I'd give anything to be more envious...

Two words about people who cheat on their golf handicap.

WHO CARES.

Go out and play...do your best. If you don’t win, quit crying.

What I want to know is, why can’t we celebrate success? I know precious few people who rejoice when good things happen to people.

A dear friend of mine inherited some money about ten years ago. He made smart choices and turned it into even more money. He was (and is) a good steward of it and was generous to many people, including me when I needed it (he didn’t give me money, he gave me a place to live). And he even let me act like an idiot while I lived there.

And he lost friends. I still can’t figure that one out.

There is an infinite amount of blessings out there. A blessing we receive isn’t subtracting from one another person might get. But this is how people act.

Everyone thinks they are getting cheated. If you’re rich, you’re a crook. If you won, you cheated. If you have a good job and live in the Caribbean, you’re an idiot.

Well, finally one I can agree with.

Well, I think Hugo Chavez is a better golfer than Fidel Castro...

We have a newsletter here that is circulated amongst the villa owners and those just living off the fat of the land (us) in exchange for work. I have written a few articles for this publication.

One of the most informative (and unintentionally funny) features is the Q & A.

This month, a question of security not responding quickly enough to a fist-fight at the Marina was brought up.

It begins…The night of December 31 around 2:30 a.m. a fight broke out amongst well-dressed men...

It goes on to describe the fight, which had the usual punching and kicking and screaming.

Well, first of all, what are you, writer of the complaint, doing out at 2:30 in the morning? I think, at 2:30 in the morning (unless you are up with a baby) you really don’t deserve much of an explanation for anyone else’s actions. You take your chances.

The response explained that security responded as quickly as possible and that the fight was amongst Venezuelans over “differing political views.” Ok, note to self…don’t argue with Venezuelans about politics unless you want your Armani suit to have to go to the cleaners.

But, at least they were well-dressed. You wouldn’t want to gouge someone’s eye while wearing a suit off the rack.

"C" is for Creativity....

It seems fashionable now for journalists to go back into people’s past and dig up their college thesis in hopes of finding something incriminating, like Hillary Clinton’s plan to try to pander to people she hates (I think the title was: Whatever I Need to Say or Do to Gain Power) and Mrs. Obama’s idea that there was a racial divide (oh, really?) that she wrote when she was 22 years old.

I don’t think I’ll ever run for office, but if I do, I’m going to save you the trouble of digging through my records.

The liberal arts school I graduated from required a Senior Project. It had to be a question asked and answered in fifty or so pages. My title was “Is Commercialism Ruining the PGA Tour?” It wasn’t exactly the kind of investigative journalism that would win the Pulitzer, but I was just trying to get a degree and get as far away from there as possible. My second idea was an expose on inaccuracies in the phone book, which, in retrospect, may have been more interesting.

I don’t remember what was said in the oral defense of the project except that I had to keep reminding the panel to drink their coffee and try to keep their eyes open.

A few years earlier, my high school biology class required that we do an experiment. You know, the whole stupid hypothesis, thesis, experiment, writing up the findings, try to stay awake until the end thing...

Well, I didn’t want to do it. So I made it up. I made up the whole thing. I even created a disaster in the middle of it, and was forced (to pretend) to start over. It was something involving fish and their eating habits in the dark versus the light. I can’t remember the findings.

I think I got a C.

People you meet in paradise...

A guy cut in front of another group and threatened them when they questioned his actions. I went out and arranged for the cut-off group to be restored to their original position on the golf course. A few days later, the offender wrote me a letter. I won't print his letter, but the response explains most of what he told me.

Sir,

We do not feel you acted appropriately in skipping the group ahead without speaking to them or asking to play through. And telling us you could have “kicked his ass” is disturbing. Pointing out your restraint in this area is not impressive. For a grown man to even suggest violence in a situation involving golf is embarrassing at best.

The third in your group was rather blunt in her assessment of the situation when I arrived at the 10th green. The story she recounted to me was not a collaboration of your story, but a condemnation of your actions.

Slow play is something we deal with as gentlemen, not as if it were a NASCAR race. While we are sorry you played a couple of holes slower than you would have liked, you finished in a little over four hours. This is an acceptable pace of play at a resort course. I’m sure your club in __________ would agree.

The fact that the players that were in front of you are friends of __________ made no difference in our actions to correct your error in judgment. We protect all clients. We would have done the same for you, if the situation had been reversed. Without hesitation.

While we appreciate your sending us your comments, it surprises us to think you had any reason to do so.

Sincerely,

epilouge: boss wouldn't let me send it...

A history of domestic help...

Life is more interesting when total strangers are in your house.

Dometilia was our first maid. She was the maid of the owner of the villa (that we rented) for 16 years. She was kind, sweet, lazy and a thief. She didn’t steal big stuff, just costume jewelry, t-shirts and cheese.

Enok was our gardener. He didn’t steal. That would have required ambition and he didn’t have any. He didn’t do much at all, if he bothered to show up. His name is pronounced close to “inutil”, which means “useless” in Spanish. It fit.

We had Jose and Johnny as gardners after the owner got rid of Enok. Good men. Now, we have Julio. The hotel supplies us with a gardner now, so we never know who we are going to get.

The former gardener at our second house (who lost his job when we moved in because the hotel took over the job) works for us too, taking care of the pool. We hired him because we felt bad he lost his job and we wanted to keep good relations with the owner of the villa. It has worked pretty well. When we need the owner to know something, Severino calls him. He really does nothing else, except show up on payday. But it’s an arrangement we are willing to live with.

When Grace was born, we needed a nanny. We asked Dometilia if she knew anyone. She told us Suegra was available. Suegra had about four teeth and spoke Spanish that not even Juan Valdez would have understood. She rocked Grace to sleep, watched TV, ate lunch and picked up around the house if something was in her way enroute to the refrigerator or bathroom. After about a month, we found out that her name wasn’t Suegra (Suegra was Spanish for Mother in Law), but Tata. We’d been calling her “Mother in Law” for a month. She didn’t mind. One night, she stayed late and I drove her home. That’s when we found out she didn’t know where she lived. The bus just always took her home and that was enough for her. When Grace began to move around, it was too much for her to keep up with and we said ta-ta to Tata.

After Tata, Dometilia suggested Milagros, her niece. She is still with us today. It’s been almost three years. She is wonderful. About once a month on a Saturday, she brings her seven-year old girls and 15-year old boy to the house for the day. Gracie loves her daughter Jasmine.

Milagros’ other daughter, Albania works as the night and weekend nanny. She lives with us five days a week. She is 20 years old, so it is like having another kid in the house at times, but she and Gracie genuinely love one another and she does a great job with John too. She is going to college during the day in Higuey.

Isa was the maid for a while, after Dometilia left. She worked about three months then moved to Higuey, a town about 30 miles away.

Meri is the maid now. She drives Holli crazy, does a rather mediocre job with the clothes and the cleaning, is a little crazy, but she loves Grace and John and is honest. We’ve had three separate plans to get rid of her, but we won’t.

We spend a lot of time “managing” our people. It’s not as easy as you might think. However, I’m not complaining. It’s a pretty nice thing to have, especially for us.

Occasionally, there are more employees in the house or around the lunch table than family. And when all of them are together in the house, it’s a little chaotic. But it’s a fun group, all with families and hope and dreams. They aren’t any different than we are.

So Jonathan won't have to worry....

I stared at a lot of women’s chests this morning.

We have a large group here and they get free range balls before they play. However, the rest of the players have to pay for range balls.

So when a player came over, I checked out their chest to see what kind of logo they had on their shirt. If it looked good to me, I gave them a range token for free.

Logos on shirts are a kind of status symbol. I wear a lot of Polo, mostly because I shop at the Polo outlet store. It says to people, “Hey, I got a discount!”

I wear the Casa de Campo logo at work. This helps people know who to complain to.

They don't come by much anymore...

Speaking can get you in trouble. Speaking a foreign language can get you in more trouble.

During my first month here, I came down to the office one night to finish some work for a tournament the next day.

I was here for about twenty minutes when a security guard knocked on the door and asked (in Spanish) what I was doing. I couldn’t really explain a whole lot, but convinced him I worked here. I don't remember how.

When he was about to leave I tried to tell him I was liked that he was around to keep things safe.

He got a funny look on his face and left quickly.

The next day, I repeated to Ilsa what I told him in Spanish.

She told me that I said I loved him and that I was glad he was there.

I'm not ADD, I'm paranoid...

Business cards are great. They help me greatly because I really am not paying attention to names when I meet people.

I’ll spend a whole day with someone and have no idea what their name is. Often.

I need to improve in this area.

The problem is, when I meet people and I shake their hand, I don’t even listen to their name. I am usually preoccupied with what kind of handshake they have…and I’m concentrating on not getting the handshake cut-off…the kind where you kind of clasp fingers instead of palms. Also, if their hand is wet, I wonder if they have just come from the restroom and if so, did they wash their hands or is this spillage…

With women, I don’t listen because I don’t know whether I’m supposed to kiss them on the cheek or just shake their hand. You have to watch for the lean. If they start to lean, I lean in for the kiss. Otherwise, a handshake is fine with me. I’m not Richard Dawson. But, I’ve done the single, the double and the excruciatingly uncomfortable triple kiss.

Also, remember to start by going to the left…it avoids an ill-timed kiss on the lips.

Anyway, by the time I get this taken care of, we are discussing where we are from or whatever. It’s a little late to go back and ask, “Now, who did you say you were?”

Especially if you just kissed them on the lips.

Or maybe it was the "Sound of Music"

Today is John’s first birthday, which means a year ago Holli was drugged and sliced open by a man who didn’t speak English. All before breakfast.

Holli had a big grin on her face for most of the procedure and told me (over and over again) that they gave her Demerol. It was nice to see her relaxed and calm. She even sang some Broadway show tunes to pass the time. “Anything Goes,” I think.

The operation was pretty simple, at least from my perspective. The Doctor got John out the escape hatch he created and sent him off to be cleaned and de-briefed.

This was the second Caesarean (I was there for Gracie also) that I have witnessed and it pretty much went the same way the first one did…except that after it was all done he “tied the tubes.”

Calling it “tying the tubes” isn’t the whole story. This was total annihilation. He made a loop, tied the loop together about an inch before the curve, cut the tubes above the loop, burned the free ends of the tubes and then put them back where he got them from before doing the same to the other side.

But calling it “tying, cutting and burning the tubes” would probably be a needless use of words and gore. Hence, the abbreviated name.

Anyway, John celebrated his birthday by waking up at 2 am this morning and not really sleeping much more than 2 or 3 hours the rest of the night, which only reminded his parents of how they felt one year ago on this day.

But don’t worry, I’m okay. If I only knew where the Demerol was….

The Journey...so far

Once upon a time I was told that my life could have a “do-over.” This made me quite angry, since the person suggesting the “do-over” was causing the reason for it being necessary.

(The fact that she said she was quoting Billy Crystal in the movie “City Slickers” didn’t help either)

I wanted things to work out the way I planned. But it didn’t.

Now, I can’t imagine things being any different than the way they are. I can’t say I ever wanted kids, but I quickly changed my mind when they arrived. They are all the difficulty I imagined, but I didn’t factor the joy. The joy makes the difficulty seem trivial.

I didn’t want a wife that could think on her own and argue with me (although that’s not really the fun part), but I wouldn’t want it any other way with anyone else. I can't believe my fortune.

I did, however, always want a different mother-in-law. And I got a great one.

So to all the women in my life: Mom, Edna Lou, Gracie and especially Holliday…thanks…Happy Valentine’s Day.

The “do-over” has worked out great.