Quote # 57 – On A World That Speaks of Love, Yet Forgets to Love

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“Love is spoken of endlessly, practiced occasionally, but sincerely felt rarely.” – Anna Rocamora

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The world doesn’t run out of words when it comes to talking about love. Songs about love abound: All You Need Is Love, What the World Needs Now Is Love Sweet Love, Love Train, and so many others.

And sure, there are gestures of kindness. But is there truly genuine love for our fellow human beings, for humanity as a whole, and sometimes, sadly, even for our own family?

We live in a self-centered society, and that attitude rubs off on everybody. We become so caught up in our own lives, our own needs, and our own concerns that we sometimes forget to look beyond ourselves and see what others might be going through.

Perhaps what we lack is not the knowledge of love, but the willingness to live it.

We should stop and ask ourselves, “Who do I truly love?” The kind of love that would make us willing to die for another person? Or at least make sacrifices for them? Or go out of our way to show them that we truly care?

Sometimes, we can be outwardly kind yet remain inwardly disconnected from the people around us. We can speak of compassion without truly feeling another person’s pain, or profess love while remaining indifferent to someone who is struggling. And perhaps this is what makes the matter even more troubling: we may believe that we are loving people simply because we know the words and occasionally practice the gestures.

Even among people belonging to the same faith, there is a gap between what people profess to believe and how they treat one another. People can study teachings about love endlessly, quote sacred verses, attend religious services, and speak eloquently about compassion without allowing those teachings to transform how they see and treat other people. After all, knowing what love means does not necessarily mean that we have learned to love sincerely.

It sounds like a complaint about humanity, but really, it’s more like an uncomfortable truth worth contemplating. Because this is not just about what is wrong with other people. It is also about looking at ourselves and asking whether the love we speak of is truly reflected in the way we live and treat others.

What about you? Who is it that you truly, truly love?

# End of Post #

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but do not have love, I have become a clanging gong or a clashing cymbal. And if I have the gift of prophecy and understand all the sacred secrets and all knowledge, and if I have all the faith so as to move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. – 1 Corinthians 13:1-2

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Video Credits:
Man In The Mirror – Official Video (Michael Jackson – YouTube)
Where Is The Love? – Official Music Video (The Black Eyed Peas – YouTube)

Image Credits:
ToonsMag.com
Doodles and Illustrations by Anna Rocamora

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Deck 9: Where Bathrobes Go to Die

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When we think of status symbols, what do we think of?

Usually, we think of things that many of us, including myself, don’t have. Things that visibly communicate wealth, prestige, or social position:

A Rolex watch. Designer handbags. Ferraris. Lamborghinis. Large houses. Prestigious neighborhoods. Designer brands. First-class travel. A bathrobe…

Wait, wait. Say that last one again.

Did you say, “A bathrobe??”

Yup. You heard that right.

A bathrobe.

You see, I’ve cruised a few times in my life, specifically with RC. This last one, though, was with NC.

One of my favorite activities on the ship is soaking in a really, really hot jacuzzi, so it didn’t take long to realize that I needed a bathrobe so I wouldn’t freeze afterward. I mean, I could use a large towel, but why not a robe?

So, on Day 3, I approached my cabin attendant.

“Could I get a robe, please?”

There was a pause.

Not a long pause. But a meaningful pause.

The kind of pause that makes you realize you’ve just asked for something you were never supposed to ask for.

But after experiencing RC, I just had to ask. On RC, I was thinking, Of course they have robes. I’ll just ask housekeeping.

Then NC apparently says:

Robes? For YOU? Perhaps you should speak with the appropriate authorities.

It was an innocent request. Having sailed RC enough times, I had become accustomed to robes being readily and generously available, like napkins.

So naturally, when I got to my NC cabin, I thought: Where’s my robe?

My housekeeper hesitated for just a moment, but very sweetly, he brought me one.

He didn’t explain anything. He didn’t say, “Ma’am, are you sure you understand the implications of what you’re asking for?”

He just handed me the robe. So I happily put it on and wore it around my cabin – and around the ship.

Like a perfectly normal person.

Then another guest casually mentioned something I apparently should have known.

The robes were for guests staying in The Haven.

Oh.

Suddenly, the bathrobe wasn’t a bathrobe anymore.

It was a status symbol.

And I was wearing one on Deck 9.

My entire attitude changed.

Five minutes earlier, I was strolling around in my robe thinking, Look at me. I’m on vacation.

Now I was walking through Deck 9 like I had stolen a Rolex.

I became convinced I was going to be apprehended at any moment by the Bathrobe Police.

Was someone watching me?

Was there a special security camera for unauthorized terrycloth?

Was a Haven employee going to appear from around the corner and whisper, “Excuse me, ma’am. May I see your cabin key?”

And then I remembered what I was wearing on my feet.

Dollar Tree flip-flops.

Oh noooo.

Now I wasn’t just worried about being caught in the wrong bathrobe.

I was worried they were going to look down.

Please don’t look at my feet.

Please don’t look at my feet.

Because the robe was saying: “Luxury accommodation.”

My flip-flops were saying: “Aisle 7, $1.25” (price adjusted for inflation).

The kind with cheerful orange, green, and pink Caribbean prints screaming “budget vacation.” The only thing missing is an image of a flamingo.

I suddenly felt like an impostor. There I was, wrapped in an NC bathrobe, wearing Dollar Tree flip-flops, desperately trying to project the kind of effortless elegance that requires no explanation.

I started walking differently.

I kept my feet moving.

Don’t make eye contact.

Don’t look suspicious.

And most of all…..

Don’t let anyone look at my feet.

I had unknowingly crossed the great social divide of cruising.

I wasn’t Haven. I wasn’t even pretending to be Haven.

I was simply a woman on Deck 9 who had innocently acquired a bathrobe and now feared the consequences.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more self-conscious about an article of clothing in my life.

Not a designer handbag.

Not a fancy dress.

A bathrobe.

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And the funny thing is, I didn’t even want it because I was trying to look fancy and declaring myself Countess of Deck 17. I wanted it because I had just gotten out of a hot tub and didn’t want to freeze.

But at that point, I’ve already breached the class barrier. And I was afraid that the bathrobe authorities would come after me.

“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for stealing a bathrobe.”

Yikes.

In NC world, bathrobes are not simply bathrobes. They are Haven status symbols. Guests in The Haven get robes. They also get to occupy those mysterious higher decks where people apparently live differently from the rest of us. And they don’t have to fall in line for omelets during breakfast.

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People on Deck 9 like me?

Well…

The moment I learned that terrycloth has a hierarchy on NC, I became painfully conscious of my deck number.

Deck 9.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a deck anymore. It felt like a social classification, like being in steerage class.

RC had conditioned me to believe that if I paid to get on a ship, somebody would eventually hand me something fluffy.

But now I know better.

You always learn something new on every cruise.

Especially when you accidentally discover that bathrobes have a social hierarchy.

# End of Post #

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Video Credit: The Pink Panther Theme (Henry Mancini – YouTube)

Image Credits: Anna Rocamora’s Collection; It Could Happen To You – Night at The Plaza (YouTube – Susan Firth)

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The Quiet Kind of Love

When we are young, I think we sometimes believe love has to be complicated to be real – that love is supposed to hurt a little. That it has to be intense and explosive. That there should always be arguments, fights, making up, breaking up, the highs and the lows. That there should be airport scenes or running through the rain. That kind of stuff….

We mistake all of that emotion for proof that we are deeply in love. Maybe some of that is just being young (aka immature) and that we are still figuring ourselves out . After all, we are still learning what love truly means, what we need from another person, and what we ourselves are willing to give.

Then we grow older, and we look back and tell ourselves, “What the he..ck was I thinking? What were all those fuss about?”

Then you found out that Dolly Parton was in her 20s when she wrote: ‘Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. I’m beggin’ of you, please don’t take my man… just coz you can’. And your 50-year-old self says, “Na-uh. If Dolly were in her 50s when she wrote that, it would have sounded more like this: ‘Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. I’m begging you, girl, please take him.’”

But kidding aside…

Many couples start with good and honorable intentions. And then there’s the hope of growing older together. And that’s when we (supposedly) start to see things differently.

Of course, age doesn’t automatically make love wiser. Some young people know how to love quietly, generously, and well. And some people spend decades together without ever learning how to be kind to one another, remaining locked in destructive patterns. So maybe the difference isn’t really about age at all. Maybe it’s about what we learn to value – and what we’re willing to let go of.

Older love isn’t perfect. No relationship is. How could there be perfect love when it is a union of two imperfect people? So there is bound to be disagreements and difficult days. But there is a different kind of understanding that comes with the passage of time. A realization that not everything needs to become an argument, and not everything needs to be won. Some things are worth fighting for, and some things are better just left alone.

But for older couples, there is generally more peace, more patience, more appreciation for simply having someone beside you. That degree of maturity comes from everything life teaches us along the way. The losses, the mistakes, the disappointments, and eventually the realization that none of us are here forever.

When we become more aware of our own mortality, we start to look at things differently. We begin to understand what really matters. And maybe what matters most is having someone we love to share this life with.

Someone we can sit beside without needing to say anything. Someone who knows us, accepts our imperfections, and still chooses us. We realize that love doesn’t always have to be complicated or intense to be meaningful.

Perhaps younger love asks: How much can you make me feel?

Older love asks: How can we make this life gentler for one another?

There is something deeply beautiful about that kind of love. It doesn’t need to explode to prove that it is alive.

It simply remains, even after countless Tuesday mornings – many, many years later.

Two imperfect people, carrying the scars and lessons of everything that came before them. Choosing one another. Not because life has become easier, but because they have learned what is worth holding on to.

And maybe that is the most profound kind of romantic love there is.

Not the love that sets your world on fire, but the love that quietly sits beside you while the world burns.

And says, I’m here.

# End of Post #

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Dedicated to the likely imperfect, but enduring love of Dolly Parton and Carl Dean (1966–2025)

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Video Credit: Moon River – From “Breakfast At Tiffany´s” (YouTube – Fonorama Orchestra)

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An Ode to Music

I have loved you from long ago,
even before I knew what love is.
When my universe revolved
around the folks who I now miss.

As life began to mold me
through experiences untold,
yours was the hand that held me
when life became too hard to hold.

I remember one afternoon
in the springtime of my youth,
standing there, alone, dejected,
with no idea what to do.

Then suddenly from somewhere
a song began to play, John Miles’
“Music” filled that department store,
and something changed for me that day.

And somehow at that moment,
I knew I’d be able to push through.
That all was well in my world
for there was a place where love is true.

That I had known a loving home,
a meal, a place where I belonged
and perhaps that was the moment
I understood the power of that song.

Then you were there during life’s silence,
when the world had turned away.
I have held you through the midnight,
when I had nothing left to say.

And when words became too fragile,
when my prayers could find no speech,
you descended into places
words themselves could never reach.

Don’t ask me what you are to me
I’ve spent a lifetime knowing you.
You are my anchor, friend, and comfort.
You’re always there when I feel blue.

Across the years, across the seas,
across each human tongue,
what one heart could not say in words
another heart has sung.

The songs our mothers sang to us,
the songs we sing today,
may find another heart someday
when we have passed away.

And if I cannot tell you,
if these words can say no more,
then just listen…
For this is what I’ve loved you for.

~ Anna Rocamora ~

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For the common things of every day,
God gave man speech in the common way.

For the deeper things men think and feel,
God gave the poet words to reveal.

But for the heights and depths no word can reach,
God gave man music, the soul’s own speech.

– Author Unknown (Circa 1950s)

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Image Credit: MusicNotes.com
Video Credit: Music – John Miles (Night Of The Proms – Netherlands 1999)

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Quote # 56 – On What Retaliation Does to the Soul

“When you try to hurt those who have deliberately or carelessly offended you, and it hurts your spirit, that tells you that you are a good person deep within. You can’t fake evil. You have to truly be one.”
– Anna Rocamora

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We often say that “someone is pretending to be good.” But the above quote is a reversal of this usual idea. For wickedness itself cannot be convincingly performed by someone whose conscience fundamentally rejects it.

If deliberately hurting someone back causes you inner distress, that distress can be evidence that being vindictive is not who you truly are. If retaliating against someone makes you feel like you are betraying your own spirit, that discomfort says something about who you are, even if the act of retaliation is justified. After all, defending yourself should not turn you into becoming like the person who has hurt you.

“Do not let yourself be conquered by the evil, but keep conquering the evil with the good.” – Romans 12:21

You can’t force yourself to do malevolent behavior without something inside of you resisting it. Evil acts are committed by those whose conscience is not disturbed by their actions. Of course, this subject is always nuanced.

From the standpoint of moral psychology, a lack of remorse is not an automatic proof that someone is evil. Trauma, personality traits, mental health, and other factors can affect someone’s capacity for guilt.

Ultimately, a person who can deliberately hurt another human being and feel nothing about it – that is, somehow, still darkness in one’s soul.

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Here are some passages in the Scripture that may explain why we see certain traits today – not merely on retaliation but what happens to the heart when love and natural affection disappear.

“But know this, that in the last days, critical times hard to deal with will be here. For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, haughty, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, disloyal, having no natural affection *, not open to any agreement, slanderers, without self-control, fierce, without love of goodness,  betrayers, headstrong, puffed up with pride, lovers of pleasures rather than lovers of God, having an appearance of godliness (or having a form of godly devotion) but proving false to its power; and from these turn away. From among these arise men who slyly work (creep, KJV) their way into households and captivate (seduce) weak women loaded down with sins, led by various desires, always learning and yet never able to come to an accurate knowledge of truth.” – 2 Timothy 3:1-7

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*Having no natural affection – What does this mean? What is an example of natural affection? Isn’t it natural for a mother or father to love their child or children? And isn’t it natural for a child to love his or her own parent? But what do we see today? Parents killing, torturing, abusing, or abandoning their children. Children killing their own parents, mistreating, estrangements, and so on. These are examples of what the Bible verse above means when it says that “natural affection” would be scarce or gone in the last days.

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Quote # 55 – On Discernment

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“We are not supposed to judge other people. That is God’s job. But we are free to withhold our trust from them.”
– Anna Rocamora

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Hello, darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again….

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Video Credit: The Sounds of Silence (YouTube – Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel)

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It Had to Be Done

I finally did it yesterday at dusk.

I killed them. I eliminated every last one of them.

I didn’t want to, but I had to. It was something I’d been meaning to do for quite some time. I’m not a vindictive person, but this was an act of self-preservation.

Quite a while ago, one of them attacked me and hurt me badly. For a moment, I honestly thought I might die. The pain was unbelievable. I called the authorities, hoping they would help, but they more or less dismissed it.

A few days ago, the weapon I ordered from Amazon finally arrived (seriously… you really can order just about anything from Amazon). I studied it carefully to make sure I knew exactly how to use it. I even did a quick test run. It worked perfectly. It looked dangerous, but so was the enemy.

So last night, in nearly 90-degree weather, I put on a thick winter coat, covered my head and neck, pulled on heavy gloves, and strapped a mask over my face.

I made my way to their home.

“It’s now or never,” I told myself.

With one swift motion, I fired.

Then again.

And again.

They fell, one after another.

One of them tried to make a break for it. I chased the fugitive across the yard and fired again. The would-be escapee dropped for a couple of seconds but somehow recovered. I decided to let the poor thing go. If they came back later with reinforcements… well, I’d be ready.

By this time, I was sweating so much. A few people saw me later on and gave me that look: the one that says, Yep… definitely a lunatic, there’s always one in the neighborhood.

I finally staggered back toward my house, completely exhausted. Just as I reached my front door, the couple next-door happened to be passing by and out walking their dog. They asked if I was okay. I lied. I told them I was fine. I wasn’t.

Between the stress, the adrenaline, and sweating inside a winter coat in the middle of summer, I’m convinced I lost at least three pounds.

You see, after I was attacked before, I even asked the authorities if I should go to the emergency room. The only question they asked was whether I was allergic to anything. I told them no. They said to clean the area, take a painkiller if needed, and wait it out.

Thankfully, they were right. The pain eventually subsided.

After I got inside last night, I read the instructions on the can one more time.

“Wait 24 hours before removing the wasp nest.”

Well… in about an hour, it’ll have been exactly 24 hours.

I can’t wait to finally take that thing down from the ceiling of my front porch.

# The End #

PS.

To the one survivor that escaped… I know you’re out there. We both know this isn’t over.

And to my neighbors: If you see a single wasp hovering near my porch this week, mind your own business. It’s personal.

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Die Hard: Wasp Edition

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Image Credit: https://www.craiyon.com/pt/image/HpRDCndbRciAGczXZO_YCA
Video Credit: Another One Bites the Dust – Official Video (YouTube – Queen Official)

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The Morning I Chose Pastries Over Survival

Friday mornings are dangerous – or they could be.

With an hour to spare before work, and a fun weekend with friends ahead of me, I decided it was the perfect time to increase my weekly calorie count by visiting the town’s French bakery – a place I have never, not once, exited empty-handed.

To be fair, I’ve developed some discipline over the years. I’m now capable of walking out with nothing… unless they have my two weaknesses: Kouglof and Pear Alsacienne. If they do, all restraint immediately leaves my body. Two kouglofs and one slice of pear alsacienne. Minimum.

The problem is they don’t make them every day, and I don’t go every day, so sometimes I actually have to call ahead. This morning, however, with gas prices over $5.00 a gallon, I decided to gamble and just drive there.

No pear alsacienne.

Honestly, that may have been for the best because it spared me the embarrassment of trying to pronounce “alsacienne” correctly. The only reason I can even pronounce “Alsace” is because a couple of years ago, an elderly French couple I befriended at a train station in Colmar taught me how to say it properly. They lived north of Paris and even gave me their contact information, insisting they would show me around Paris one day.

Wow. I had completely forgotten about that offer until now. One day, I may take them up on it. It’s amazing how a missing pastry can unlock buried memories.

Anyway, while settling for a mental image of pear alsacienne, and the way it melts in my mouth, I spotted a lonely one-pound block labeled “European Butter.”

European butter. For $7.99.

Naturally, I bought it because apparently I’m the type of person who sees imported dairy products and thinks, Yes. This is cultural enrichment.

I figured I’d leave it on the counter because my daughter’s Scandinavian landlady in New Jersey (born and raised in Norway) leaves butter out unrefrigerated all the time. My daughter thinks that’s what Europeans must be doing. So I decided to trust the process.

I cut off a third of the butter and left it on the counter in a pristine white bowl covered in plastic wrap so I can watch the transformation. I thought, surely it must soften differently than American butter. It’s unsalted though, which to me feels emotionally incomplete. I’ll probably sprinkle salt on it later like some peasant rejecting sophistication.

Anyway, during the pastry selection earlier, I pointed to the biggest kouglof and asked the salesclerk if I could have that one. She obliged without smiling. I then said, “I need two.” Without hesitation, she picked the next biggest one. At this point, I became self-conscious. I suddenly felt like she was silently judging me. Like somewhere behind her expressionless stare she was thinking: Ah yes. The American has arrived.

To make matters worse, this bakery is extremely stingy with napkins. You have to request them like you’re asking about some top government secrets.

So I politely asked, “May I have a couple of napkins?” She grabbed a stack and handed them to me. Still without smiling. That confirmed it. She absolutely thought I was greedy.

But honestly, I knew that in approximately 2 minutes, I really wouldn’t care what she, or anyone else, thought.

So I sat there in the parking lot and immediately started eating one of the kouglofs right in front of the bakery like a woman fully committed to her choices.

Yes Elvis – logic, dignity, and self-control had officially left the building.

As I sat there emotionally and physically inhaling the pastry, a police car suddenly pulled up and parked illegally in the neighboring lot – a huge violation, because French bakery customers are absolutely not allowed to park there. How bold and brazen. And to think the police station is right around the corner.

No… wait. Uh-oh. This looks serious. Or he wouldn’t have parked there illegally.

Immediately, my imagination exploded.

What crime could possibly be happening inside a French bakery on a Friday morning? Did I narrowly escape a situation?

French bakeries feel less like crime scenes and more like locations for classy murder mysteries where everyone speaks softly while hiding terrible secrets. Thoughts started running through my head. Was the owner chef involved with the French mafia? Was the half-French, half-American wife secretly a spy? Did someone steal a biscotti (or whatever the French version of biscotti is)?

But my most important questions were: Should I stop eating and escape before the situation escalates into a hostage negotiation involving croissant dough? Would law enforcement backup arrive soon and block my way out of the parking lot? Oh no – I need to be logged in for work in 15 minutes. Of course I do. Right? Yes, I do….

I sat there debating whether to prioritize my safety… or finish the kouglof.

And while I was in the middle of this internal crisis, the cop walked out carrying a… party tray of cookies.

Cookies. That’s it. The man illegally parked for cookies.

Honestly though, I respected the commitment.

Unfortunately, the emotional stress of the situation caused me to accidentally finish the entire first kouglof without even realizing it. On the drive back, I felt fully justified eating the second one – this time purely for enjoyment, which, quite frankly, I believe I deserved to get me ready for a fun-filled weekend.

# End of Post #

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Bon Appetit!

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Video Credit: French Cafe Accordion (YouTube – TunePocket Music Library)

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Quote # 54 – On Compassion and Peace

“Moving on should not take away your humanity. You may no longer love someone as yours, but you can still love them as a soul – and hope that life becomes kinder to them. And while there may be a quiet sadness for what became of them, there is also a quiet triumph in what you have become.” – Anna Rocamora

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I am not sure what season you are in, in your life. But I hope it is a season of peace and solitude, instead of one filled with never-ending internal and external conflicts.

Sometimes, in the stillness of our lives, we realize that healing does not mean the absence of feeling, but the presence of grace. Because now, we can pray with sincerity for those who were unkind to us in the past, asking that their life be made better, even if we are no longer a part of them. Wishing them well from afar without any desire to return to what once was.

In those same moments, we can see the beauty of what lies ahead: a future where we are met with the same gentleness that we have learned to give, where love and friendships allow us to be fully seen and understood, and where joy is no longer something we have to fight for, but something we can simply walk into with an open heart.

This is God’s loving work within us – teaching us to release with kindness and to hold compassion for the past, while quietly embracing the happiness meant for us. And to walk forward with both peace and a humble, grateful joy.

# End of Post #

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“To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” – Isaiah 61:3

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As I wrote this, I was listening online to this soft music of a rooftop cafe in Paris. For me, it reflects both melancholy and joy – of a heart that is no longer bound to the past, and the possibility of a gentle love that feels safe, honest, and whole.

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Related Post: The Best Certainly Is Yet to Come [link]

Video Credit: Elegant Night Jazz in Paris (YouTube – Sweet Jazz Music)

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Here. Now.

It is 6 AM
in the twilight of winter.
I lie on my bed,
wrapped warm in tranquil shelter.

The room is dim and still.
And the ceiling above
becomes a wide canvas
for drifting thoughts that I have.

Where I am right now,
What I have come to be,
is a quiet culmination
of everything that shaped me.

The future that never was
lies scattered through the years.
Things done, and left undone,
echo softly with my fears.

Dreams I once carried
like lanterns in the night,
Some still gently burning,
some fading out of sight.

For every life lived
there are countless left unclear,
stretching like parallel universes.
And yet… none of them are here.

Only this room, and the present,
often overlooked somehow,
a narrow bridge suspended
between memories and vows.

It is fragile and brief,
the present as it is.
Yet it is the only place
where life is truly lived.

The world outside
is again slowly beginning.
Time moves forward
unceremoniously slipping.

But I remain here, suspended.
The past shaped me, that’s for sure.
The future may yet change me.
But neither holds me anymore.

And in the stillness
of this ordinary morning
I notice
a quiet, certain unfolding.

In the dawn of spring
I have arrived somehow.
Yes, I am here.
And here
is now.

~ Anna Rocamora ~

# End of Poem #

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Let me stand
right here
with nothing to say…

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Related Post: On Remembering Dark Places in Life [link]

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Because here wasn’t easy to reach.
And now was earned.
– Anna Rocamora

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Video Credit: No Love Today – Michelle Phillips (YouTube – Roger Nichols and Will Jennings 1976)

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