out, convincing me that they could not have been left by the horses I observed the previous night. I hiked further into the field to see if, perhaps, there as some type of corral nearby. I found none. They had vanished as mysteriously as they appeared.

I continued to look for them late into the night for the five days I occupied the room. But, I never saw them again.

Perhaps, after all, it really was just a dream. . .

Today's MOZEN: $100

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

It had been a hectic day. I had to run a bunch of errands and finish packing for my trip to Puerto Rico later that evening. Vacations and I had become strangers the last few years and it was time to do something about that. A few days of R and R in one of my favorite tropical islands ought to work wonders for an exhausted body and mind. I had worked right up until the day of my departure so some last minute prep was necessary.

One of my tasks was to see my mother, Stella. She lives with my sister and the house is on the way to the airport. At 92 she is still as vital as they come. Visiting is not a chore but, rather, a pleasure.  I did my best to leave enough time to stop and spend at least a little time with her.

My sister was out on business leaving Stella by herself. When she heard my car in the driveway she came right to the door of the house. I could tell that she was, as always, pleased to see me. Like my deceased father, nothing is more important to Stella than her family and children. Even at 92 she dotes over us. If I fail to telephone her in a day or two I will get a worried phone call inquiring:

“What’s wrong, Frankie”?

My response is usually, “really? You still worry about me”?

She always says the same thing back: “when I stop, it will be because I am dead”.

Once in the house, we sat together on the couch. As usual, the TV was on to “Dr. Phil”, “Judge Judy” or some other inane afternoon TV program that she loves to watch. She asked if she should turn off the TV. I told her muting it would be just fine. As I sat next to her she patted my thigh. She often does that. It’s one of the ways she maintains physical contact with me and show her affection. I love it.

After some time catching up, Stella slowly rose and said:

“Wait a minute. I have something for you”.

I figured that, considering I was flying later that night, it would be some type of talisman. Stella is not overtly religious but she does believe in the “goddess thing”. So, I figure it would either be a small figuring of the Virgin Mary or a small crucifix to put in my pocket. When she returned, she grabbed by hand a placed a bunch of $20 bills in it:

“Here. Take this. Have a beer or a Bloody Mary on me”.

I responded: “Stella, I make good money. I don’t need yours”.

“I know that you do. That’s not the point. I want you to have this money and have a good time with it”, she replied.

At times like these, resistance is futile. I smiled and took the money. It’s just easier than trying to reason with her. Besides, it makes us both feel so good – she, because it makes her still feel viable. And, me, because I know no one loves me better.

After about a half-hour, it was time for me to go. As I was leaving I said to her:

“You know I don’t drink Bloody Marys. But, I will have a Mohito”.

“Well, fine. Just don’t have TOO many”!