Manuel Padilla Jr.'s Blog

When vacationing with a tour agency, I inevitably come across a fellow traveler or two who seem to be cut from a different cloth. They are often traveling by themselves and when everyone appears to go left, they veer right.

The most recent encounter was with Barbara. On the first day of our trip to Thailand, the tour guide was giving direction on the tour bus and at the end of one statement, he uttered: “And, that means you Barbara.”

I wondered who was this Barbara person whose name had already become embedded on our tour guide’s tongue?

I heard a demure chuckle and spinning my head around, I spied upon a pixie sprite with a Tinkerbell glint in her eyes. That must be Barbara, I surmised. She was an elderly woman, 80 to be exact, with a wiry perm, bronze tan skin (think Magda from “Something About Mary”) and a twinkle of light in her blue eyes which nearly blinded me.

My first thought was we better not get lumped in the same category as her, so my spouse and I took steps to maintain a healthy distance, I mean who wants to get stuck babysitting their grandma?

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Over the course of our trip, I kept my eyes open for Barbara. She was a solo traveler and we all took turns taking photos of her for her. Her intro comments were always the same, “Only take one or two really good ones, never more. I hate deleting things.” So, when we snapped photos of her, I always made sure they were perfectly framed.

At the end of each travel day, we would end up at a resort somewhere and many of us would head for the pool, cooling ourselves from the day’s adventures. Without a doubt, we’d see a daisy flowered shower cap bobbing up and down in the pool, doing laps that a 20-year-old would envy.

Yes, it was Barbara.

We soon grew accustomed to Barbara and her behavior didn’t draw ire, it was more like awe. One evening among the ruins of Ayutthaya the sun was beginning to set. The tour guide called out, “Time to head to the bus.”

Well, that is unless you were Barbara.

She made a beeline straight back to one of the ruins to flash one last shot as the sun was setting. She then, just as quickly, zoomed back onto the bus.

I began to get intrigued. What was it that made this woman so hellbent on soaking up every possible second of our trip?

I finally got my chance in Chiang Mai. We were at a resort called The Reverie and after a lovely dinner overlooking the city, my spouse and I decided to walk in the resort’s gardens which had light sculptures of palm trees, flowers and gifts – kind of like the holiday light decorations you see on lawns, only far more elaborate.

As we strolled and took in the calm evening breeze, we came upon Barbara, taking photos of the sculptures. I stopped her, Barbara. Do you want to walk with us?

She smiled and as we strolled I learned her career had been as an anesthesiologist. When that part of her life had ended, she took on a new hobby – world travel. She explained this was her third trip to Thailand, and I was amazed at the long list of places she had visited on every continent. She lived in Florida, but she said it was boring so she tried to travel to at least three global destinations a year.

She was a great conversationalist and I was fascinated by her passion for life. It was like she was aware on some level that at some point in the not-so-distant future she would be getting to that place of light, and that she had to embrace as much of it that is here while she still remains.

I thought of other trips we had taken with similar Barbara’s. There was a Meryl, there was another person too on another trip whose name escapes me, and then there was my own trip to India, where I was the sole person on my tour.

I have since made it a quest, that I too will be a Barbara. I will absorb as much of this confusing, glorious, amazing planet and life that I can for as long as I am able to. I will snap as many photos as my phone will hold, and I will grasp those memories in my heart for the time when they become my essence.

I’m sure Barbara would approve.

And, with that, I end this as Poolside from PS.

We recently vacationed in Thailand and while perusing one of the many street fairs, I came across a stand with beautiful teak and semi-precious stone jewelry. I’m not really into personal ornaments, but this earthy necklace caught my eye.

This is beautiful, how much baht?

The vendor replied with a very reasonable price and added, “This will bring you positivity and help draw light to you.”

Sold. I mean what price can you put on something that will help encourage feelings of contentedness? That purchase was a start, but after reading some of my recent X posts which fall into the scorchingly devious category, I decided it was time to proactively engage positivity. So, here goes my top 10 plus a bonus.

You’re not going mad – To get to the root of the issue, you have to understand it. We as a world are under enormous strain and it’s easy to lean into the tendency of “Am I going insane?” You are not. We are all experiencing similar feelings, so you are not alone.Find one thing a day to be grateful for – The term gratitude tends to be overused these days, but if you can find one thing to be grateful for every day – it might be as simple as a painted sunset or the deliciosity of a Klondike bar – it will help reset your brain.Engage with nature – The highlight of our trip to Thailand was a visit to an elephant sanctuary. We got to herd elephants, feed them and bathe them. I was amazed at how gentle and calming they were which gave me such a sense of peace.Breathe – We take this reflex for granted. I mean, everyone breathes, right? But, how often do you take a minute to truly appreciate your breath. Try it right now. Breathe in slowly for five counts, hold it for five and then slowly release your breath for five. Doesn’t that feel better?Get physical – Remember when you were a child and you’d spin yourself around until you were silly sick? Any sort of physical activity to the point of tiredness can help to reduce stress, and the endorphin rush of intense physical activity can really help to increase your sense of positivity.Pet your pet – Pets can do an enormous amount of good for our mental health. The mere act of having responsibility for the life of another being can help keep things in balance. My favorite part of the day is when my dog rolls over on his back and while exposing the bare of his belly eyes me with a look of “Well, do your job.”Sleep, sleep and sleep – I am amazed when I read articles about the lack of sleep Americans tend to live with. It’s a wonder we aren’t all walking around like Night of the Living Dead. Commit to sleep more, today, not tomorrow. Tonight.Get antisocial and cut back on the social media – My friend continually says “I cannot live without TikTok” and then fills my poor little over-absorbed brain with clips of total nonsensicalness. Reading social media feeds force us to engage and truth be told, people post things to get likes, so they are in effect robbing your precious brain cells to gain followers. Who benefits from that? And, have you ever felt totally drained after skimming social media feeds? Yup, not so healthy, I guess.Limit your political news – This was tough for me as ever since COVID I had become an obsessed news follower. What has continued since then is an extreme amount of worrisome the sky is falling doom and gloom which can bring the toughest person to a steady stream of tears. Before reading an article, I now ask myself: Do you need to know this? Will this be important a week, month or year from now?The universe is unfolding as it should ­– Everything may feel chaotic and troublesome, but remember this too shall pass. I think back to the Kennedy assassinations, the Civil Rights Movement and even as far back as the Civil War. It must have felt like the world was falling apart then, but lo and behold, it snapped back into shape. I believe this will happen once again – but I understand we all need to work to make it so, which leads me to my bonus point.Be kind to strangers – There is so much venom out there and Karens are ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Therefore, do something nice for a stranger. It could be as a simple as a smile and a hello, or even opening a door. Imagine the utter revolution that the world would experience if we all did one nice thing for someone else each and every day. Plus, I have found when I put someone else’s needs in front of my own, I strangely feel much better.

So, there you have my attempt to fuel proactive positivity into the utter divinity of this mysterious and wondrous universe. Just in case these tips don’t work, I am wearing my positivity necklace as some days I can use all the help I can get.

And, with that, I end this as Poolside from PS.

Whilst I was working (I’ve always wanted to use that word, “whilst”), I was a firm believer in the power of doing. Since retiring, I have pretty much moved all that to the side.

That is until I planted a dwarf lemon tree.

Living in the desert, one might question: How do you grow anything in that barren inferno?  I tend to agree, especially since I have one of the brownest thumbs in the world.

Problem is I also have a thing for homemade lemonade and my spouse loves a lemon twist in his vodka cran. I thought it would really be something to grow my own fruit. So, one February four years ago I planted a Meyers Lemon tree.

Don’t ask me how I did it, but by May, the tree had died. Maybe I watered too much, too little or perhaps Palm Springs’ desert “soil” (a mixture of sand and dirt), was just too harsh an environment for my sad, little sapling.

Undaunted, I scurried back to the nursery and armed with a new Lisbon Lemon, I prepped the soil and popped that puppy in. At first, my Lisbon looked like the tree in A Charlie Brown Christmas. Like that tale, I was determined that a little bit of love was all that was needed for it to flourish with a bounty of lemons.

What I learned was, that was a good start.

Truth be told, I am now on year four of waiting for my lemons to come to fruit-ion, but more on that later.

A few years after planting, I got my first buds. I was excited to see them bloom and I eagerly waited for them to be replaced by mini-fruits. After a few desert windstorms my buds became dust in the wind.

In between, I continued my ritual of water adjustments, fertilizer administration and positive vibe projection. To combat the windstorms and bug predators, I began wrapping the tree in netting, and in the hot summer months, I canopied it to prevent it from sunburn.

Soon, my little Lisbon had become as high maintenance as my previous relationship.

Don’t laugh, but I even started talking to it: You got this little tree, When you gonna give papa some big juicy fruit! It seemed to respond favorably, as it continued growing. Soon, branches spread in all directions as if it wished to give its surrogate papa a big hug.

Each spring, my spouse would laugh, Don’t get your hopes up, that tree is barren to which I’d admonish, You wait and see Charlie Brown, er I mean, never mind.

Flash forward to this year, the Lisbon was once again awash in a bounty of buds. I started to palpitate as a few of them turned into mini-fruit. Then, slowly the mini-fruits disappeared.

I don’t know if it was wind or insects or what, but my heart grew heavy. I had done everything imaginable and yet, my tree was bare.

Until one day, I noticed a little bulb hidden under a leaf. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there sat a finger-nail sized green fruit. I was beyond the moon.

A few days later more buds started appearing, but by now it was May, and rather warm, so they fell off. That left my orphan lemon all alone, but each day I looked at it and smiled.

Sad to say, after a month, that too dropped to the ground. I held a burial for my little fruitling, burying it at the base of the tree so it could nourish future growth.

My little lemon tree has taught me many lessons. I have learned a sort of zen patience, meaning I will wait for however long it takes to grow fruit and if it doesn’t bear out, I can accept that too.

I have also discovered that there is true beauty in the process of nature. I have gotten great joy in seeing my little Lisbon grow and I marvel at the symmetry of it all. Every now and then I inhale the clean, fresh smell of citrus and it calms my senses.

In looking at my experience, I see that my lovely Lisbon has brought me much, much more than fruit. In the meantime, I will continue waiting… patiently.

And, with that, I end this as Poolside from PS.

Having recently celebrated a non-milestone birthday, I can say I have finally gotten to a point where I can appreciate the gift of just having another birthday.

As a child, these days were always filled with excitement. The paper ripping, the candle blow outs, the beating of donkey pinatas and the overall feeling of being just a bit taller than the day before.

Of course, the presents were always my favorite part. Etch-a-sketch, Spyrographs and a peculiar purple-headed Frankenstein, these were childhood gifts I remember best.

As I’ve matured, I have learned the importance of presents – however the gifts I now most cherish are not physical, not even material. They are the ones that only being human can present.

As my spouse likes to say, “My presence is your present,” which I have found to be most true (although he always gets me good stuff anyway!).

I think the COVID lockdowns and emergence from those times of isolation have taught me to appreciate the gift of having loved ones in my life. When we speak or visit, I find myself now to be truly in the moment, which is something I could never really accomplish while working.

The day before my latest year-turner, I joined family members at the Orange County Fair where one of my nieces was DJing. My other niece came in tow with her husband and three small children. I can’t express the pleasure it brought me just to spend time with the kids. There is this mixture of innocence, joy and purity that only a child can bring to a situation, like an elixir of happiness.

As detailed as any tapestry, I can replay my great nephew playing peek-a-boo with the canopy of a baby stroller, his 4-year-old sister sharing her peanut butter snacks laughing, “Here have one,” and the toothless smile of the baby. Images of my mother and the rest of the family interacting with them, me and each other, form a memory of something I couldn’t possibly have appreciated when I was younger.

I do now.

We have a family group text and on my birthday, my phone blew up with the dings of happy birthday wishes. My other niece sent video clips of her twins with her prompting them for birthday wishes. The babies are just beginning to crawl and interact, and it made my heart feel so full just to see them moving about, smiling and doing the things only babies can do. Just how lucky can a person be?

One of my girlfriends took me to lunch and I was again immersed in appreciation for the unrushed, unhurried time with her joking about pretty much nothing in particular.

As I have gained so much from this newfound appreciation, I have set a goal for myself – to share the present of presence for those who are in my life, and even those who I encounter throughout my interactions, whenever possible.

I have been reading a book on Buddhism and there is a statement about how Happiness is deep mental satisfaction that arises from awareness, from wisdom.

As my niece who is a counselor says, “Let’s unpack that.”

By having an awareness that the only things holding true permanence are those that we love, and to appreciate their presence, we are helping to create a happiness within ourselves. The nice thing about this philosophy is that it can foster happiness for others as well.

So, you see the present that can only be given by presence is something we all have and can share and it is something that lasts far longer than a purple-headed Frankenstein.

And with that, I end this as “Poolside from PS.”

Has anyone noticed that our lives have come to resemble cartoons, a cartoonification if you will?

What with all the CGI, AI, VR, meme-ification and the like, it is a wonder we can still see ourselves as living, breathing beings and not Woody Woodpecker avatars. Everything we see, touch and feel has become altered, edited or made to fit for proper consumption.

We live in a state of constant hyper-reality where we have no alternative but to be over-stimulated, over-amazed, over-inundated and overwhelmed.

How did we get here? Think TikTok. Think video games. Think super hero blockbusters. If we choose, we can live in this heightened state of activity where images, jingles and sound bites of information constantly fly past the screen of our minds, never giving us adequate time to process, only to prepare our senses for the next onslaught.

I’ve seen it in insomniac friends who spend their late-nights watching online videos and texting into the wee hours.

It’s no wonder the brain can’t rest.

I think it all began when CGI (computer generated imagery) began its annihilation of films.   Suddenly, whole universes were created where super-heroes ruled and constant visual stimuli and booming sounds began tickling the fibers of our little brains. These feel good. They make us feel alive and immerse us in a world far different from the reality of ours.

We can escape our lives with the flick of a remote control.

Think about the effects of social media. We have come to believe that a 5-second TikTok clip is how people really live, or that those Facebook posts show how truly happy our friends are.  Simply go online and you can see how beautiful the world is, even though it might not be ours or even be real for that matter.

We are all grappling for our Andy Warhol 15 minutes of fame. Look at all the perfectly chiseled, meticulously coiffed images which bombard us. We have even created a term, “influencers,” for those who spend countless hours preening to gain followers and advertisers.

Do I really want to be influenced by 20-something-year-olds who still live in their parent’s houses telling me this is how I should dress, talk, think or live my life?

Or how about the pilot who deliberately crashed his airplane so he could gain additional followers on social media. Really? Yes.

What about “meme-ification?”

We don’t even have to think for ourselves or form our own opinions. We can simply Google “XYZ meme” and find a plethora of humorous images to convey what we think we should think. Often, these memes are mean, sarcastic or caustic.

Studies show that negative social media posts get re-tweeted or viewed far more often than positive ones, so it stands that a good, nasty meme, might get replayed over and over again. On Instagram, I came upon a severely anorexic woman with a caption, Me after I wolf down fries which was created by a young “content creator.” I responded “Not funny.” And she chimed back, “Go away, what are you like 70?” Worse thing was she had tons of likes for an obviously cruel post.

I want my 15 minutes, so feel free to repost.

We talk about gun violence and how mental health or unrestricted gun access are to blame. I think there’s more to it than that. From a young age, children are desensitized to violence. They see it in movies where people die gracefully and they play it out every afternoon while perched in their $300 gaming chairs. Shooting people and watching them splatter is fun and can help me win the game. The gorier the better.

We all know death in reality is not like a video game or a Quentin Tarantino film. Don’t we?

Finally, the newest wave, AI, artificial intelligence, is perhaps the most frightening of all. Yes, hackers are now capable of making – you – or at least a replica good enough to fool someone you love.

A mother recently received a call that her daughter had been kidnapped. She even heard her daughter’s voice pleading to give the kidnappers $1 million. The mother immediately dialed her daughter’s cell phone and learned she was safe and sound. Scammers had cloned her voice off a social media post.

Cartoons are meant to be funny, but the ones that are becoming our lives may not be. I think I better go online and find an influencer who can teach me how to calm down so I can better deal with all this.

And with that, I end this as “Poolside from PS.”

I remember a Scholastic magazine article I read in fifth grade on Mahatma Gandhi which detailed how he led India’s movement of nonviolent resistance and helped the country gain independence.

Over the years, that article stayed with me as I was impressed that such a little man could have such a big impact. I made a commitment to one day visit that country.

Well, fully 50 years later, I achieved that goal – and by myself no less.

As I’ve aged, I have noticed a tendency to, how do you say, maintain the status quo. When I was working, I continually challenged myself with new goals. Since retiring four years ago, I have set a few new ones, but as I’ve achieved those, they haven’t been replaced so rapidly.

That was why India was important. I was sorely in need of a challenge and heading to the other side of the planet on my own (no one wanted to go with me, boo-hoo) suddenly became a priority.

Home to 1.4 billion inhabitants, the country is not easily navigated. I used a local tour company to handle the logistics. I’m glad I did, as Delhi is one of the most complicated cities I have ever visited. From the moment you wake up until those minutes when you drift off to sleep, you are met with a cacophony of car horns.

Yes, horns are the primary form of communication of Indian dwellers. On the streets, you are continually navigating people, put puts, cars and cows. Yup, cows and monkeys are considered sacred so they are revered and roam freely in India.

If there is one thing that can be said about the country, it is that India makes you feel fully alive. Your senses are constantly inundated. The tastes, sights, even smells, breathe life.

The majority of my trip was spent in the Golden Triangle which included Delhi, Agra and Jaipur; cities traversed via automobiles. I became very chummy with my driver as some days I spent seven hours with him slithering through traffic like one of the country’s honored cobras.

His English, like that of many Indians, could be good, bad or undecipherable. I said, “uh huh” more times in a week than I had uttered in years.

I saw some truly marvelous sites.  Of course these included the Taj Mahal, an amazing mélange of marble, inlaid gems and intricate carvings. Truth be told, as I peered upon it my first thought was, “That’s a bit excessive,” for it was built by a Mughal emperor to entomb his favorite wife. It took 22 years to complete and rumor has it that its construction bankrupted the country. Artisan’s hands were cut off after they completed the masterpiece. The emperor’s reasoning? Workers should never again create such a thing of beauty.

Alrighty then.

My favorite part of India was Varanasi, one of the world’s oldest cities set along the banks of the Ganges (pronounced Gaan-gah). I had long wished to visit the Ganges so I knew this might be my only opportunity, and it was truly amazing.

According to custom, Hindis are to make a pilgrimage to purify themselves in the waters of the river. My guide and I arrived at 6:30 a.m. to see the sun arise, and equipped with the most amazing Chai tea I have ever tasted, we joined the long lines of Indians walking toward the water. The atmosphere was jovial and celebratory.

What I saw was – fog – a muck so dense that I could barely see 10 feet in front of me. When I got close enough to the water a slew of bathers appeared through the mist. I stopped as I became enveloped by an immense sense of peace, calm and reverence. I did what I always do when I feel that way.

I prayed.

I can’t describe my feelings exactly, but I felt like I had touched upon something bigger than me. Something that could not be put into words.

We returned to the Ganges later that day and took a boat ride to a waterside crematorium. It is said if believers are cremated at the Ganges, their souls will go on to become Brahmin. We floated there a long time, peering upon the majesty of flames and smoke arising from the pyres. Priests threw some of the deceased’s ashes into the water as they were returned to the earth.

It served as a reminder that one day we are all return to that from which we came, and as I age, I see that as part of our existence.

Almost two weeks later I am still processing everything. India is a country of extremes – both grandeur and poverty. I will forever hold it in my heart, much like my experience at the Ganges.

And with that, I end this as “Poolside from PS.”

The other evening while having drinks, my friend casually mentioned, “I was cooking Fidel lunch as he’s been finicky about what he’ll put in his mouth…” I could only look on incredulously and remark, “You were doing what?”

“Well, cooking is cheaper than buying those little gourmet cans,” he retorted. “Those cases are expensive and he eats like 4 cans a meal.”

Yes, the canine cuisine gourmet wet food is expensive, but, apparently nothing is too good for Fidel… WHO IS A DOG and apparently has his own personal chef.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love animals – dogs in particular. I consider Chester, my terrier chihuahua mix, to be my dog-mate as I have never had a more loyal companion (and trust me, I’ve had a few companions).

Chester knows all my queues without so much of a word being uttered. When to follow, when to stay, when to shower me with kisses (licks) and when to stay on his side of the bed. Queue the groans of, Ewe, gross, you sleep with your dog?

I do, er I mean, he does sprawl at the foot of the bed, but do I cook Chester meals? No. I can barely cook my own, let alone worry about him deciding if he likes his hamburgers extra rare.

My friend’s comments reminded me of my childhood. When we were kids and we’d stay at my grandmother’s, I remember her chihuahua, Mickey, had filet mignon for lunch, while we kids got hot dogs. I wanted to be Mickey, and more than once, my grandma warned, “Stay away from Mickey’s food.”

Owners and dogs like Fidel and Mickey remind me of the flip side of the coin for those caretakers we deem “cat ladies.” Indeed, we also have “dog men” and I believe they’re every bit as crazy as those sometimes neurotic, perhaps bat crazy femmes who center their lives around their pusses.  

When my friend was potty training his dog, I recall him saying, “Can’t stay out too late, I got to get home to make sure the dog is using his pee pads.”

Pee pads? Really, ever hear of newspaper? Of putting the dog outside until the mission is accomplished? Of walking the dog and proffering praise when the pee is provided?

It would be a cold day in you-know-where before I let my dog dictate my social schedule.

I liken these scenarios to what I call, “first world problems.” We have far too many resources and way too much time on our hands, so much so that we needlessly project our energy, etc. on our animals.

Pawdicures, pet parties, doggie day care, ruffly couture outfits, sleepovers, it’s all gotten a bit insane if you ask me.

Yes, pets are an important part of our families and my spouse’s friends refer to Chester as “my son,” but I know he’s a dog and although I wish him to remain forever, I know one day our time will come to part. I call that the “dog contract,” and it helps keep our relationship within healthy boundaries.

The other evening, I was dining outside of Blackbook along Arenas. I counted, not one, but two doggy strollers being pushed by grown men. Without hesitation, folks stopped and looked in the carriages, cooing “Soooo cute.” Really? So was Rosemary’s baby.

One of the stroller pushers was a leather daddy who I believe was using his puppy to procure. Perhaps the “soooo cutes” were meant for him and not the nuzzly one. I mean, we all know the best way to get a date is to get a dog.

(BTW, would I walk my dog down a street full of gay bars? I think not. Too much trauma with all the screaming and what not.)

We’ve all seen the men (and women) who carry chic bags in clothing stores with tea cup size (fill in the blank) dogs, talking to the animal like it’s gonna bark back, “That shirt makes you look fat.” I just laugh and ponder, “I wonder how many dates you go on a year?”

Scratching aside, we pet owners have all had those instances where our dogs remind us to be our better selves. That perhaps is one of the best reasons to become a dog man. To have someone who encourages you to be better, gives you a life to care for, and something that makes you responsible for someone other than yourself.

If that’s what makes someone a dog man, than count me in – I’ve gone to the dogs.

And with that, I end this as “Poolside from PS.”

My family recently took a dream cruise to Alaska, home of the amazing Mendenhall Glacier and Endicott Arms, majestic bald eagles, fierce black bears and the cunning COVID calamity.

Whoa there, back up the bus!

You read right. Out of 13 family members who boarded this love boat, about seven of us came home with an unpleasant souvenir. A beast more fierce than any snarling grizzly – COVID.

Surprisingly, most of us had never experienced a bout with the virus.

Now, before you join the legion of social media venters: “I took a cruise and caught the bug!” “The cruise line didn’t protect its passengers,” “People boarded elevators without masks and no one reprimanded them…” I can safely say, when you go on a cruise, there is absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt no way possible you can attach a virus infection to a cruise line.

I thought our cruise company did an admirable job of ensuring the safety of passengers. And, everyone on that ship tested negative to board.

That said, we did travel through crowded, unmasked airports. We did undertake a number of land and boat excursions where maskless folks may have gotten a bit too close for comfort (not placing blame as I was stuffing my open-air face with complimentary donut holes many a time).

On our various stops, I do recall some overcrowded gift stores, including a certain famous tourist attraction in Juneau where about 100 people were crammed into a tiny gift shop. I slapped on my mask once I realized there was a bit too much heavy breathing going on.

Yes, there were far too many opportunities for cunning COVID to infiltrate our well-planned vacation.

It revealed its presence to me in the form of coughing, sneezing and congestion on the day of our return. When we got home, I thought, I should just do a self-test.

Within minutes, both lines faintly appeared, indicating positivity.

I immediately texted our group, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news….”

Suddenly, my mother who had been experiencing congestion onboard and two of my sister-in-law’s who holed up in their cabins for a few afternoons, came to mind.

My brother and sister-in-law home-tested my mom the next morning. Yup, positive. Within the following day, our group text pings rang out with chimes of “positive.” My brother at first said, “I just have a cold,” but eventually got the plus ping himself.

Through the din of this rapid-fire testing, I realized some people don’t necessarily want to know if they’re positive. You know, what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

As this was my first verified experience with COVID, I can safely say, It could have been worse.

I felt pretty crappy around day two, but then, things eased quickly.

I told one of my brothers who I’ve nick-named “Alex Keaton” for GOP-related reasons, that I was happy to be vaxxed and double boosted. That this was undoubtedly the reason for the virus’ weak reaction.

He said, “I don’t know if it’s all because of THAT…”  (In the past I had been accused by Mr. Keaton of drinking too much of the COVID Kool-Aid.)

Uh huh.

That said, I was RELIEVED that COVID found me. I had been wondering when the ball would drop and that I was finally experiencing what millions had survived. In my case, I likened it to a common cold, nothing more.

When those two little test lines first appeared, I immediately recalled the early days of the pandemic – people on respirators, body bags, endless case counts.

Thankfully, that appears to be in the past, and fortunately, all my family was fine. The recurring variant waves and booster upon booster have weakened the virus to something most of us can cure with cold medicine.

I hate to admit that going on that cruise was worth every nose blow, every cough, every sneeze, but it was. And, I would do it again in a second.

What I learned by stepping upon those planks, was a reminder of the importance and frailty of life. The significance of family and of laughing and of loving and being able to experience the miracles of nature and humankind.

The being in the here and now.

And, that, perhaps is the greatest remedy of all.

With that, I end this as “Poolside from PS.”

Summer is my favorite season in Palm Springs. The tourists have flocked back home, lengthy lines have subsided at local eateries (some of which close for a siesta), and a general sense of calmness settles upon the city.

Alas, this world of well-being does come with a bit of heat, but at least it’s a dry heat as we like to say.

This time of year, my spouse likes to call our little hamlet “an inferno.”

Yes, we are smack dab in the season where daily temps surpass 100. As I unfurl my Coolaroo window shade, I am reminded of the lifestyle accommodations that need be made, making us all feel a little like lizards under rocks.

The weather newscasters regularly remind us of the importance of hydration. My first full year out here, I developed an irregular heartbeat, was constantly thirsty and my eyes hurt. A quick trip to the cardiologist taught me the importance of Gatorade and electrolytes. Once I developed an affinity for these necessities, poof, no more abnormal heartbeat.

My optometrist cautioned, “Your eyes are very dry. Use drops daily.” Voila, no more gritty eyeballs.

It is also important to know when and when not to do certain things. Walking the dog? Better get up before 7 or poochey’s tongue may be dragging behind him/her on the warm pavement. Like to garden? Don’t forget that plant netting lest your precious greenery turn a brittle brown. Wash the car? Do it when it’s cool or your windshield will crack (or is that just an urban legend?).

Even though certain day-time provisions need be made, the summer evenings are not to be believed.

I like to go out to my pool near day’s end. I lay on a raft and marvel at the blueness of the sky and the languidness of desert life.

The sunsets of the San Jacinto and Santa Rosa ranges are like watching a nightly fireworks show, each setting sun a burst of beauty. Fast forward to 9 p.m., you are often greeted by a subtle breeze which bathes you in a blanket of warmth.

And, when the cicadas begin their evening symphony, it is like you are marveling at a maestro at work.

When I first moved here, my friends asked, “How do you live in 100 degree heat?” My response is always the same. “Do you sit outside all the time at your home? It’s no different here. We just use air conditioning more often – way more often.”

Speaking of which, if you’re ever at a loss for words at a pool party, simply ask, “What do you set your thermostat to?” That is sure to get a rally of a conversation started (I always say “That’s a personal choice which every individual must make”).

That said, I’m generally a 78 degrees during the day, 75 in the evenings and 74 at bed time kinda guy. I know, TMI.

If July is famous for its balmy, sultry nights, August is known for its often soupy, uber-moist, monsoonal flow. Yes, a little moisture is good for the complexion, but come those days when the Salton Sea is smelling like a burning match and the monsoons are dripping their way over from Arizona, you’re apt to want to take a little vacay from your permanent vacay.

It’s kind of like living in Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory.”

Yes, humidity can suck the life out of you, and if there’s ever a month where I check the calendar days off as they pass, it’s August.

That said, locals know with the passing of August we begin transitioning back to the cool, fun-loving destination we are.

By September, the restaurants have re-opened from their summer hiatuses, the snow birds flock back into town and locals find their utility bills slowly start to creep down.

Until then, I will content myself with being able to ride my bike down Palm Canyon Drive with nary a car in sight, while enjoying the warmth on my face and the summer air brushing across my cheeks.

After all, it’s a dry heat.

And, with that, I end this as “Poolside From PS.”

After three years of lockdown, I venture to say that more than a few of us are pontificating the pondering of placement of our toes back into the vacation pond. Having just returned from Egypt and Greece, I can safely say – it’s time to get back on that horse, or in my case, camel.

My saga began three years and two weeks ago. At that time my spouse and I were packing our bags for a long-planned excursion to the above-mentioned countries. We were more than excited. I had even learned words like Hatsheput, Memnon, Sobek and Haroeris (Egyptian names ain’t for sissies!).

Then, just like that, COVID sent that dream slamming to a shutdown.

Flash forward to fall 2021. Things were beginning to loosen up and we were chafing at the bit to once again become global explorers. Our plans reignited in earnest.

We plotted, planned, schemed and contacted our previously used travel agent, only this time purchasing trip insurance with a COVID inclusion.

Everything was going along smoothly and then two weeks before our trip, I began to get cold feet. A bump in COVID cases sent me into a tailspin. What if things shut down again while we were abroad? What if we couldn’t gain access to the COVID tests needed to traverse countries? What if we caught COVID in Egypt? Would I be there until I mummified?

I began to feel that this whole trip was a mistake – so much so that I confided in a friend who travels that I was thinking of cancelling. He explained that he had experienced the same feelings while planning a recent trip to Portugal and Spain. He went and miraculously made it back to U.S. soil in one piece.

I was reassured enough that before we knew it, we were dozing on an airliner headed over the great blue sea.

After 18 hours of flights, we landed in Cairo, a bustling metropolis of 19.2 million inhabits. Based upon what we saw, they appeared to all live within the same three blocks.

It was total insanity. And, it was amazing!

There are no words to describe the awe you feel perched upon the back of a camel as you meander by the Great Pyramids of Giza. Nor, do I fail to stop smiling at the visage of the Sphinx, sitting regal and austere for well over 2,500 years.

From there, the Egyptian sites cascade like dominoes in slow motion: the cruise on the Nile; the Temple of Philae; Kom Ombo and its Temple of Sobek & Haroeris; the enormously tall Temple of Horis; the Valley of the Kings with its intricate underground tombs; the Luxor Temple and vast Temple of Karnak.

We needed a COVID test to enter our next destination, Greece, so our tour guide arranged for a doctor to come to a restaurant where we were lunching to swab our passages (yes, this doctor made “restaurant calls”). I was amazed at the can-do attitude of the Egyptians, and, yes, we tested negative.

In Greece, we visited Santorini with its hillside villages topped by roofs that look like Hostess SnoBalls; Mykonos’ iconic windmills and meandering mazes of white-laden streets; and the ever-watchful Acropolis in Athens.

Just thinking back to what we experienced takes my breath away…

Back to my tale. As we quickly learned, we were not alone in our quest for adventure. Everywhere we went we encountered English-speaking tourists – most from the U.S.

Talking with these strangers who quickly became friends, was kind of like that scene in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” where all the people climb up Devil’s Monument, seemingly called upon by aliens. Only this time, it was the sites of Egypt and Greece that summoned them.

We spoke with people spanning from Northern California to the East Coast. It was like we were all long-lost cousins as we shared our adventures and decisions that led to us to once again travel. All of the differences we experienced at home were non-existent. We were simply Americans on holiday, enjoying the sites.

One evening, we were dining on the plaza overlooking the bay of Mykonos. It was a beautiful, mild evening. As we sat feasting upon seafood, I looked at the parade of families, couples and friends strolling the beachfront promenade.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion as I realized each of these travelers from countries all around the world had been through the same things we had recently. The stress, the pain, the losses, the uncertainty of a world changed.

But, that didn’t stop them from enjoying that evening, that place, and each other. They smiled, laughed and gorged on gelato.

The memories are still fresh in my mind. I realize, we may go through many things in life, but some remain solid and the same. The Great Pyramids, The Sphinx, these ancient reminders tell us of the passing of time, the good and the not-so-good. I’m glad I hopped back on that camel. It makes me feel that the good will always be what we remember most.

And with that, I end this as “Poolside From PS.”