Out of the mouths of babes

Two five-year-old girls quickly made friends on the beach in Long Branch today, exchanging names and sharing toys.  Within an hour, one of the girls noticed a man holding a sand bucket for her new playmate and the following exchange ensued:
"Is that your dad?"
"No.  I don't have a dad."
"You don't have a dad?"
"Well, he doesn't live with me."
"Me too. My dad doesn't live with me."

The conversation ended, and they continued playing happily.

Forever and ever young

Although Bob Dylan and his record label thought enough of "Forever Young" to have two versions of it appear on the 1974 album, Planet Waves, "Forever Young" was never released as a single in the U.S. and was not for many years considered among his most popular songs.  Things have changed.

Dylan kept "Forever Young" at the forefront of may fans' minds by performing it nearly 500 times in concert during the past 39 years.  In fact, according to his official web site, there are only 27 songs he has performed more often, which says a lot considering Dylan has several hundred titles in his catalog.  In recent years, the song seems to have captured more attention than it did during the first 30-35 years after its release.  Certainly, it has become a soundtrack in many lives, including mine.

Norah Jones sang "Forever Young" at Steve Jobs' memorial concert in October 2011, just a few years after a remix of it was used in a soda commercial and the song was heard on a few television series episodes.  Earlier this month, my wife and son danced to the song during his wedding.  This past Saturday night at another wedding, I saw a bride dance with her father to it.  Singer-songwriter Steve Poltz said it is among his favorite Dylan lyrics and performed the song twice this weekend, once for a father and his new college graduate daughter, and once for Trayvon Martin.

Dylan most likely wrote the lyrics for his own children, who were very young at the time.  The song has a strong emotional appeal to many people, sometimes bringing a tear to an eye, sometimes a smile to a face, sometimes both.  In a very touching way, it captures the hopes of parents for their children, the elderly for the young; the cycle of life.  It is truly a timeless song.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

"Forever Young" lyrics by Bob Dylan
copyright © 1973 by Ram's Horn Music;
renewed 2001 by Ram’s Horn Music

Dancing fool

For years, I thought my brother and I were the only Cuban-Americans born without a dancing gene.  Together with my broken Spanish and mediocre baseball skills -- not to mention the very un-Cuban last name I began using when my mother remarried and our family moved from New York City to New Jersey -- my lack of dancing skills made me feel a lot less of a Cubano.

Not any more!

My good wife, disappointed at the prospect of seeing her husband a wallflower or an embarrassment on the dance floor during our eldest son's wedding, suggested last summer that we start taking dancing lessons.  I went along with the idea, figuring if nothing else it would be good exercise and a learning experience for us to share as we began living year-round in our Long Branch condo.

I soon realized that, unlike enjoying black beans with rice and a strong cup of cafe con leche, nothing about dancing came natural to this Cuban-American.  Whether it was a basic hustle, rumba, foxtrot, waltz, tango, cha cha or swing, my mind and body had difficulty getting in rhythm with the music.  I often had difficulty understanding our Russian-born dance instructor, although it had nothing to do with the accent with which she spoke her good English.  It had all to do because I was thinking too much and not just relaxing and letting go -- perhaps another of my very un-Cuban traits.

It took only a couple of months to get comfortable hustling, and more time (and money on semi-weekly lessons) to begin getting the basics of a few other dances.  My wife and I slowly began to guess with some accuracy which dance to do with particular songs, and more often than not we went home after our lessons satisfied with our progress.  Meanwhile, winter turned to spring and eventually summer began and our son's July 5 wedding arrived.

As soon as the DJ began to play at the wedding reception, my wife and I hit the dance floor.  To the surprise of some family members, we put on the hustle moves we learned while grinning ear-to-ear.  During the night, we also danced some basic swing and, at the very end, to Frank Sinatra's "New York New York," we did some promenades while very carefully navigating our foxtrot through a packed dance floor.   I also enjoyed dancing with my aunt and other family and friends, as did my wife -- who was surprised and thrilled to see her inspired father on the dance floor.

Now, we're looking forward to dancing at another wedding in less than two weeks.

It turns out my older Cuban-American brother still hasn't unleashed his dancing gene.  He mostly sat and watched during the wedding reception, as I have done many times.  His son, however, was a hit on the dance floor with an array of unique moves.  My two sons also danced up a storm.  In fact, the bridegroom's first dance with my new daughter-in-law was a very impressive result of some lessons the two of them took in preparation for their big day.  My brother and I and our wives are glad the dancing genes were quickly discovered by the next generation!

Toast for a son and his bride

Following is the toast Charley made for his eldest son and new daughter-in-law at their wedding on Friday, July 5, at the Loeb Boathouse in New York City's Central Park: 

It's great to see everyone here tonight to celebrate this wonderful occasion, the wedding of Steven and Rachel.  It was also nice to see so many people in New York City last night celebrating the Fourth of July, the birthday of our great country.  Steven and Rachel are indeed very fortunate to have found each other and fallen in love. I can't help but think that the relationship they've developed and the future they are about to lead together are truly part of the American dream.

Nearly all Americans are here because, sometime in their family history, someone dreamed of having the opportunity to lead a better life.  Interestingly, both Steven and Rachel have paternal grandmothers who spent years of their youth in Cuba and migrated to this country as teenagers to pursue their dreams. Steven's family settled in the New York area, Rachel's family in the southern and western parts of our country.

Our families were fortunate to able to provide Steven and Rachel a chance to chase their own dreams.  For Steven, it was to be a musician.  For Rachel, it was to dance.  After growing up a continent apart, they both enrolled at Purchase College, and excelled in their studies.  Like their grandmothers before them, however, they realized they needed to change their future direction.

Fortunately, Steven and Rachel had already found each other on the Purchase campus by this point. The strength of their relationship, along with the opportunity to dream of a better life -- something that is still easier to do in this country than in virtually any other part of our world -- has kept them moving forward together, Steven as an accountant, Rachel as a medical student.

In my travels and interaction with people from different parts of the world, I've heard that a defining characteristic of Americans is their happiness.  Yes, we smile more than most people, and we have a more positive view of the world and our lives.  It truly would be a fulfillment of my dream, as a parent and an American, and for our families who first ventured into this great land, for people around the world to see Steven and Rachel years from now and say, "Look at how happy that couple is.  They must be Americans, in love!"

Steven and Rachel, we toast to your joy today and your dreams for the future. And when you look into each other's eyes, may you continue setting off fireworks like the ones over the Hudson River last night!

Art to smile about

Demetrius Patterson is a fine artist. He's also an exceptional observer of people. The combination results in his unique style of acrylic paintings that make all kinds of people smile.

A lifelong Jersey shore resident and graduate of Monmouth Regional High School and Brookdale Community College, Demetrius can often be seen during summer weekends with his originals, prints, magnets and cards for sale at art fairs around the state, including Red Bank, Long Branch, Asbury Park and, on June 15, in Ocean Grove. He takes advantage of the chance to study people as they stop to look at his works.

"Sometimes they're kids who stop to show their parents something that catches their attention," said Demetrius, who lives in Tinton Falls. "Other times, it may be an old person who seems to be in some pain that stops and smiles at something they see."

Painting has been a lifelong passion for Demetrius, who strives to make each of his pieces "personal, meaningful, enjoyable."  He recalls his teachers and parents noticing how prolific and talented he was at a young age.  He considered himself a loner, and often painted to cheer himself up.

It wasn't until about a dozen years ago that he began exhibiting and selling his works.  Initially, he painted scenes with entertainers, everyday people and animals. The expressions of his subjects, often crystallized in their eyes, and use of color caught the attention of audiences.  Some people describe his style as "comic-like;" all agree it is different.

His resume includes exhibits at the Monmouth Museum, Art Alliance Studio & Gallery, Red Bank Public Library, Riverview Medical Center, and Monmouth Medical Center.  His originals typically fetch hundreds of dollars, but he sells prints for a fraction of that cost and, against the advice of some people close to him, cards and magnets for under $15 or $10.

"I'm attracting more collectors, some who have four or five of my originals, but I want to reach people at all different levels, including the little guy," explained Demetrius.  "Some people can't afford to spend much money on art, but they want to have some of the things I've done.  They may buy a few magnets, put it in their kitchen, and they're happy.  And, their friends talk to them about it."

Demetrius has in recent years expanded his portfolio to include scenery with flowers and urban landscapes, some without the expressive characters that were a trademark of his early paintings.  He typically has about five paintings in some stage of development at the same time, he explained recently while unveiling a new piece showing a diverse group of everyday people at a bustling diner.  They continue being done in his own special way, and the effect remains the same: people smile.

"People want something they can feel good about," said Demetrius.  "If I can do that in my own unique way, it's very satisfying."

An edited version of this writeup with a new photo appeared in the June 14 Asbury Park Press.

Cruise diary - Part II

Tuesday:
7:15 a.m. is too early to enjoy a good meal, some shopping or an adventure in Puerto Rico, so went on a bus tour of El Yunque National Forest, the only rain forest in the world under U.S. jurisdiction. It didn't rain while we were there, so we got to enjoy the exotic trees and vegetation without getting wet. Shortly after leaving the rain forest, however, the skies opened up something fierce. Talk about timing!

Nearly as interesting as the rain forest was our Puerto Rican bus driver/tour guide/comedian Jose:
"Puerto Rico has four million people and three million cars. We love our cars--we sleep with them!"
"The biggest Puerto Rican neighborhood in the world is The Bronx. There's three million Puerto Ricans in The Bronx!"
"The only army in Puerto Rico is the Salvation Army. They're great at recycling and they have a good clothing store. I bought one of Marc Antony's jackets there for only $10, and J Lo signed it!"
When a Porsche passed the slow jittery tour bus on the right, Jose said, "That's my friend. I let him drive my Porsche."
Fortunately, the winding, bumpy, wet roads on the island were little match for Jose, who said he lived in Boston for 18 years. No wonder!

With less than an hour to go before the ship was scheduled to depart, my wife and I commenced a rum run around Old San Juan. We were determined to buy one of my favorite brands, which we first learned about the last time we were on the island. I used my Spanish language skills to ask a woman at an information kiosk where I could locate our treasure, and she gave me directions in the most proper Spanish I've ever heard a Puerto Rican speak. As we got closer to the booty, I asked another lady behind a counter just to make sure, and she confirmed its proximity, in Spanish. We found the little store, bought three bottles for what two of an inferior quality would've cost in the U.S., ordered a couple of cafe con leches to go for good measure, and let the caffeine propel us back to the ship in time. I then realized the two ladies I asked for directions to the prize rum probably spoke perfectly good English.

After dinner on the ship, there was a line in the men's room. A guy unwittingly cut the line, invoking comments from the others. When he finished and started to leave, the line cutter looked at the other guys and said, "I thought you were having a clam bake."

Wednesday:
I swear some of the same people that were on the buffet line on the pool deck past 11:00 last night are walking around with heaping plates of food at the breakfast buffet this morning. Nah, they can't be. People can't eat that much.

A hilarious ventriloquist, Brad Cummings, entertained passengers in the ship's big theater last night. It was impressive how contemporary and customized for the audience he was able to make his schtick. He was accompanied by his longtime sidekick, a little dinosaur, and a mobster. He got his biggest laughs, however, when he got a guy from the audience to sit like a dummy on his lap. After the show, I saw Brad slip quietly from the theater, carrying a couple of trunks down the stairs where the crew stays. I gave him a thumbs up and thanked him. He thanked me back. I couldn't help but think how lonely the life of a comedian must be, rehearsing lines in empty rooms away from home. At least a ventriloquist has dummies to keep him company and talk back to him.

Sitting in a villa of cabanas, my mind drifts towards memories of Roberto Cabanas, the young Paraguayan striker from the early 1980s Cosmos soccer clubs. He was such a dynamic, improvisational talent on the turf pitch of the Meadowlands, and scorer of one of the most beautiful goals I've ever witnessed -- with his body in the air in a horizontal position and his head pointed toward the goal, he used the back of his foot to redirect a pass behind him into the net. It was a stunning work of athletic art. After leaving the Cosmos, Cabanas starred with a successful Colombian club bankrolled by a cocaine cartel, and appeared for Paraguay in the 1986 World Cup. I have no idea what he's up to these days, but I'll never forget him.

Haiti is not a likely Caribbean destination for foreigners, unless they're on a humanitarian visit or some other mission. It's the last port of call for this cruise, though, and the Labadee resort privately operated by Royal Caribbean International is full of happy vacationers, drinking, eating, swimming , sunning on the beach, the big ship sitting idly in plain view. I imagine life is radically different for those just a few miles inland; actually, more different than I can ever imagine.

With alcohol so easily accessible, it's surprising I haven't seen anyone on the cruise drunk...until tonight. A couple with New York City outerborough accents were quarreling while walking down a hallway shortly after midnight. She clearly didn't want the night to end. He kept trying to convince her it was time to get back to their room. She staggered from one side of the hallway to the other, not helped by the motion of the ship. His language got increasingly salty. As we walked past them, my wife and I started to wonder if they were also mentally challenged. We may never know for sure, but it was another reminder how _____ (fill in the blank yourself) people can sound when they've had way too much to drink.

Thursday:
The ship time-travelled back to the 1970s last night. Yes, there are people who want to do this. A singer performed some of the decade's biggest hits almost like we remember them, sometimes with props associated with the decade's popular singers. Most of the crowd enjoyed it but, frankly, others acted as if they were too old for this kind of stuff back in the 70s. A few disco dance parties followed, one in a promenade almost the full length of the ship, featuring impersonators of The Village People. My wife, who recalls my disdain for disco back in the day (yes, we met in the 70s), enjoyed singing and dancing along to the music with me and hundreds of others on a makeshift dance floor. She's still sleeping this morning, and I'm sore.

A good day for a fogburn, or windburn, on top of a sunburn. And heartburn.
Burn, baby, burn.

They're grilling burgers the size of a personal pizza pie on the pool deck. Passengers are congregating by the grills like vultures. I just can't stand to watch anybody try to eat one.

This cruise is shaping up to be a Classical Greek drama. The trip itinerary is the protagonist; I'm the antagonist. Or, maybe it's the other way around. The crew and passengers are the chorus. The drama came to a climax early, as the fourth and final port of call ended 2 1/2 days before the ship is scheduled to return to port. This leaves just enough time for moralizing and other pontification from the chorus. I'll leave it up to whoever finds my iPhone in a landfill and reads this diary a few centuries from now to decide whether this drama is a comedy or a tragedy.

An afternoon highlight was the poolside event in which this cruise features plenty of world class performers: a bellyflop competition! The form -- and figures -- of some of these male "athletes" was clearly the result of some long and serious training.

On the subject of world class performers and training, the quality of the musicians, singers, dancers and the ice skaters I saw perform this afternoon, has been consistently top-notch during this cruise. The entertainment has exceeded my expectations, and put to rest any notion that cruise ship performances are subpar -- not on this trip, anyway.

After dinner, my wife and I returned briefly to the room and, to our surprise, there was a monkey swinging from the ceiling.

Friday :
It's a lovely morning at sea. Just as impressive, I slept until past 9:30 and am just now thinking of coffee and breakfast. I never do this so late.

According to a dining room manager, there are 3200 passengers and 1200 crew members on this ship, Explorer of the Seas. I recall my first cruise in 2008 having about the same numbers. That makes them the most crowded neighborhoods I've stayed in for an extended period since the Amsterdam Houses project buildings in which I spent much of my childhood. That's where their similarities end. The quantity of food and drink I've seen on this cruise might have been sufficient for the entire New York City population of the 1960s!

Once more, people were enjoying themselves on the pool deck while drinking, sunning, talking, reading, eating and wading on a glorious afternoon. This time, a middle-age woman passed out in a hot tub, causing the band to stop playing and a medical team to arrive a few minutes later. She was carried away in a lounge chair to much ovation.

It's been fascinating to learn the different countries the cruise crew members are from. India, the Philippines and Jamaica seem to have the most crew members, with South Africa a distant fourth. We've seen a grand total of one crew member from the U.S. That may tie them with Mauritius, a country in the southwest Indian Ocean. I noticed that country's name on the badge of a towel collector, who said, "I'm the only one from the country on this ship."

A gorgeous evening capped a grand finale at sea. The sunset behind a thin blanket of clouds made truly picturesque lighting for photographs, and the sea breeze was a nice effect.

A casino in the ocean is no better and no worse than a casino on land. Same sounds, same lights, same smell of cigarettes -- I'm still waiting for a sensible explanation of why smoking is allowed in casinos in 2013 -- and the same kinds of people at the tables and slot machines. Some call it fun. For others, it's as enjoyable as writing a check to the IRS in April.
Watching a man walk out of the casino wearing an undershirt, my wife remarks, "I wonder if he lost his shirt."

Saturday:
Land ho! We see a tall high rise building, possibly in Atlantic Highlands. With the morning fog, we can't be too sure.
"Where's our blue water?" my wife asks. For sure, we're in New York Harbor, almost home. Our sea cruise is ending.

Cruise diary - Part I

Thursday:
I can't help but notice all the senior citizens on the ship. That is, people just a few years older than me. Many of them are hungry or, at least, they like to walk away from buffet spreads with large plates of hot food -- at 2:00, for a late lunch.
Two hours later, just before the ship is scheduled to sail, a P.A. announcement informs us that "a very serious medical situation" will delay our departure until an ambulance arrives. We also learn that a nor'easter will cause us to cruise towards Bermuda tomorrow in 12-foot waves. Passengers are encouraged to take their medication. Oh, joy!

My feet are moving, while I'm sitting still.
My clothes are moving, while hanging in a closet.
And the seas are still calm.

Cruise ships are a great place to be if you want to escape American workers. So far, we've met crew members from South Africa, Serbia, Belarus, Wales, the Philippines, Guyana, Jamaica, India, Nicaragua, Dominica, and Romania, but not one American. Come to think of it, it's just like being in the U.S.

Friday:
"It feels like I'm in a funhouse."
Those were among my wife's first words this morning. Not just because she was having a good time, but because she felt us swaying as we were laying still in bed.
Ever try showering in a fun house?
Among the other first words we heard were a reminder over the P.A. that seas would be rough today. An accented English voice advised us to exercise caution when walking around the ship and using the stairs. I sense most people on the ship need to all the time, even in still waters. But, thanks, captain.

I often tell my sons I want to be like them when I grow up. They are, after all, young men any father would be very proud of. It may not be possible, though -- I already had my chance at youth, took my best shot it, and have no regrets. But, I could've done more if I was the person my sons are!
After (re-)reading The Old Man and The Sea by Ernest Hemingway on the ship today, I now have a Plan B. I can be like Santiago, the book's protagonist -- an old, strong, crafty, resourceful, proud Cuban man. I think my sons and wife would settle for that.

After dinner, my wife and I returned briefly to the room and, to our surprise, there was a rabbit on our bed.

Different kinds of people were dancing at the night clubs on the ship: young, old...and very old. One elderly gentleman held his lady closely, shuffling slowly. She seemed to love it until, apparently exhausted, he walked her to their table. That left just a few other couples on the dance floor, and many more others wishing they were.

Saturday:
The first words on the radio, after the alarm sounds, are the last words from Don McLean's American Pie: "This will be the day that I die." Her eyes just opening, my wife declares, "That's not very encouraging."

The guide for our Bermuda catamaran excursion said his ancestors arrived on the island in 1630--just 21 years after the first settlers. At least, I think that's what I heard -- his voice had competition from the snores of a paying customer. The port where the catamaran and cruise ship docked featured an interesting mix of tourists and locals who just completed a 26-mile "End-to-End" bicycle race.

Among the interesting people on the ship are a couple with full heads of longish, albeit discolored hair, one of whom was wearing a Woodstock reunion t-shirt. I could almost picture them on Yasgur's Farm 44 years ago.

As the sun shone on the deck, a four-piece band entertained passengers lounging, wading, hot tubbing, many drinking tropical favorites, with a wide assortment of Caribbean covers, including reggae classics. Snuck in their set were Cat Stevens' "Wild World" and a song reminiscent of "Angel of the Morning." Then the sun hid behind the clouds and the wind kicked in, dropping the temperature 15-20 degrees. People escaped inside, but not a waiter balancing a bottle of rum on his head for the benefit of die-hard dancers.

Sunday:
At the table next to me during breakfast, a big man with a big scowl and loud New York City outer borough accent was going off on immigrants. He was spewing the usual venom, topping it off with, "I'm glad I'm not going to be around when my grandchildren are." Some people just relax more than others on vacation. I wonder what he sounds like after a day of work. I'm also curious what his immigrant ancestors would think of him. After he waddled away, I learned that a small part of India is a former Portuguese colony. A waiter from India with the name "Rodrigues" told me that.

While walking in from an outside deck, a middle-age man was startled as he bumped into an automatic door that started to close. Three young teenage girls walking by him broke out in loud laughter. I'm glad to bring so much joy to the world!

Blazing on a sunny afternoon, a partly sunny afternoon, in springtime . Waiters walk by every couple of minutes, offering the day's colorful rum special, or taking orders for other drinks. A live band plays Caribbean music, including a reggae cover of the Smokey Robinson '80s hit with the lyrics, "I love it when we're cruising together." A middle-age couple dances in a swimming pool. A young American slaps the butt of his red-headed female companion in a bikini. A stocky European man in a tight Speedo carries his 1-year-old son into a hot tub, his fit wife in a bikini behind him.
How decadent!

For the first time since boarding four days ago, it's a starry night. Well below, to the southeast, lightning illuminates a cloud every 20-30 seconds, like a fireworks show.

Monday:
Birds are finally visible, escorting us to St. Maarten. Either that, or they're looking for breakfast. We're still 3-4 hours away from land, and the birds rarely venture into the water for a fresh catch.

Orient Bay Beach on the Atlantic Ocean in Saint-Martin is magnificent. Clear blue warm waters and white sand, blue skies with just a touch of harmless white haze. Fresh grouper and rice and salad for lunch, a couple of rum punches, and it feels like nap time. And yes, in this half-French, half-Dutch island, some women joined men for a topless stroll on the beach. With no evidence of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue photo shoot taking place, it was about the only part of the afternoon scenery that wasn't particularly pretty.

Our St. Maarten tour guide was an English lady who retired with her husband to the island 11 years ago. A grandmother now, she visits her sons in London and New York three times a year. She said she works part-time to support her partying life style. Life is good!

Tuesday:
"Puerto Rico, my heart's desire..."
(West Side Story)
And the closest thing in the free world to the land of my ancestors, Cuba.
To be continued.