HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, HEIDI

YOU HAVE HAD MY BACK FOR MORE THAN A THIRD OF A CENTURY

Sometimes love is expressed with the good times – an amazing meal, a stroll through a beautiful European capital city, a shopping trip to splurge on rare luxury.

Other times, it is expressed through love, support, having your partner’s back in the most anguished and challenging of times.

I love my bride of 34 years, Heidi Johnson-Wright, for thousands of reasons.

During a recent solo lecture tour in Europe, she proved why she’s been my soulmate of more than a third of a century.

Unfortunately, it was for the latter expression of love and support.

I was hustling to change from the RER train for Charles de Gaulle Airport to the Metro M6 to reach my hotel on Place Italie.

A trio of men, all less than half my age, crash into me just as the subway doors are closing.

I bash my head on one the polls for standing riders to grasp and fall forward.

Even though I was blindsided and injured, my only thoughts were on the wallet I neglected to hide in my book bag. It was gone along with a lot of cash, all my credit cards and other key documents.

Waiting a few hours to get an English-speaking detective at a Paris Police station, I called my indefatigable wife back in Miami and she assisted with canceling credit cards and closing a now exposed bank account.

Heidi is the point person for all things under the Americans with Disabilities Act in Miami-Dade County and oversees several employees and assists dozens of ADA coordinators in myriad departments.

She is a very busy person, but took the day off to help me.

She wired Euros to a Western Union near my hotel.

She added me as a cardholder on one of her credit cards.

She reminded me to put her card on my phone’s wallet app, so I could pay without the confusion of lacking a physical credit card in hand.

She closed a compromised joint checking account and started a new one.

When I returned from working in Paris, Lyon and beyond – Heidi had one neat envelope full of fraud squad correspondence, new credit cards and other important documents such as a temporary medical ID card to replace the stolen one.

We celebrated our 34^th wedding anniversary yesterday.

Knowing after all these years, that Heidi has my back in a time of crises – makes me love her even more.

  

MEET BABY

OUR ANGELIC FERAL GINGER CAT

He got his name because he cries like a baby for attention.

He lives for hugs during his visits from the streets of Little Havana. 

He gets nervous after 10 minutes inside.

But we are trying to make him an inside cat

 #cats

 #AdoptDontShop

HAPPY 33RD WEDDING ANNIVERSARY TO HEIDI

WHAT MAKES A SOULMATE? A ONE IN A BILLION PARTNER WHO:

Believes in you when you start Weight Watchers at age 55, 100-plus pounds overweight and fat for more than four decades running.

Takes joy in your overseas trips -- to exotic and fairly difficult or impossible for accessibility – places.

Supports your healthy lifestyle by marinating chicken breasts, grilling finfish, making salads with berries and splurging with thin crust, lots of red pepper, low fat cheese/sauces and turkey ‘roni home baked pizzas.

Makes wonderful homemade birthday, anniversary and Valentine’s Day cards with stories narrated by cats and historical figures.

Finds cool documentaries, great music and other cool things to share with you.

Loves cats. Period. Indoor, outdoor, at cat cafes, in Rome and Istanbul, in cartoons and YouTube clips.

Our actual anniversary date is June 11, but because of calendar conflicts we are celebrating this weekend.

HOMELESS IN PARADISE

DO SOMETHING CHARITABLE AND LOVING FOR THE HOLIDAYS

You have cabin fever.

You can’t get used to wearing a mask.

Your candidate lost.

Your cruise to the Caribbean got canceled due to COVID.

The toilet flushes during your work from home Zoom.

The company cut your pay by a fraction due to the pandemic.

These are minor problems. 

They are fractional reductions in quality of life while we heal physically, psychologically and politically.

People have lost their lives.

Households have lost every job that support them.

Vulnerable people are living each day in fear.

Back off the attitude.

Stop griping.

Search your soul for bias and bigotry -- erase whatever it is that’s causing those destructive thoughts and behaviors.

Do someone a favor.

Buy a grocery gift card for someone in need. Bonus points, do it anonymously.

Embrace life.

Embrace people.

Find something enchanting and interesting and life-affirming in someone who is completely different than you – It’s very easy to do.

Work to make the world a better place.

Do something hands-on to help those who are homeless, jobless, hopeless.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah and Super Solstice.

About the image: This was taken in the early morning in Downtown Miami. In the postcards boasting sun, sea and sand – Miami is a paradise. To the eyes of anyone who walks the Central Business District between the Miami River and Biscayne Bay – sidewalks, overhangs, vacant storefronts and space under bridges is home to hundreds of homeless people. Was it hard to take this picture? Yes. I walked past a half dozen times. But I am a street photographer and storyteller. As an advocate for people with disabilities in specific and marginalized people in general – I am compelled to tell stories (visually and in words) that are painful, sad and challenging. Harsh images, in turn, can help compel people to get involved in positive change. That is why I left this person to their hopefully peaceful slumber while capturing their heart-tugging image.

WHY CAN'T WE ALL GET ALONG?

A MESSAGE OF LOVE FROM ISTANBUL

It's a Moslem woman. Donald Trump and other right wing reactionary crazies have told me all I need to know. She's up to no good. She hates America, Christianity and small animals. She probably has a suicide bomb under that hijab.

This can't end well. Poor little cat. This Moslem monster will probably twist its head off and drink its blood in some kind of Godless ritual.

But wait. She seems to be gently petting the little creature. Like the millions of strays on the streets of Istanbul, this sweet purring kedi is getting affection. The locals, an overwhelming majority of whom are Moslem, are famous for being kind to animals. A recent award-winning film documented the uncommon kindness shown to stray cats in Istanbul.

So maybe Trump and the bigoted people who would ban Moslems from entering our nation of immigrants and otherwise demonize followers of one of the major religions of the world are out of their mind. Or maybe they simply cannot do math. Maybe they never learned that a tiny fraction of evil people who kill and maim in the name of Islam are just that -- a tiny fraction who are not emblematic of the peaceful overwhelming majority.

Let's face it. If a small fraction of monsters automatically tainted everyone from the much larger group, then Oklahoma City bomber terrorist (and bronze star-awarded military veteran) Timothy McVeigh's actions would mean we should ban all military vets from air travel and perhaps round them up in internment camps. But that would be insane. Just as insane as broadly defining all observant, loving, family-oriented Moslems as evil simply because a small fraction who allegedly share their core religion have misused it as an excuse for bombings.

So maybe this gentle woman, giving unconditional love to a little cat wandering the marbled and magnificent grounds of the Eyup Sultan Mosque, is more typical of Moslems. Maybe, if we worked daily to remove hate from the world, we could appreciate others. Maybe should try harder to teach our fellow Americans that someone whose religious garb is different is NOT a terrorist, evil doer or person to fear.

Sorry bigots, fanners of the flame and embracers of hate. I reject your venom. I respect all peaceful people. I thank the heavens above that I have a brain capable of recognizing statistical outliers -- so I don't brand every person of an identifiable group because of the malicious actions of a tiny few.

I see this Moslem woman for what she is: a loving fellow human being, taking time out of her busy day to give nurturing kindness to a cuddly critter. Maybe we could all try a little harder to coexist.

DEAR SAINT VALENTINE:

LESS KATHERINE HEIGL, MORE JACUZZI TIME, PLEASE

By Heidi Johnson-Wright

Dear Saint Valentine,

I hope this letter finds you well. I understand you were martyred in the second century A.D., though. So, depending on whose version of the afterlife is accurate, you might be doing really well. Or not.

Anyway, I’m writing to you to ask for a little good mojo. Not for me, really. But for all of my brothers and sisters in mobility-impairment cripdom. You know, us folks down here who limp, use canes and walkers or who like me, roll from point A to point B. Disabled people who struggle to get around and so are very obviously disabled.

I need your help in particular because, well, this whole mating game thing can be kinda tricky. First impressions are big. If you throw in a funny walk or a pair of crutches or – heaven forbid -- a wheelchair, many folks won’t see you as top shelf dating material.

It doesn’t help that a lot of non-crips – who are otherwise nice, bright people – buy into millennia-old stereotypes. Maybe you know the one that says we’re drooling, sex-starved perverts. Nobody dates us, because we’re crips, duh! So without a romantic outlet, we become like overly-wound watch springs ready to snap any second. And who wants to date someone who can’t wait for sex until after dinner at Red Lobster and a predictable rom-com starring Kate Hudson or Katherine Heigl?

Other non-crips will take issue with me. They’ll say “No, not me! I know crips aren’t sex-starved pervs.” Of course not. Instead, they’re certain that, when it comes to carnal pleasures, crips are utterly uninterested. We’re angelic inspirations in a semi-arrested state of development. We sit round weaving potholders, resigned to our chaste, asexual existences. And who wants to date someone unwilling to put down a potholder and jump buck-naked into the Jacuzzi?

Please don’t disregard my concerns simply because I’ve been off the dating market for more than a quarter century. Yes, it’s true that when I got married, Milli Vanilli had yet to be discredited. But I can remember back to my early college days before I met my husband. I lived in the only girls’ dorm on campus that was accessible to female wheelers.

Boys would sometimes start randomly dialing dorm phone numbers, hoping to get an anonymous attractive girl to talk to them. If they found out you lived on first floor Prentice, though, they hung up with lightning speed, since it was widely known across campus as the location of the female gimp ghetto.

No “let’s meet for beers” or “how about we go to the midnight screening of Eraserhead?” No siree.

So, St. Val, can you find it in your heart to throw a little love toward crips who may be struggling to find Mr. or Mrs. Right?

It’d be most appreciated.