The Hardest working woman in the World

A One-Person Army

My wife and I paid a visit to an area just outside the city limits of Barcelona called Alella, where we stayed for a short while in a lovely four-star hotel that is run by a young woman and her husband. The two of them do all that is fundamentally required, except that they have a maintenance man as well on staff. I was so impressed by the multi-tasking of this young woman that I simply must sit here and record her for posterity as The Hardest working woman on the Planet.

We first encountered her when we checked in at five o'clock in the afternoon. We then encountered her again at dinner as she served us our evening meal. She does the accounts for the business, then she changes her hat into that of chambermaid, and behind the scenes she assumes the responsibilities of housekeeper, among other things that means getting the laundry cleaned, which I hope she does by outsourcing it.

As the accountant she will have to deal with the bank and insurance companies, and the government;  any one of these things will tax the patience and resolve of even a person who has nothing else to do.

But, she does have other things that need to be done to maintain the hotel's four star rating, and they will keep her well occupied. However, there she is at breakfast time, ensuring that we are well taken care of, before going off to the office to help us check out.  And so the routine goes, and she maintains a really good sense of humour in spite of the pressures. We should also keep in mind that she is a young woman married to her hard working husband who is primarily the chef.

Did I mention that untill five months ago she was pregant, and now has a lovely little girl to provide care and undivided attention.

I have a new respect. Any man, including her husband would have collapsed long ago!

Copyright (c)  2012   Eugene Carmichael



Can money buy Happiness?

The first thing I have to say on this subject is that those who say that it can't are usually people like me, people who don't have any money. So, having declared my interest, let us continue.

This is perhaps one of the most complex of all subjects, if not the most complex, and because it is complex it has so many sides. I will reduce it to the most simple example I can think of, and I will use myself as a example in my imagination. I will take the example of where a young man is born into wealth. We used to call that being born with a silver spoon in your mouth.

If I was such a person my upbringing would have been privileged, and I would have attended a rich parents school, and I would have come to expect everyone to do things my way. I would earn a living running the family business, or part of it, and of course I would have the finest of everything at my fingertips.

The danger to me is that should I grow bored and delve into drugs and the underworld, I would have the resources to drive myself straight to hell in a hurry. However, apart from the drug of alcohol, I have never engaged in the use of any other form of drugs.

If I choose to stay on the straight and narrow and to maintain control in my life, I could do a lot of good with my wealth. The question is, what would I consider to consitute personal happiness?  If I am a member of the rich class, I suppose I would look for a young lady of the same class to be my wife. If I could find someone ideal, and it worked, than I would have the best of all possible worlds. There are, I'm sure happy marriages between wealthy individuals, but the temptations to stray from normal behaviour must be overwhelming when you can afford whatever you want.

I think that the answer to the question must be that money, per se, cannot buy happiness, but it can buy a lot of accessories to happiness. True personal happiness is a hit or miss thing, and the rich man, or woman is as much at the mercy of the gods when pursuing their own brass ring as the common man. There can be so much more to lose when things go wrong, although relatively speaking, it can seem like the same thing to both a rich person, or a poor one. 

In conclusion, would I prefer to be rich or poor?  I have been relatively poor for so long, I wouldn't mind trying being rich for a change. Any suggestions, anyone?

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael

Winning the argument with a Woman

Rodan's Thinker.

Take his lead and think about it.

Does anyone have any proof that a man has definitively ever won an argument with a womann, going back to the dawn of time?

I have read much advice on the topic of how a man should "handle" arguments with his woman, and I'm happy to accept that the advice is well intentioned, but there is only one bit of advice that I take, and it is my own counsel, and that is don't argue with her. It seems to be part of a female's DNA that to lose an argument with a man is not an option. I'm talking about a full blown, screaming, shouting argument. That is not the same thing as a civilized debate where rules are in place, and courtesies are extended that result simply in the exchange of thoughts and ideas.

An argument, by its very nature is an emotional confrontation, which is bad enough, and dangerous between two men,  whose forte generally is not emotion. But women, bless 'em, whose strong point is the ability to feel things in their soul, excel at the art of the argument. The other thing that women have going for them are their memories, that make an elephant scratch their heads and admit even they can't remember back that far.

I have had my fair share of arguments with women. You get sucked in so easily and quickly, and the escalation takes place so fast that before you know it, you are hopelessly lost at sea. Things get said in the heat of the moment that are hurtful and spiteful, and very damaging to the relationship. When either of you try to apologize for what you said in the quiet times that follow, your mate is left wondering if you didn't mean it, why did you say it?

Even the man can't end the screaming match. You can try, but it will not be over until she completely runs out of steam, or until he knocks her out. I am not suggesting that he do this, but all too often it does move to violence, which is another reason why you should avoid getting into this situation in the first place.

The reason why arguing with a woman is unwinnable is that the man is using rationale against her strongly held emotions and that is a no-brainer. You cannot win as a man, so don't even go there. When he is actually making ground she simply changes the subject. If he introduces a thought, she can recall something he said or did with absolute clarity that happened so many years ago that contradicts, and he doesn't know if he did the offending thing or not.

The other question is: Men, would you actually want to win the argument?

Its never happened so we don't really know what it would look like, but imagine if you did win. You put her firmly in her place and you walked away the declared winner, leaving her the way she leaves you. She will probably never speak to you again, until you apologize convincingly for her embarrassment, and her hurt feelings. I think you can also damn well forget about that sex thing for probably a year, or until you buy her some really nice jewellery. (Sorry ladies if I seem to be trivializing.) We just don't know what we would do.

I am an older gentleman who has learned a lot through pain and suffering, so listen up you young guys: Get to recognize the signs of when she is on the warpath. Every time she tries to start an argument keep your big mouth shut, because any word that comes from your open mouth she will use as the fire starter. When she starts in without your help, stay calm and let her argue with herself. She will easily get frustrated and take out her feelings on the dog, but as long as you don't let yourself get drawn into something no man has ever won, you win. Remember, she can always deliver the coup de grace to your winning argument by saying : Whatever !!!!

I'll repeat that: the only way to win an argument with a woman is not to get into the argument in the first place!

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael



Cruising in Luxury

A Dream Vacation

I admit I have not as yet had the experience of cruising in luxury aboard one of the world's cruise liners, but it is on my "To Do" bucket list. There are stories about people, usually retired people with some money to spend, who either take very long cruises, or who come off one ship and promptly go aboard another. There are many examples of people who have the choice of living in an upscale nursing home, or for the same money living aboard a cruise ship.

There will be no cigar for guessing correctly where to find them if they are really needed.

The thought of taking a cruise myself is always there in the back of my mind, but recently it has been brought to the forefront because of two incidents involving cruise liners, both of which belonged to the same company. The most infamous is the Costa Concordia that is lying on its side in the waters along the Italian shore. The second simply had a fire in the engine room that knocked out all power and set the ship a drift.

Every cruise liner works very diligently to ensure through risk prevention that they do not have any kind of breakdown. This is just commonsense, but sometimes things do happen in spite of best efforts to avoid them. That is generally called bad luck. The Costa Concordia situation appears to have been something that should never have happened. A formal enquiry is under way, so we shall see.  The facts are that normally, things work well enough 99.999% of the time so that we don't even think about these things. However, when we do dig into the risk potential we come up with such shocking "what ifs" that we wonder why is there a cruise industry at all.

Scenerio:  With mega cruise ships cruising the world, lets say that a ship leaves port with 4,000 passengers and 1,000 crew.  It has a pre-planned route and it must not deviate from its course because many things will have gone into those coordinates to keep the ship in safe and deep enough waters. In our example we have five thousand people on one ship that is now out at sea.

Something goes wrong, against all odds, and a fire occurs in the engine room that knocks out all power that disables the ship's ability to move under its own power, or to provide pumping capabilities, or cooking facilities, or airconditioning or heating, or any of the essential services. This is what happened to the Costa Allegra.

In the case of that ship it got a tow from a large fishing vessel and was taken to the Seychelle Islands, under perfect weather conditions. Passengers had to survive on sandwiches, many of which were delivered by helicopter. But, what if the weather had become stormy while the ship was completely shut down? I am not an expert in these matters and can only use my own imagination, but I see a situation where the ship would founder in rolling seas with thousands of civilians who are being tossed around like bread crumbs. The ship would of course, go off course, but as long as it were in deep water it would still be in a recoverable situation.

If the situation of not having any control over its direction were to continue over several days, each day would raise the risk of a deadly ending. I am an optimist, and because it hasn't happened yet, I will leave that possibility and move on to other probabilities.

What happens when a ship at sea suddendly has to land all its passengers, and even its crew on shore in a country that is not ready to absorb so many people at one time?

There are few countries that could cope with a mass of five thousand people landing on its shores in one spot, all at once. The logistics are mind boggling, and I am fairly certain that cruise companies employ some of the best people to track and be ready to deal with the unexpected at all times. I am convinced that the companies know their business and I would put my faith in them. I am sure that they do not leave shore without things planned down to the tiniest detail, but every plan is only as good as the people who will do their part.

So, in summary, every thing that we do in life carries some risk, but as long as the risk is reasonable, we can live our lives to the fullest. However, one of the things that I will do when I get around to taking a cruise is to ensure that the crew whose hands I place my life and welfare in at least speak a language that I can understand. If the official language of the officers and crew is say, Italian, and I do not understand Italian, that will massively complicate the situation if we get ourselves into a situation that would involve an emergency. Therefore I will not be taking a cruise with an Italian crew any time soon.

Secondly, and most important of all, emergency stations should be called before the ship casts off, just as is done with airlines, because once on the move who knows what might go wrong. According to Murphy's Law, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

Happy Sailing!

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael 

The Festivals of Las Fallas and La Magdelena, Valencia, Spain

A Fallas monument built and sponsored for Nou Campanar

March is the biggest month for celebrations in Valencia. In spite of our economic problems the show must go on in the name of Tradition and Custom. Perhaps it is just as well that we do have these things to cheer ourselves up, and the truth be told, the customs are really worth preserving.

Essentially these are springtime events that help us throw off the depression of the cold winter. The fact that both events rely heavily on noise to chase away old man winter is no coincidence. March begins promptly on the very first day with a mascletá, or daytime firework display at 2pm in the main city square in Valencia City.  Because it's a day event, the only possible purpose is to make lots of noise, the more the merrier. As the days move along the tiempo picks up pace leading to the planting of various monuments with a satirical theme around the city and the suburbs from the fifteenth to the nineteenth, at which time they are set on fire where they stand.

Many of the monuments will have cost about half a million euros to design and build, but when it's over, it's over. I always say, what a shame, but they ask, what do you want us to do with them?

Normally, the party begins with Las Fallas in Valencia City until the 19th, followed by the Festaval of La Magdelena in Castellón de la Plana, located about 50 kilometres north of Valencia City. Usually the dates for this would be March 26th till April 3rd, however, this year, because of conflicting dates La Magdelena began on the 10th March and continues untill the 18th.

La Magdelena celebrates the birth of the city of Castellón 700 years ago, and is  nine days of continuious events that are similar yet different than what goes on in Valencia City. They too make a lot of noise with both daytime and night time fireworks. There are lots of parades and wonderful costumes; dancing in the streets, brilliant  monuments of lights, that are not burned, in the principal parade known as the Gaiatas.

It is simply not possible to commit to words the spontaneity and sheer joy that these events generate; nor the passion and feeling that those participating experience, especially in the Ofrendas of flowers to The Virgen. How do I explain what makes a person carry flowers and walk for hours to come into the presence of a wooden statute of La Virgen, and then burst into a flood of tears.


This is really one of those things you must experience for yourself. Once experienced, never forgotten.

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael

Don't Leave Home Without it!

MoBo Phobias

We have become so reliant on technology that we are making ourselves slaves to machines.

I left my home in a hurry and found to my horror that I had left behind both of my mobiles. Panic!

I considered turning the car around and going back for them, but time was of the essence, and if I continued I could make my destination comfortably, and in time. So, I continued on with thoughts of all the things that could go wrong for which I would absolutely need my mobile.

I was on my way to purchase tickets for the coming concert in Valencia by Lang Lang, perhaps the greatest pianist/showman in the world. I had left home very early in the morning to reach The Palau de la Musica

where I had to present myself in person. Tickets would go on sale via the Internet the next day, however I was fairly certain all of the Season tickets holders would claim their seats, and together with the tickets sold on the first day meant there might not be any available the next day.

As I drew up to The Palau, there was not a person in sight. Perhaps I had the wrong day, but I continued on to find a parking place. When I walked into the building I was flabbergasted to find hordes of people in the area of the selling booth, and after being given the number 138 I walked towards the other side of the building where there must have been about 500 people. They had started serving early, and number 10 was being served.

Evidently, there were so many people congregating in front of the building that they opened the doors early and gave people numbers, then the people disbursed into the spacious lobby. They had come in groups to buy tickets for the whole family and friends, so one number was used to buy several tickets, perhaps as many as twenty or thirty tickets.

This was going to take some time and I needed to contact several people to let them know that my appointments for the rest of the day were going to have to be cancelled. What a dreadful day to leave my phones at home. For the first time in twenty years I would have to use a public phone.  The Palau has four mounted on walls, and I couldn't get any of them to work.

Firstly, I felt the need to use a wet wipe on the phone before placing it to my head. Secondly, they are such complicated instruments these days, I wasn't sure whether I was the reason I couldn't get one to work, or whether it was the machine. Finally, I did make a contact, but at a total cost of five euros.

The Palau originally intended to sell  between the hours of 9:30 and 13:30,  I finally bought my two tickets at ten minutes before two, and at 2pm they closed for lunch and returned at five pm. By the end of the day, I believe all tickets were sold out.

Roaming around without my mobiles was a peculair feeling. At first I was very uneasy, but as the day progressed I began to relax. Phones were ringing all around me, several with ring tones similar to my own, but I knew it was not for me. I felt a great sense of freedom, kind of like walking around without my under, and over pants. It felt good. Mankind is not wired to be on alert at all times. When my phone rings and I am driving, I ignore it, intending to return the call when I am stopped. When I am eating, or attending to some matter during which I should not be disturbed, I place my phones on silence.

There are those people with their smart phones that register their every incoming e-mail. That is built-in stress, and I know that isn't good.

I am not likely to leave my mobiles at home any time soon, but I will continue to control my reliance upon them, and perhaps I won't buy the iPhone after all. That piece of equipment is so powerful and capable of so much technology, I fear it would enslave me into total bondage.

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael

The Cuddle

Two young people who look perfectly happy as they cuddle.

There is one absolute certainty: throughout the history of men, not one has ever said the following- "I'm going home because I want to give my woman a cuddle." It is also highly unlikely that it will ever be said.  This is because men don't understand what a cuddle is, nor why it might be appropriate.

Your woman will often be in need of a cuddle, and when she turns to  you for you to wrap your arms around her and give her a loving embrace, you become sexually aroused and off go your hands in search of something else. She gets angry, pushes you away and storms off saying all you bloody men are alike. "What?" What did I do?

Our wiring is completely different in this regard, so it takes tremendous understanding to respond in the appropriate fashion. When we men come into close contact with the soft and curvy body of a woman we respond automatically to think sex. Sex is evermore on our minds anyway, and the least little thing set us off.

Women, on the other hand are generally motivated by feelings of tenderness and love. If she has had a very difficult day, and you have behaved yourself properly in letting her get things off her chest, she will most likely turn to you for a long hug and a kiss. That's a cuddle.

If she is not feeling well from a health standpoint, a cuddle will cheer her up just perfectly.  If she is fighting with you because you make her so angry, rather than defending yourself and shouting back at her, if you can get close to her to put your arms around her, the cuddle will probably work wonders.

Even in bed, if you turn to her just to hold her in your arms to fall asleep in that manner, she will appreciate the fact that you see her as a full person, rather than always seeking sex from her. You may be wondering when will we have sex?  Often sex does happen when you least expect it. If you can make her feel really good and safe, she knows what you want and need, and she may decide to reward you for being so thoughful. In that regard the cuddle may be thought of as foreplay, although to approach it from the standpoint of giving your woman a cuddle with the expectation of sex would be cynical.

As we have seen the word "cuddle" is not a bad word, and it has a very central role in every couple's relationship. You may not want to say to your mates that you need to give your woman a cuddle, but do it every chance you get. No woman has ever said, "I suffer from too many cuddles," and she never will.

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael

Financial Banking and Trust

A Bank, otherwise known as A House of Ill-Repute

Here in Spain every country house has bars on the windows and super strong doors, plus a wall around the house, some with barbed wire along the top. This, in comparison with my own country where no house has bars, or even a fence. For the first ten years of my life we never locked our doors, in fact the door didn't have a lock. So, I was a little taken aback at so much security when I arrived in Spain. Once you entered the house, you had to take real good care that a fire didn't break out, because if you were not able to make it out through the door you would have been barred in, as happened on more than one occasion.

Finally, I asked why so much security just to protect the stove and refrigerator. I was told that it was the custom not to trust banks, so people kept their savings at home in caja fuertes, or safes built into the walls. Each house was a bank unto itself, but gradually people started placing their savings with bankers after home breakins rose to alarming rates. Those people knew something the rest of us didn't, and going to the bankers was a mistake.

In the old days banking was a relatively simple matter. Clients were encouraged to place their savings in the bank, for which they would earn annual interest of, say, 3%.  The banker would then carefully vet people who required loans, and they would lend your money at,say, 7%. The difference of four points was the bank's profit. There were other earning possibilities, but the one thing that the bank didn't do a lot of was lose their assets.  "Their assets" was actually yours and my own money. Through prudent management  our savings grew, and all was well with the world.

Then some bright spark got the idea that banks should expand their area of influence and start to dabble in investment opportunities with a little more flair and dash. One thing led to another, arriving at a situation where banks have holdings in all manner of situations, many of which were big earners as long as the market was going up, but when the bubble burst, had it not been for government intervention most banks standing today would be history.

There is at least one bank that I must place emphasis on. This well-known bank placed an incredible amount of money in the hands of Bernie Madoff, the prince of scoundrels who ran a pyramid scheme that collapsed, as collapse it was bound to do, taking with it the bank's money and and a large number of other greedy and stupid investors savings. I say greedy and stupid because if you are promised, or guaranteed, a return on your funds that is way out of line with a normal return, it will be too good to be true. Indidvuals who let their own greed get in the way of sound decisions is one thing, but a bloody bank has to know the difference between what is possible and what is a scam. I can tell you this, I would not have been taken in by this scam, because I have turned my back on a number of others, so how the hell did a bank get conned?

We are now hearing that a number of banks have lost money over the past years, some going back to 2008, including Lehman Bros that went to the wall. Three of the banks within which I diversified my small savings have had the following results: One came dangerously close to closing its doors and declaring bankruptcy. For those shareholders who held the bank's own shares, they are now worthless. Another has a hole in its accounts with losses of over 900 million euros, mainly due to real estate losses as the bottom fell out of the market; and the other has losses totalling 1,270 million euros due to real estate losses and just plain silly, and possibly malicious management decisions. The courts will decide.

The Spanish banking system is in such a mess, with possibly the worst to be discovered, that trust is gone. Unfortunately a lot of people's saving have gone along with trust, but still those bastards think they should be rewarded with ultra-high salaries and a freaking bonus!  Preachers are constantly telling us that if we do not conduct ourselves as good Christians we will go to hell. Well, I hope there is a special and dedicated hell for money managers who have brought so much misery upon the human race. Were I one of these creeps I certainly would not be handing out business cards that say  "Bank Manager" or "Money Manager." There is no honour in those occupations.

If there are any such people who are diligently trying to do a good job for their clients, and who believe in morality, I do apologise if anything I have said does upset you about your profession. I am a client and I have been given the impression that I have from all the public knowledge that is before us. I cannot be expected to believe that any of you have even a clue as to what you are doing.

One more thing: I personally have not actually lost any money because of banking losses. Yet!  Imagine if I had!

Copyright (c) 2012  Eugene Carmichael  

Men talk, Women Communicate!

Men and Women, together apart.

I'm on a roll thinking about the many differences between men and women, and this week the thought occurred to me of just how big a divide there is over something so very fundamental as talking. There was a time when I thought that men hardly have much to say at all, except perhaps on matters of business, sports and politics. However, while that may be true in America and Britain, nothing could be farther from the truth here in Spain.

I have observed Spanish men gathering in their favourite bar or cafe and chatting for hours over this and that. They seem to be compelled to seek out the company of others to "charla" over cigarettes and wine. It would appear to be part of the (wonderful) attitude of the Mediterranean  man to find the time to relax, enjoy the sun, a meal and a bottle of wine and family and friends. Two topics that are central to their interest are football and bullfighting, in equal order of importance. The local nightly news will often occupy twenty minutes, followed by football for thirty minutes.

The situation has been ramped up lately because in the Catalan region, after much talk, of course, the traditional bullfight has been dropped as a custom. I cannot give you a sense of the controversy this caused in the region, and throughout Spain, only to say that this is a huge topic and very divisive.

I think the mindset for men to gather and to talk socially is missing in America and Britain. Someone once said that if two of these men were to sail a yacht around the world together, apart from discussing shipboard matters they would likely not have anything else to say to one another. On the other hand, my friend Pepe is known to talk all the time, without pause. He seems to know a little about every topic under the sun, or at least he has an opinion, and if I were so foolish to lock myself in an airplane with him for a trans-Atlantic flight, he would talk going into the airport, all through the waiting period and the flight, and coming out of the airport on the other end.

Women, on the other hand are united as sisters around the world in that they use the ability of speech to bond together as men never have. I admire the ease with which women communicate with one another with none of the hang-ups that men have. It starts when two women meet and they find things to just love about what the other person is wearing.

From there the conversation could flow easily in any direction, including about things of a business nature, to politics, to family problems and children; home problems, dealing through the financial crisis, sewing, cooking, personal fitness, etc, etc.  None of those topics is of any less importance than men talking about what to do about those Iranians and their nuclear plans, but the subject matters are approached in such a natural manner. You will notice I did not specially mention men, as a talking point, because I think it would be egotistical to imagine that women even think about men when they are having their coffee mornings. In fact, I think that women welcome the break from their dealings with us men and never give us a mention when they are together.

Is one approach better or superior than the other?  I think not!  I think it is the acting out of how we are wired and what works best for men and women. Where problems arise is when a woman wants to make a best friend of her husband or boyfriend, and she wants to spend hours in conversation with him. This is not likely to work that well because he is not a she and just doesn't have that lobe. It is very difficult to interest a man in what you bought at the shoe shop, or the new dress you bought, except when you are wearing it.

To take the husband or lover on a shopping trip is normally pure torture for him. In my wife's case, she is a very careful shopper. She reads everything and carefully inspects every garment as though she were an auditor. My idea of shopping for a suit is that the whole experience should take no more than fifteen minutes. But that is a completely different subject that we will pursue another time.

Copyright (c)  2012  Eugene Carmichael

What Planet are you From?

A story for St. Valentine

My wife noted that I was reading "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." She said I thought you read that book years ago. I replied that I did, but I thought I would re-read it to refresh the subject in my mind. She replied that it was good that I was doing that, because I sure didn't get anything from it the first time. "You think?" I replied.

The author of this work is John Gray, Ph.D. It was many years ago that I first took to reading it, and the first thing that astonished me was how different men and women see the same thing. We are so different in our outlook that it is amazing that we can collaborate on anything so complicated as going to bed to have the necessary sex that produces offspring. I am convinced that were it not for such strong and instinctual feelings, it just would not happen.

I was quite frankly, flabbergasted at just how wrong we, as individuals get things, if we even think about it. We naturally think that the person of the opposite sex thinks in the same manner as ourselves, but nothing could be farther from the truth.  The book points out the wide divide that exists with something as simple as a couple dealing  with the problems of the day. A woman needs to talk about her problems with a sympathetic listener. That is usually not her male partner, because we think that if she is complaining to us she needs us to offer a solution. Wrong!

Firstly, I find that my woman wants to talk when I am in the midst of concentrating on something that really interests me, such as the news. What she really needs for me to do is turn off the television and pay attention to her. Since she won't want a solution from me, can I read the paper while listening, or work on a project if I'm quiet?  The answer is no. She wants my undivided attention as she gets the problems off her chest, and all she wants from me is the occasional response to confirm that I am listening. If I interject with words like "really?", or "that doesn't sound very nice," or, the best one of all, "what do you think should be done about it?", then I am being there for her and I am her hero. I get the Brownie Points, and she wants to be in love with me.

What I got from Dr. Gray was that by doing these things, which don't cost me a thing, I am giving her respect and my time and attention, and that plays very well with her. At the least I am not ignoring her as though she were part of the furniture. She is the one person I am supposed to love more than any other, and let's face it, I would get twisted out of shape were she not to show me attention when I need it. That would not be when I have a problem arising out of my day.

For those who are not well informed, a man's method of dealing with his problems is the opposite to a woman's. She will realise that there is something really bothering him, and she will ask, "what's troubling you, Dear?"  He will then make his problems a thousand times worse by replying, "Nothing, Dear!"  Talk about adding fuel to the fire!  What he means is, "Nothing that you can help me with. I will go to my cave, as men have always done, since time began, and I will think about what I need to do to solve my problems. No, I don't want to talk to you about it , Dear, because you will try to impose your solutions, which will most likely be of an emotional nature, while I am looking for pragmatic resolutions."

It is very peculiar that the last thing a woman wants from a man is a suggestion of how to solve her problem, but it is the first thing she offers to him. Mostly, she wants to talk about it, and that is the last thing a man wants to do, with her.  If he finds that he really does need to talk with someone, he will select a professional and sit down and have a business-like discussion about things. Those professionals are called consultants, and they cost a lot of money. It is ironic that at the end of the day, the advice he gets at a cost is most likely the same as he would have got for free from his wife. But, that's life! So, as we celebrate another day in honour of St. Valentine there are some things to bear in mind:

Men and women are different, perhaps totally so, and our challenge is to maintain an ongoing successful and happy relationship in spite of our differences.

To be able to give and to receive love is more valuable than all the money in the world. Whether your love partner is someone of the opposite sex or the same sex, makes no difference. I believe that a person who lives a life without the warmth of love, lives an empty life, no matter how much material things he accumulates.

If your life is full with love and good health, you are a very, very, VERY lucky person, Indeed!

Happy St. Valentine's Day!

Copyright (c) 2012  Eugene Carmichael

Honour Murder!

I watched the news report that in Canada, an Afghan family consisting of father, mother and son were convicted of killing the couple's three teenage daughters and an adult woman, because, according to the prosecution, the girls insisted on following a Westernized lifestyle.

My immediate reaction was, if the man didn't want his daughters to be influenced by the West, why did he bring them to the West? That made me so furious because it seemed to me to be the height of stupidity, and in stupidity there is not even a scintilla of honour to be found.

As I calmed down I went on the Internet to research the subject, and what I found has left me gobsmacked. So much so, I don't even know where to begin. I suppose I could say that it amazes me that people leave their own country to go and live in another, only to then reject the culture of their adopted homeland. However, those countries that colonized other people's countries did it, as do people from the colonies who choose to live in the homeland of their occupiers.  Stupidity!

I left my native Bermuda to live in Spain for the change. Here, we live in and amongst the Spanish, and we explore their customs, some of which we adopt, others, like bullfighting we stay away from. We use the Spanish language as much as we can, and generally it can be said that we have thoroughly integrated. We are happy and comfortable with our choice. Should that change we will simply leave.

All around us we can see evidence of people who live only on the fringe of Spanish society, but on the face of things they seem to be living their lives in peace. Beyond that I cannot say, but from what I have now discovered through my reasearch I should not be surprised when some family feel they have to murder their own children.

In the West the concept of killing your children to try and redeem the honour you think has been lost through your children's ideas and behaviour, is something quite shocking. In our eyes, the effect is the complete opposite. You are a murderer and you belong alongside our own loathsome criminals who murdered their own children for no reason at all, other than the children got on their nerves.

It is very disturbing to realise that the practise is on the increase in the West, but, as terrible a thing it may be to say, these families are eradicating their own kind who will not bring into the world even more of their own to perpetuate this odious theme that says to the children, you must OBEY absolutely or we will stamp you out. When they do this they cut off their own noses to spite their own faces.

Nothing anybody else has to say will have any impact on these people. Only education can turn things around. We in the West have finally learned that our children are not really ours, in the sense that they are not our property. They must live their own lives, we can only tell them the way we think they should go, then we let them go to sink or swim.

The sooner the families who are afflicted with the insane notion of what constitutes honour, learn this lesson, the better.

Copyright (c) 2012   Eugene Carmichael

Driving over Oranges

Oranges everywhere, but don't drive over them.

My family and I came to Spain in 1999, the same year that Chris Stewart published his book, "Driving over Lemons." This became required reading, but we read the book before actually arriving in Spain, and it made me feel like changing my mind. It is a wonderful story of a young English family who move to Spain and choose to live in the mountains and go back to nature. The Spanish, who have had quite enough of nature, are only too eager to sell their little plot to these crazy foreigners.

Reading the story from outside the country was a little terrifying, but I was assured it was not all like what was described in the book. When we arrived we looked for a home that was near to a town and a train and civilization, because the hardships suffered by the intrepid Stewart family was something we wanted to avoid at all costs.

One of the wonderful things the author describes was buying the house from Pepe, but Pepe doesn't actually leave. He just moves into the shed with his beasts, the name he gives to his dogs.

The book gets its name from the fact that driving in the dirt road to and from the house, which has no electricity nor indoor plumbing, lemons are everywhere, and trying to drive around them is impossible.

It is not in the DNA of an Englishman to disrespect food to the extent of allowing lemons and oranges to fall from the tree, and rot, and then to drive over them, and that brings us to where I am today.

Spain to day, is a country of great contrasts. On the upper end some Spanish have turned their orange, lemons, and olive groves into massive housing estates, and in the process they have reaped so much riches that they never even dreamed it was possible. The country has fabulous ribbons of road, great mansions and skyscrapers, wonderful public parks and buildings and theme parks to rival the most progressive nations. It also has homes in the interior without basic services, and people who live strictly from the land, and, of course everything in between.

We moved from our comfortable suburban house to the mountains amid a forest of orange trees. At the base of the mountain is the village of Pedralba, with the river Turia, an ancient town where everyone knows everyone else, and their business. Our home is well served by amenities, but we do have neighbours from hell, as well as those who are angels.

We also have a friend who's name is Pepe, and his wife Amparo. They adopted us when we first arrived, and Pepe has taught me how to be a Spainard. It has been thirteen years since we came here. Our Spanish experience has been entirely satisfactory, however, there have been two wars that have impacted upon the United States that have weakened the U.S. Dollar, and that has badly affected us as I earn my pension in that currency. Now, the Euro itself is on very shaky ground and we may all be about to go down the drain together, but as I write this, it is the 29th of January and the sun is shining brilliantly as though it were a Summer's day. Life is good!

For the past couple of months we have been living through harvest time of the oranges, a magical time of year. As far as the eye can see there are green trees with what seems like golden orbs hanging from branches simply waiting to be picked. I find it very difficult to come to grips with the fact that so many oranges simply fall to the ground and rot. It is such a shame that the hungry and starving cannot have access to so much wastage. During this past week I experienced my own eye watering moment of wastage when driving down the estate road I encountered a spillage of oranges from the farmer's truck. He was busily picking them up, but he ordered me to simply drive on, to drive over the oranges that were in my path.

I should have stopped and helped, but unfortunately I was in a hurry, so, with eyes closed I did as I was commanded. Now, I have my very own Driving over Oranges story to tell. I feel terrible!

Spain is a wonderful country with equally wonderful Spanish people. I came here because a Spanaird discovered my country, Bermuda, but the Spanish Crown decided it had no interest in such a small island and they walked away from it. I always wondered how different my life might have been had I grown up Spanish. Now I know!

I would have been very happy!

Copyright (c) 2012  Eugene Carmichael  

STEPHEN LAWRENCE

Stephen Lawrence: Martyr for British Justice

Stephen Lawrence is dead: Long Live Stephen Lawrence

The name Stephen Lawrence is probably known around the world, but for all the wrong reasons. Stephen was a young black man who was waiting for the bus to go home. He was spotted by five white thugs, and like a pack of feral dogs they set upon him and plunged a butchers knife into him and then ran away.

I was close to his age one night while I was on my way to catch the bus in Watford, London. A gang of five white thugs spotted me and screamed "Get Him!" I ran as fast as I could go, and up ahead I saw the bus just starting to pull away from the stop. I put on a burst of speed , caught up with the bus, thereby saving my life.

Stephen was buried in his parent's homeland of Jamaica where his burial place is lovingly cared for, while his parents returned to England to see justice done for him. As horrible as was his death, what came next was a permanent stain on Great Britain, and rendered a lie that British Justice was the greatest in the world. From the moment the first policeperson arrived on the scene things went wrong, and for the next 18 years one disgraceful and unfortunate thing followed another.

The story is very long and convoluted. I'm sure it will be told in the form of a book and if anyone has the guts to do it, a film would be appropriate. The BBC program "Panorama" devoted one hour to tell the story in abridged version, but if not for the determination of the strongest woman in the world, Stephen's mother, even partial justice that was won by sending two of the five bastards to jail would not have happened. The other three are on notice, that the Law, and Doreen Lawrence, are coming to get you.

To reach the point at which the system has arrived at required a wholesale shake up within The Metropolitan Police /Scotland Yard. and the Justice System. The Service admits that nothing else has had such an impact on its thinking, but for one citizen to have to take on the role of conscience of Britain's Justice institutions is far too much to expect. But, Stephen's mother achieved that in the name of her son by not taking no for an answer. She was determined that his very premature death was not going to be in vain, and in fact it is not. The Hon. Jack Straw, former Home Secretary has said that in ordering an Inquiry was the single most Important Thing that he ever did. All of British society are better served because at the time of his death there was not even the Will to bring to justice white murderers of black and Asian people.

When a loved one dies under any other circumstance than natural causes we have the right to expect that the appropriate response be forthcoming. I lost someone and had to fight the government and medical establishment of my country to get justice. In that, I empathize with Stephen's parents, Neville and Doreen Lawrence, particularly with his mother, and with his whole story.

Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

The Four-Year old Prostitute

This is what Four-year Old girls should be doing...simply being kids.


You won't like what I have to tell you in this blog. I make no apologies for that. This is real life!


From what we understand from crime writers, police stories, and real life, we know enough to realise that the underworld life of drug dealing and drug consumption is a nasty world indeed. When the man at the top tells an underling that should he disappoint, he will be killed, along with his family, that is taken seriously, and followed up on if necessary. However, sometimes when the killers come in they don't actually kill small children. They do something worse, and that is they abduct the children and feed them drugs, and they are offered to the drug lord's best customers for the purpose of entertainment.


Some of these children are very young, and anything that you or I would dare imagine is surely what takes place. But, that is different than being a young girl who is sold into sexual slavery at any age by your own mother, but especially when very young.


The director of the documentary, "Not My Life" was being interviewed on CNN about his film, and he mentioned the four-year old prostitute. That mention made me sit bolt upright, as though it were a strike of lightning. I had never heard of such a thing. The context in which she appears was when, in Cambodia a police raid was taking place, in front of the cameras, on a brothel that housed all young girls. They had to go up into the ceiling and under the stairs and from every nook and cranny to bring them out. They were a multitude of children, who were waiting for the customers who come every day.


Sick males who take the guise of being men, come to take children away with them for as long as they wish to treat them worse than if they were animals. My opinion of any and everybody who is found to be guilty of even thinking of doing these things is such that I cannot even find the words to express myself. They certainly embarrass me because they seem to have the same gender as mine.


A girl who is four won't even know that she is a prostitute, or even what that means. She will simply be used as though she were a toilet. Many respectable white males, who are businessmen from the West are seen entering Cambodia and making their way to the brothels where they turn into werewolves. So, why are they not simply stopped at the border? That would be simple enough, the authorities know why they are there, but the fact is that they represent foreign exchange income, so the Will is not there to stop them. Even if the foreigners were stopped, the trade would still take place because of the local desire for young girls. We are made to understand that to be able to deflower of child men pay high premiums, so the girls are deflowered over and over again by stitching them up again and again.


Life is one giant act of delicate balance, so as we know there to be acts of extreme kindness and generosity, on the other end there is undescribeable evil, such as that which we are talking about here. I would have liked to have done more in-depth research, but delving into this subject matter and calling it "research" might earn me suspicion of the sort that I am now condemming.


The subject of international slavery is so overwhelming it is difficult to know where to start in making a contribution to its downfall. We have to take little steps and focus on little things at a time. When we are offered a Rolex watch for $19.99, we know that it is not a Rolex. We also know that it was manufactured by slave labour. If we don't buy it, or any of the brand-name knockoffs, then, in the fullness of time those workers will be let go. They are only kept in bondage because there are customers willing to buy their products.


For me, I think of the Four-Year Old Prostitute everyday. I will always think of her as I consider my actions and ask myself the question: Am I helping the traffickers if I do this thing or that? The answers will continue to shape me as a moral person.


One day, I hope to have the opportunity of coming to the rescue of very young children who are kept in captivity and made to perform actions that would make decent people vomit.


Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

A Very Funny Spanish Night!

Humour. A Great way to start the year!


I had planned all week to write a very serious piece today entitled "The Four-Year old Prostitute", but I experienced something on Saturday night that has put me in a good mood. I shall have to leave the serious piece until next week when I can do it justice.


My wife urged me to experience something that is truly Spanish, an evening of humour and comedy monologues. This took place in the town of L'Eliana, and was presented in four acts and called 100% Cadiz. The standup comedians were Ismael Beiro, an ex-Big Brother winner; Vincente Ruidos; Toni Rodriguez, and three friends who presented comedy in music who call themselves "Coplas de Mostrador."


I was reluctant to go because as an English person studying Spanish I knew my command was insufficient to appreciate fully the humour, but I went anyway. To really appreciate this you have to be Spanish because the material is presented at full speed, and is a mix of political and daily life experiences, using colloquialisms and street smart talk. At one point, one of the comedians asked, "are there any English people here?" That was met with a laugh. When my wife piped up, "Sí!" the people next to us said, " Joder!" We were the only English people there.


As is the custom here in Spain, whereever the parents go, so go their children. That put a bit of a damper on some of the material we might have heard, but I pride myself on having picked up on some of the jokes. For the student of Spanish the two last areas to conquer are the telephone and jokes.


It helped that this group's reputation preceeded them, because the audience was pumped up for a good evening. the only time that things got a little quiet was when reference was made to the two political parties, the PP and the PSOE, but the comedian made it clear he was only messing with us and the moment passed.


First up was Ismael who did a great job in opening the show, and he was followed by Los Coplas de Mostrador, who included a somewhat serious song to a Hambone. Only in Spain, where Jamon de Serrano is worshipped as a diety would that have happened. Then, after a half-hour break came Vicente Ruidos, who I credited with being a total professional. He was able to include his own created voice sound effects, delivered a great monologue complete with sound to underscore the point he was making, and he never laughed at any of his own jokes. That, I think is the hallmark of the true professional.


Toni Rodriguez, who calls himself "El Gaditano" acted as M.C. and after Vicente concluded his bit and Toni returned to the stage I thought it was to wrap up for the night. After all, it was one am
in the morning. No! Toni was there to entertain us in a 45 minute monologue that had the audience laughing continuously as he rapid-fired one joke after another. I have never seen that happen before, and most comedians would give their eye teeth for the ability to do that.


When finally it was over, I saw a group of very weary people whose face muscles were just to exhausted to even smile. I missed most of the actual material but I certainly appreciated the stagecraft and the oportunity to see a side of Spanish life that can only be understood with an adequate command of the language.


It wasn't supposed to be an incentive to spur me on to learn the language, but I can't wait to go back to class.


Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

Have a Happy and Healthy 2012 !

Have a Happy and Prosperous New Year


As usual it is wonderful to watch countries around the world welcome in the new year. Australia leads the way with the most consistently superb display of fireworks. It is an exercise in pure optimism because no-one can foretell what the year will bring. If we knew, maybe we would be reluctant to step over the line into a new year that may hold in store even more and greater problems than we left behind.


I am an optimist! My hope for 2012 is that it will bring my family and myself good health, and more than a little wealth. These things I wish for you and your family as well. I'm certain that we will have to face challenges along the way. We will be tested and sometimes we will find that life appears not to be fair. However, I intend to continue my work helping other people because from these activities I find supreme satisfaction in knowing that from my actions today, (and the rest of the team) people who will be born 50 years from now will have the opportunity to
live their lives with dignity and grace.


To each and everyone, I sincerely wish that in 2012 you will find happiness and contentment.


I leave you with one question to ponder as the year begins: My wife entered our bathroom in the year 2011. When she came out it was the year 2012. Was this the longest time spent in a bathroom in recorded history?


Happy New Year !!!!!


Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM EL GORDO

A Fistfull of Euros




As usual following a visit from El Gordo, a great many people are very happy, some completely out of their minds with overwhelming joy. Throughout the broadcast when the numbers were being called, the station received tweets from all around the world. The Far East, the South Pacific, Australia, South America, all across Europe, America and Canada, and all points in between. Hopes were high that El Gordo would save the day.


Here in Spain, if you were out of work you found a little money to participate in the lottery in the hope that your number would drag you up out of your misery. So many people who did win tell the same story of being at the end of their tether, and now they had a fistfull of euros, but were not able to believe it.


For me, the best story that I heard was that of an immigrant lady from Africa. A few days before El Gordo she and her family had been evicted from their modest apartment and were living at the backend of the hallway with instructions to be out of the building the day after Christmas day. She bought a décimo for El Gordo, the number came up, and now she has enough money to buy the building.


She was asked whether she intended to do that and to move back in. Her reply was no, that she hoped she would never have to ever again live in such a dump. Her husband and children were at that moment in an hotel, and her furniture had been taken away to be burnt. Wonderful!


My numbers didn't win anything significant and while I am somewhat disappointed I can wait until another day. When we hear how so many people who did win have received such magnificent help, we can only feel happy for them.


I hope your Christmas was really good for you and your family, and that 2012 will be kind to you all.


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael





In Spain, when you are wished a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year you might just get the means by which to make that concrete.

El Gordo is here Again

The Great One Cometh!



If you live in Spain, you may look forward to celebrating Christmas or Hanakuh, but not as much as the coming of December 22nd, the day when the El Gordo lottery is called. If the Spanish never got anything else right, they certainly have this absolutely spot on. As lotteries go, for good reason El Gordo, The Fat One, is the biggest lottery in the world, paying out more than two and a half billion euros. The interesting thing is that it is based on the premise that nobody needs to win the jackpot for their own exclusive use. To suddenly win 200 million euros is to make terrible problems for a person who was near broke before.


The way the system works is that any one person can only buy a ten percent value of a prize. So, this year the first prize is four million euros. A ten percent share would return four hundred thousand euros. However, there is virtually no limit to the number of such chances that you can buy. If you want to buy ten tickets and the number wins, you will win ten times four hundred thousand amounting to four million euros, and so will anybody else who did the same thing. It is a little complicated to understand but El Gordo will positively impact upon the lives of so many people here in Spain, and throughout the world that it is not possible to calculate.


I would agree that this is a Socialist idea, but what a beauty. It is one in which approximately 99% of Spanish inhabitants believe in, and a whole lot of people from around the world. Let's hope for good luck for all who hold an El Gordo ticket, especially to myself and my syndicate. We hold 721 tickets. That's right, 721 ten percent shares. It's a big syndicate, but that would be a big cash prize.


You might get to know if we win. If I don't say anything it might be because we didn't win, or we did win and in that case discretion might be the better part of valor.


Happy Holiday to each and everyone, and a Happy and Healthy New Year!


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Excitement of Herman Cain

Herman Cain - Eternal Optimist



The hopeful candidate for the presidency of The United States, Herman Cain, has put his campaign on suspension. He has not cancelled it, he has placed it on suspension. Until when? we might ask. Probably until after the November elections in 2012. That would be a very good idea.





In America, before anybody takes the decision to enter into public life they had better examine their own life's history and take a very long look at all their skeletons. They should know by now that the rabid American press will find these things and they will get a full airing before the American public. The American press are very good at mercilessly tearing a person apart like so many pitbulls out of their minds. Even where you don't have anything salacious, they will invent things, or blow small things way out of proportion.





I'm not saying that this is necessarily wrong for them to expose past mistakes or outright criminal or morally wrong actions, because the leadership of a country should have clean hands. I'm simply saying that anyone intending to run for public office should disqualify themselves and save everyone else the bother if they have such embarrassing secrets.





Clearly, Herman Cain had some skeletons in his closet, and he should never have popped his head above the parapet. His fall has been an awful embarrassment, especially, I assume to black Americans. I think that his supporters had hoped to put one black man up against another, but Herman Cain is no Barack Obama, and that's for certain.


However, American politics has taken another major move forward and that is noteworthy. It was not such a long time ago when if you were black and you wanted to become a member of The Republican Party, you might have been asked to re-think your position. Now, not only is it O.K. to belong to the party, a black man is/was chairman and Herman Cain managed to be taken so seriously that he moved up to become the front runner, even if only for a short time.


That is how party politics should work. A person has the right to support any party he/she chooses, without respect to color or creed or religion. Personally, I hate the party political system, but that's something for another time. For now I have to say that I'm glad that Herman is out of the race, and I wouldn't be too distressed for President Obama to serve one term either. I am pleased with his performance so far. He undertook an impossible task and he has managed to keep the country afloat, but America is headed into very rough waters indeed and I don't want people conveniently blaming such tough times on The Black Guy.


Just as the Communist experiment has failed, so too is the Capitalist experiment in its death throes. That is not anyone's fault. It is especially not Barack Obama's fault, but if he get stuck holding the bucket he will be blamed and black forward motion will be seriously affected into the foreseeable future.


In so far as Herman Cain is concerned, the deepest cut of all must surely have been Ginger White. When your secret lover feels she should emerge into the sunshine of day and tell all your bizness, that must surely hurt. Badly!


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

I Love You

That Love Thing



It has taken me 72 years to figure this out, so if young guys don't know better, who can blame them.


When a woman tell us that she love us, we believe her. Especially if she shares her sweetness with us, and perhaps throws in a meal or two. No problema! However, when a man tells a woman he loves her that apparently sets off a whole chain reaction of doubt and suspicion within her mind and her heart.


"He is only saying that because he wants something from me." That may be the thought that goes through her head, and of course she's right. We always want that something from her, but as part of a whole love package. In a world where women will sell a man anything he wants, any way he wants it, any time he wants it without hassle, why do men still cling to a woman who can make most of his wakening hours a misery? It's because she can wrap her arms around him, give him a little sweetness, together with genuine warmth and love, things that no hooker can offer, and these things we long for and need even more so than food and water.


Women are so paranoid when it comes to men that when we try to convince them that we really do love them they go seeking proof, on a daily basis. Some of the tests that they put us through are bizarre, to say the least. I don't think a woman sits down and draws up a master plan that says if you pas a certain number of tests, then you probably do love them, but nonetheless, that is how it turns out.


So, young guys, the worst thing you can do for yourself is actually tell the woman you love that you are in love with her.Perhaps you should only go as far as admitting that you really do like her. She will still put you through the tests, but at least it won't be because of something you said.


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Orange Picking Season

Don't these lemons look just like oranges. I have no pictures of oranges.



I do love this time of year in Valencia, especially as we live within a forest of orange trees. We have had a period of rain that has brought the orange trees into full bloom, and the whole countryside looks just delicious. I'm sure you have heard of Valencian oranges, everyone on the planet has, and they have also heard about our competitor, Seville oranges.


First we are enchanted by orange blossom time in March/April when the smell is the best perfume there is, and that is followed by a whole lot of work on the part of the farmers for several months. The farmers really don't mind if you pick one or two while out walking, but if you go with shopping bags then they can rely on an ancient law that will suport them should they decide to shoot you. When taking into account the painstaking work to bring their orchards to market, I wouldn't blame them.


Anyway, I went orange picking today to assist the owners. It is hard work, made the more difficult by the fact that I had injured my shoulder on Friday. However, it is wonderful to be surrounded by all these gold coloured, well, orange coloured things that are there for the taking. Even our own trees are loaded this year. Last year was a bad year for a harvest, but this year could not be more perfect. Unfortunately, for the farmers that translates into lower prices at market because everybody has such a bumper crop.


I hope I don't see a repeat of the year when farmers brought their truck fulls of oranges back from the market and dumped them in the fields and sprayed them with poison because prices offered were so low.


When I came to Spain in 1999 I mentioned to my friends, the orange tree owners, without knowing that they had fields, that I was looking forward to trying my hand at picking. So, they took me to their fields with what appeared to be about five thousand trees, and said, "so, pick!"


My custom had always been to eat one orange a week, but here, during the season, dessert is always fruit, including mandarins, and every other type of this fruit. We stuff ourselves to the point that no-one should be vitamin C deficient.


This may not be the official definition of Heaven, but it is very close to the ideal thing.


See you out in the orange fields!


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichae

The Fly!

Nature's First and most efficient Drone


It happens every time I sit down to write up a blog. The Fly appears first in a pass over head; then it buzzes around my head, followed by a touch down on my bald spot. Then it goes into its "really piss him off" mode by landing on my hands, my ears, and anything else to get my attention.


I have tried opening the window in the hope that it will just leave. That results in more flies coming in. No, it is not the same fly every time. I don't have a friendly fly as I did have a friendly Bee. I know this for a fact because before I can concentrate and begin to write I have to kill the fly(s).


You may be like me in that we wonder what other use are flies except to aggravate humans. They are such pests and are the most invasive of all of Nature's creepy crawlies. They land on your food, in your drink, and when they are thirsty they will go for the moisture in your eyes and your mouth. I was going to mention those pictures from Africa and the children, but enough said.


Mother Nature is not really inclined to place on Earth species that have only nuisance value. Everything has its place and its purpose. The fly is the one who starts the clean up once anything living drops dead. The fly will land on the dead creature and plant the eggs from which come the maggots that set the decomposition process in motion. So, what the fly is doing when it touches living matter is testing to determine if we are dead or alive. If we swat at it, you would think that would be evidence of proof of life, but no, they have to test and test and test again. I wonder whether flies are like scientists?


Those flies that bug me and keep me from my blogs all have the same final last word. The word is: "Oh shit!"


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

I'm Back!

We need these to navigate our life

Last week I signed on to write my blog, but I was met with a notice that advised me that my blogs had been eliminated. If there were eyes on the other side of my screen they may have had a conversation that went something like this: "It's been a half hour. Is he still staring at our notice."


When something like this happens the mind finds it impossible to take it in. This can't be happening is all that goes through your mind. I surely haven't lost years of blogs in one flash. Evidently my blogs were not eliminated, but simply blocked. The only suggestion I have is that of technology working against itself. Fortunately, my friends at GoogleTeam got it sorted very quickly, and I heaved a great sigh of relief.


Modern technology is both wonderful and hell at the same time. It is wonderful because of all the amazing things that we can do, but it is hellish because we become dependent. When I was working there would be times when the office computer system would crash, and that left 160 people wandering around asking, "Now what?"


It's no good saying find something else to do, because we have all forgotten what that something else is, and everything that we need to do is on the computer. Recently the Blackberry system went down, and users around the world were left in stunned shock, walking around with their Blackberries in hand, but quite speechless. There was even one man who admitted that he got lost on the way to work because he could not rely on the GPS in his phone. I can only hope that he works in a different location every day.


At the age of 72, I have lived through the inception of the computer. It was even suggested to me that I buy as many shares of IBM when the company was in its infancy. I didn't do that, but that's another story. Now, I own a simple mobile phone that has about 90% more capability than I am aware of, but we are into the age of Steve Jobs iPhone, iPad, Smart phones everywhere. This generation of technology was recently described very enthusiasticlly to me, and it seemed to me that the man was speaking in double Dutch. I got tired of just saying Wow!


So, I have my blog site back and I am very grateful for that. Life goes on around me but I can be myself in my own quiet corner. There is just one thing that really disturbs me, and it is this: For us elderly people it is expected that one of the first things to go is our memories. However, with users ID and passwords to remember and protect we are not being allowed to grow old gracefully. I don't dare let my guard down, and so I don't.


Ain't it wonderful!


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Cataract Surgery

Removing Cataracts without Pain


We live in a world of rising expectations because of technology advances in the operating theatre. The world has come a long way from the days when whisky served as anaesthesia and your friends, if that was what they were, held you down. I have just had surgery for cataracts that is so routine it's hardly worth mentioning. However, that is not to say that extremely refined skills are not involved, because they are.


Cataract surgery involves the removal of the lens that you were born with, and the replacement by a plastic or silicone one. Information concerning such surgeries are available on the internet, including taped narratives of the operation in action.


I had mine performed at the Hospital Casa de Salud in Valencia, which has a fine reputation for all mod cons when it comes to equipment. My procedure went without a hitch, and now I am recuperating, sitting here at my computer wearing Ray Charles-like sunglasses because I am light sensitive at the moment.


It is a very good thing when all aspects of the operation goes well, especially since I will have to return to have the same thing done for my right eye at some time in the future. It is a really amazing thing when we consider that they do the following to your eye without the patient suffering any pain whatsoever:


Your eye is anaesthetized by drops, then a drape is placed over your face with an opening through which the surgeon will work on the applicable eye. By having the drape I was not able to see any movement from my other eye, which helped my anxiety.


They then broke up my existing lens using sound waves and then removed it through a small cut that had been made. It was interesting in that I could see it go, and from that eye I could still see light and very cloudy movement. A surprising amount of liquid is doused in my eye during the surgery, but I suppose that since I am able to open my eyes under water that is not so unusual.


There was only one time that I felt some pressure. I suppose that was when they were inserting the new lens in place. I have to admit that I was far more stressed than I thought I would be. Mainly this was because I knew that I had to remain absolutely still. My head was not restrained in straps, so it was all up to me. I thought I might feel an unexpected prick that would make me shake my head, and that kept me on edge.


Before long the surgeon said, "That's it!" My relief was wonderful. In total I was in the operating room for about 20 minutes, much of that time was spent in pre-op and post-op. The procedure went quickly, so quick I thought it only took about 5 to seven minutes, but it probably was a bit longer.


I went into hospital without the slightest worry about what was to come. I went alone, leaving my wife to remain at her work. I actually took the Metro to the hospital and checked myself in. Everyone I dealt with was superbly professional, yet warm and friendly. Valencia, in general is a wonderful place for health treatment where some of the most advanced procedures have been carried out.


If you are scheduled to have this surgery it is probably a good idea to read about it beforehand. Just Google Cataract surgery. That should give you confidence. The only thing I advise is that you take a pair of sunglasses with you because after the process is over and you are released from hospital you will find the glare from light to be difficult to handle for a little while without your sunglasses.


Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael