Happy Sunday

Dear readers and blogger-friends:

Good morning and Happy Sunday to you all. As you can see we are still grilling in earnest as we faithfully proceed with one of the commitments we made to you in our three legged-mission for the next few weeks: read-write-grill. We miss you a lot but…

C’est la vie!

What do you think? Please tell us.

Don’t leave me alone.

 

GANESH CHATURTHI – 13TH SEPTEMBER

Dear readers and fellow bloggers:

This great article by my dearest friend Harbans explains the popular Indian celebration of the birth of Lord Ganesh (the one with the elephant’s head) I believe that it is a very interesting read, not only for didactic reasons, but also to show how the biggest democracy in the planet is trying to coalesce the different castes and religious groups into some unifying identity. Moreover this Hindu deity resembles the Roman god Janus, keeper of the sanctity of the hearth with its smiling face directed inside the house and its menacing one facing the street; it has both an enabler aspect (for people with good intentions) and a blocking aspect (for evil doers) Master Harbans just said to me that Lord Ganesh is termed as”Vegan Harta”, which means that he keeps evil-doers away.

I am a great admirer of the writings of Thomas Merton–the Catholic monk and also Columbia University graduate–who said that our Catholic faith is too imbued with the Cartesian rationality and should re-connect with its Eastern Mysticism heritage. In fact Jesus Christ preached all his life in the streets of Jerusalem, not Paris or even Rome.

With the sheer volume of malice and malfeasance that we all live with in our societies, it is important to seek the protection of all the powers that be. Including Lord Ganesh.

May Lord Ganesh bring prosperity, both spiritual and material, to you all.

What do you think? Please tell us.
Don’t leave me alone.

INNER THOUGHTS

GANESHA

GANESH CHATURTHI – FELICITATIONS IN ABUNDANCE TO ALL ON THE OCCASION BIRTHDAY OF VEGHANA-HARTA ON 13TH SEPTEMBER 2018

 

Ganesha Chaturthi – The Birth Day Of Veghana-Harta (Obstacle-Averter) & Vegana-Karta (Obstacle-Creator For Evil Doers). Ganesh Chaturthi or Ganesh Chauth or Vinayaka Chaturthi or Ganesh Utsav would be celebrated with gaiety and enthusiasm on 13th September 2018 (Thursday). He is called the God of wisdom, prosperity and good fortune. The celebrations start on Ganesh Chaturthi and continue for 10 days – called Anant Chaturdashi and also termed as the Ganesh Visarjana or Ganesha immersion in the water bodies. At the time of immersion of the idol of Lord Ganesha, the devotees, in procession, sing songs praising the Lord Ganesha up to their destination (water bodies near their homes).

On this day, the devotees keep the clay idols in their homes or in public glare in temporary made stages or…

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Happy vacations

Dear readers and fellow bloggers:

It is time to take a little vacation so we can recharge our intellectual batteries in earnest. My children and I like to take a pause in the summertime to enjoy quality time together. And one of the greatest pleasures in our culture is to light a barbecue fire for grilling. As the unforgettable Patrick Macnee said to the super-sexy Diana Rigg in “The Avengers” when they were having an informal picnic in the countryside: “Ah, this is one of the little pleasures in life…The ones that you can really enjoy.” Sage words that leave a mark.

We will take this opportunity to continue writing our second book in earnest, based on the highly successful “Emotional frustration” series that you have so enthusiastically backed. Thank you very much for your firm support by reading and commenting it. We are adding new material and upgrading the existing one. You will be our judge.

Please send us a copy of the purchase receipt of “Madame D.C.-Three voyages”  in Amazon to email@drmolaplume.com; we will assign you a number for the raffle contest. The first prize is a romantic weekend in a French chateau (with a ghost included)

We have received many messages asking us to continue the EF series; sadly we have to wrap it up so we can focus on writing the corresponding book. But don’t despair, ladies. We are planning a new series on Saturdays “pour frapper vos imaginations.”

We wish that you are having a relaxing and safe summer vacation time in the Northern hemisphere and a winter vacation in the Southern hemisphere with good company. We will return to study and write with the highest quality content we can possibly muster.

See you later!

Hasta la proxima!

A bientot!

Arrivederci!

 

 

 

 

Our valiant emissary to the Dark Side

In May 2008 my family and I proudly attended my graduation with a Doctoral degree in Health Policy and Management from Columbia University in a beautiful ceremony held at the main New York campus. One of the guests of honor was a short black man in his sixties with a goatee that exuded the patrician flair of a privileged upbringing and had an halo of unquestioned authority. He was Kofi Annan, the first black elected as General Secretary of the United Nations for two consecutive five years-term starting in 1997 and Nobel Peace Prize winner in 2001.

Africa’s foremost diplomat presided over the transformation of our world from a socio-political stage for the Cold War to its Globalization and the rise of Fundamentalism. He was recruited form the civil corps of the UN bureaucracy, after many years of service. He was a tireless diplomat that sought to find compromise between warring enemies in order to spare the civilian population from the consequences of famine, sickness and destitution. He had the guts to meet some of the most despicable tyrants and engage them in a much needed dialogue; he was severely criticized for sharing a cigar with Saddam Hussein in his quest to avoid war.

He renovated the peacekeeping forces of the United Nations by giving them much more resources and training of the personnel in the vagaries of non-conventional warfare. Sadly his biggest failures were the genocides of Rwanda and Bosnia, which were really the inevitable outcome of naively putting “soft Europeans” to confront the hardened warriors. If the defenseless refugees of Srebrenica would have been defended from the rogue Serbs by a platoon of American Marines or an elite battalion of the Indian Army, the story might have been different; at the very least they would have stood their ground and fought fiercely for the safe heaven.

He was born on April 8, 1938, in an aristocratic family of the city of Kumasi in what was then called the Gold Coast, which would later become the country of Ghana; he had a degree in Economics from Ghana and later also studied at Macalester College in Geneva and at the Sloan School of Management in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. His first United Nations appointment was in the World Health Organization of Geneva in 1962 and he worked the rest of his life in different organizations of the institution. In 1990 UN secretary general Boutros Ghali appointed him first as his deputy and then as head of the peacekeeping operations. With the blessing of the suspicious American delegation to the UN, he was finally appointed as it secretary general on January 1, 1997.

After leaving the UN, he continued working for world peace from his position of head of the “Kofi Annan Foundation” based in Geneva, Switzerland. He had just returned from a trip to Zimbabwe last week when he fell ill and passed away on August 18th, 2018 in a Bern hospital.

He had the courage and determination to seek peace, even with the flimsiest of chances.

He had the stamina and patience to deal with the most abject members of Humankind.

He worked until his death to promote world peace, a necessary legacy for a sound future for our children.

Thank you very much Kofi for your priceless public service in the UN.

May God Almighty receive you in his Grace as a dedicated son of Africa.

What do you think? Please tell us.

Don’t leave me alone.

Is it really my fault?

– “Doctor…I can’t believe my husband cheated on me—after so many years of happiness.”

Laura X. is a mild-mannered, attractive businesswoman who has been married for more than twenty years and has always bragged about her caring husband and good teenage children. In her latest visit to my office, she looked very distraught and whispered hesitatingly, avoiding my gaze. She confessed to me that she found out that her husband was having an affair with his secretary.

Infidelity in couples is almost as old as the world itself, perhaps only slightly less than the famous bite to the apple that triggered so much passion and eroticism in human sexual relations. Even though in our supposedly modern societies this issue has lost some of its more edginess, we still react with anger and frustration when we learn that our “significant other” was not faithful. The majority of couples still expect to engage in a monogamous relationship and avoid philandering.

Women are particularly vulnerable to the extreme disappointment and hurtfulness of infidelity as they usually are the most committed part of the couple. The ones that strive “to make it work.” They make countless big and little sacrifices to share their lives with another person. One of the more damaging collateral effects of this emotional frustration is the surge of second-guessing and guilt feelings in the aggrieved party to the conflict.

Laura X. asked herself if she was not really at fault for his transgression because she felt that she might be dedicating too much time to her household and had little spare time for her appearance. We always found her attractive and well groomed, without any sloppiness in her body and mind. We had to chat extensively with her to assuage her that it was not her fault at all. It was solely his. We must dispel these toxic feelings of guilt because they can affect the patient’s mental health.

One of the greatest disappointments we had in our childhood was the separation and divorce of our parents at a very early age in our maturing process. Eventually both my brother and I recovered. But we could never overcome a certain disdain for our father—who we loved and respected—due to the fact that he certainly had a clandestine relationship when he was still married to our mother. Oftentimes my dear mother Gladys wondered aloud if it wasn’t her fault that he had an affair; a few times even my grandmother Yolanda scolded her for not being more vigilant with her spouse.

Did I miss any of the signals? How could I be so distracted with my obligations to abandon him? Did I forget to use nice perfumes? Or sexy clothes? Did I abuse of the “headaches excuse”, eh? Perhaps it’s my fault too…Perhaps his fault is not as grave at it seems… The tremendous reservoir of feminine empathy can even sugar-coat the most egregious behavior. As Friedrich Nietzsche, a tough appraiser of the dark complexities of human behavior, once said: “the victim takes the whip out of the torturer’s hands and starts to strike himself.”

Self-flagellation.The ultimate indignity borne by the abused.

When they separated, our parents were barely in their thirties; both my brother and I chose to live with our mother. We stood firmly by her side and consoled her when she wallowed in her grief. We reminded her that it was our father’s fault. Not hers. Raising two children with limited financial means and with no family around entailed personal sacrifices that she squarely faced with stoicism and courage. Muchas gracias Mama!

What do you think? Please tell us.

Don’t leave me alone.

 

The visionary of Trinidad

I remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. It was a late Sunday evening in the first week of March 1966. The next day my brother and I were supposed to go back to school after the summer recess. But instead of the joy to return to a familiar place with  my buddies since kindergarten, I was starting in a strange school. I was sad. Very.

In 1965 my mother and her two children left our centrally located apartment to settle momentarily in our grandmother’s spacious home in Colon to take some needed refuge. My father had been arbitrarily  jailed by a judge for some unpaid personal loans; there was no bankruptcy legislation in Uruguay at the time, which exposed the debtors and their families to great financial strain and emotional suffering. Even though he was assigned to a detention center in the Police headquarters where he shared his short stay with educated and friendly inmates, it was still an imprisonment. Our dear mother Gladys had a nervous breakdown and Yolanda, her mother, offered to take care of us all.

Instead of slumping in an emotional void, we decided to take the challenge in earnest. Yolanda, all wrapped up in a woolen poncho, accompanied us early at dawn in those freezing mornings to wait for the bus 411 in a deserted stop. We boarded it for 45 minutes trip to the “Lycée Francais.” When the noon break came, we boarded the bus again to have lunch in Colon (as we could not afford the mess hall every day) and then go back to our school to be on time for the 2 PM bell. At 5 PM we left the school for our return trip home. We arrived at dusk to have a café-au-lait and do our homework load; around 8 PM we had dinner and went to bed promptly afterwards. No TV or radio.

In spite (or perhaps because) of this humongous sacrifice, I got a perfect score in my fifth grade of Primary School to rank first in my class and winning a much-needed full scholarship for sixth grade. Alas, our joy was short-lived. One day my father came back home and told us that the school director stripped me of my scholarship to give it to a politician’s son. We were so astounded and hurt that its memory still sears our minds.

My father quickly prepared a forceful letter to Mr. Chambord, the cultural attaché of the French Embassy at the time. He summoned my father to his office; he told him that they would give me the scholarship back, on the condition that he had to withdraw his letter of protest. “Absolutely not. Our dignity forbids it,” he rebuked him. Then my father filled the application to attend sixth grade in the “Escuela Jose Pedro Varela”, a public school just a  short distance form the French school. When he told me I agreed in silence. My dislike of the French (not the French culture) and politicians started right there.

When my mother and brother were fast asleep, I jumped out of bed and went to the kitchen to chat with my father. He embraced me warmly and patted my head. “Don’t worry…You’re a tiger…You’ll do well, wherever you go,” he said with a forceful tone.    We stayed together in silence in the darkness, forging a stronger father-child bond.

Mario Laplume Salguero was born on August 14, 1933 in Trinidad, Province of Flores, Uruguay and passed away on July 22, 2012 in Montevideo, Uruguay; he married Gladys Garbarino in 1953 and had two sons by that marriage: my brother Gustavo and myself. In 1967 he divorced her and married Isabel Mardaras with whom they had a son: Marcel. When he was a teenager he entered as a mail room clerk in the Swift meat processing plant located in “El Cerro”, across Montevideo bay. He was molded for life by the daily contact with those Post-World War II Americans that had a strong work ethic and a commitment to quality standards in the workplace. He could not go to High School due to his work schedule, but he attended English, French and German language classes after work. He started to read an collect a magnificent array of books that the has given aa a legacy to his three sons. One of my earliest memories of childhood is to watch him in awe as he meticulously took a book out of the shelf to pass a hand held-feather-duster on its cover and then open it parsimoniously to peruse a few pages. If he noticed me, he would ask me to sit down by. He taught me all the basics about World Literature, including all the classics in French and English.

He was a lifelong Socialist and union organizer in the bankers’ union (he worked in a private bank after the Swift company closed and pulled out of Uruguay); if he hadn’t had that financial mishap, he would have joined the armed insurrection against the military government. When I became a political militant, he understood my choice and, aware of the physical risks, he backed my decision. When the military government closed the Medical School and the police started to round up the die-hard militants, he convinced me to travel to Argentina to continue my studies in La Plata, sparing me a certain demise. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here writing this article today.

He always wanted to study Medicine as he considered that it was one of the noblest professions of humankind; he supported me emotionally and financially during my medical studies and he was very proud when I graduated from Medical School in 1981. He got one of his cherished dreams. He instilled in us the virtue of honesty and the value of a given promise to become a good man. Even though I questioned several of his progressive convictions as I grew older, he never lost his calm demeanor in discussing politics and economy; he never relinquished his core beliefs. From today’s perspective, I now fully agree that a life without a generous mission is not worth living.

Imbued by the strong work ethic of the Americans he had met in the Swift plant, he always admired the United States of America and he studied its politics and history in earnest; he became an expert in the Civil War, enjoying all the books, magazines and material I regularly brought him home. He enjoyed meticulously reading every section of the Sunday edition of “The New York Times.” He did not have to set a foot in this country to know how the system worked and did not too. He continually admonished us: “the USA is a land of chiaro-oscuri…But the brightness prevails. It will last 500 more years.”

As I am jotting down these lines on my laptop, my son Gian Luca, a born buff of everything cinematic, is watching a 1986 cult film called “My brother’s wedding” by Charles Burnett. Have you ever heard of it? I doubt it. Me neither. How does he know it exist? He inherited a gift… I still remember that in a small closet right next to the toilet in Montevideo, there was a tall pile of a French film magazine called “Les cahiers du cinema”; I always picked one to start reading it. Next to it there was another pile of the “Boxing” magazine, which hooked me to that “politically incorrect” sport for life.

When I told my father that Noel Marie, his first grandchild, was not pursuing a legal career, as we initially hoped, in order to become a video producer, he paused for a long second and then said: “Mmm…That little one will do whatever she wants in life.”

He was absolutely right. He is the family’s unique visionary that showed us the way.

Gracias Papa!