Is 50 the new 40?

Nothing Else to Say

2011-08-16T00:12:00.000-05:00

I have been searching for the words and they will not come. At times it is best to rely on others. This is one of those times.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

Landslide

2011-07-25T19:09:00.000-05:00

Life was good, or so it seemed, as I cruised along in the comfort zone. You see, it’s rarely the obvious problems that get you. The thing that gets you, the thing that brings you to your knees, is the thing that you never saw coming. The surprise play, the unexpected, can send you reeling from your cozy little pattern that you call life.

It is a hard fact that most people look out for themselves above all else. That is true for almost everyone, except mothers that is (and fathers too). Once a woman becomes a mother, she will normally put her own needs aside, in order to care for these little people that have been entrusted to her. Some of us get so good at it that we keep it up until they are long into adulthood, and then….the grandchildren.

The grandchildren arrive and these little bundles of joy capture our attention like nothing else can. We love them with every ounce of our being. We weave them into our lives and households, our routines start to revolve around them and then… the unthinkable happens. We learn that they are moving thousands of miles away.

News such as this sends a loving grandmother into a tailspin. Denial was my first reaction. I was convinced that it was never going to happen. “Surely they will change their minds,” I told myself.

Anger set in once I knew that the change ahead was real and unavoidable, as I did not like this feeling of helplessness. We all want to think that we are in control of our own destiny, but are only fooling ourselves when we try to control that of others.

Despair comes and goes as I realize that many of the things that I have come to love will be gone from my everyday life. No longer will I be able to throw the bikes in the car and head on over to pick up my best buddy for a ride around the lake. Afternoons spent hanging out by the pool, or banging sticks against a tree and hunting for frogs, are irreplaceable memories. Gone are the evenings of making yarn dolls and greeting cards from scraps and stickers. No one will tell me that I make the best pizza in the world or care to cuddle up beside me to watch Sponge Bob Squarepants. I know that the future visits will be rare and will have to be shared with other relatives and friends, so that the luxury of these times spent together will be a thing of the past.

They tell you that they will call and write and there is always Skype. Well, I can tell you that looking at a small picture on the screen, while it is better than nothing at all, will never take the place of a real hug and a “mooch”.

Who made up these rules that say we have to stuff our feelings down and pretend that everything is fine when it is not. I force myself to smile and get on about my day but I really want to throw myself down on the ground and have a temper tantrum, and a good one. I want to scream, and pull my hair, and tear at my clothes, and express the loss that I am feeling. Common sense must prevail and I force myself to carry on. Each day I cry a little, but each day a little less.

Finally, I take a hard look at myself in the mirror and I want to slap myself. “Snap out of it” I say! “There are people out there who have experienced real grief, real hardship, and real loss. What right do you have to carry on this way?”

And then I count my blessings and they are many…...

A wise person once said, “Do not cry because it is over, but smile because it happened.”

I thank god for the last eight years that I was able to spend with these little people and I believe that new gifts are in store. We will find ways to remain close as these are bonds that can’t be broken with time or distance. Each day I set out into uncharted territory with no one to look after or feel responsible for but myself. It is a freedom that feels strange to me and a little uncomfortable.

From here on out, IT IS ALL ABOUT ME!!

I pull the dusty old chapters of the half written novel from the shelf. I flip through it. No more excuses. Nothing is standing in my way. So many pages yet to be written…….

The Adventures of Jenny and Jody…..and Edna

2011-05-15T14:44:00.000-05:00

My eyes danced from head to head, stopping for a second on each brunette. Finally, I saw her sitting there, my Jenny girl, reading a book in the airport lobby.

“Edna is waiting outside!” she quipped as she pulled my suitcase toward the door.

I was there to take part in her latest adventure. The first stop was New Orleans, where she attended nursing school. Oh how I loved the visits to The Big Easy and our walks through the French Quarter, the trolley rides, the gumbo, crab boils, gator cruises, and a fishing drip in the bayou. I must confess that I miss those drive-up daiquiris. Where else can you pull in and order a fully loaded, frosty cold beverage to go?

Then came Hotlanta, home of Margaret Mitchell and Scarlett O’ Hara. Hot it was, as we toured the plantations, took in a few ballgames and meandered our way down Peachtree Street. Sweat tea and Georgia peaches provided a break from the heat.

After she married, she settled in to work as a trauma nurse and provided aid to the sickest of patients in this southern city. She worked and she worked and she worked and she bought all of those things that were supposed to fulfill the coveted American dream. The problem was that even when we keep our parts of the bargain, others in our lives do not always do the same. It is an unfortunate fact of life that people will do the darndest things and not feel a grain of remorse, as the bells of entitlement ring in their ugly heads. Because, frankly my dear, they just don’t give a damn.

She has had some hard knocks lately, this daughter of mine, but she does what we do. We curl up for a while and lick our wounds, then get up and get on with it. So she packed up her belongings and hit the road for Canton, Connecticut, the plan being to better herself and move on to bigger things. And she will.

Jenny has always been a car person. She loves the shiny chrome and that new car smell, and the feel of a well made vehicle as it cruises down the highway. Her decision to trade in the shiny silver sports car for Old Edna, a sun blotched, brown, 1993 Chrysler Lebaron, was no small sacrifice. We giggled a bit as we loaded my bags into the spacious trunk. I sunk into the surprisingly comfortable, worn leather seats and we set off down the road.

Now Old Edna isn’t pretty and she creaked and groaned a bit here and there as we wound through the beautiful New England landscape. We coasted on into Captain Scott’s Lobster Dock for a bit of bisque under the stars. We were cruising in comfort as we bopped on into the Junk Store in Canton and trolled the greenhouses and antiques stores along the way. Old Edna made us feel a little bit safer when a wrong turn took us into the heart of the Hartford hood. We sailed through block after block of gangsta territory and noone batted an eye. Old Edna does not command much in the way of attention.

We spent our last day together as we tracked back to New London. There we located the apartment building that was the first home of my parents, Jenny’s grandparents, located in a romantic little neighborhood. This was where it all started, this 55 year love affair. They don’t make’em this way anymore. It seemed appropriate that she should end up here, rebuilding her life not far from this place.

When it came time to go home, we piled into Old Edna once more, as the tears lurked just below the surface. It is not such a sad thing to leave behind a loved one, when you know in your heart that they are there for the right reasons and that the goals they seek will carry them farther in life that any automobile ever could. I so miss her and I know the next several years will be busy ones, and that her graduate studies will make it more difficult for her to come home. So we will talk on the phone and text and e-mail the details of our days, until the next time that we reunite to take up our adventures with Old Edna there to carry us, wherever we may go.

Woman on the Hunt

2011-03-07T15:39:00.001-06:00

Women are by nature gatherers. For centuries we have searched for things with which to fill our cooking pots and to feather our nests. This fundamental need to collect and adorn the hearth and hall is not to be taken lightly. For many of us cooking is a means of therapy. We can create and nurture at the same time. Our kitchens provide an outlet for rejuvenating ourselves while sharing with others. The recent demands of the economy have reduced the rate at which we indulge ourselves, but we all need a little TLC now and then. Women can’t exist on Wonder Bread alone and if we are going to splurge a bit, it may as well be in the kitchen.

A funny thing about the fifty something era of life, is that I get excited about things like this. I can spend an hour in a spice store perusing the selections from basic to exotic. The smell of coffee beans is at times, as pleasing as that of perfume. Triumphs of shopping trips past may have revolved around the clothing boutique, but more recently an excursion to the cooking store is now equally, if not more fun.

A recent visit to The Peppercorn in Boulder, Colorado, the western queen of kitchen stores, further stoked this passion and my head was spinning after just a few minutes of being inside. “We may as well just let her go,” my husband remarked to the rest of our shopping party. “This could take awhile.”

They wandered off and left me alone for an hour or so. I formulated my game plan and walked the aisles in an attempt to scout the floor to ceiling treasures for items of special interest. My eyes glazed over as I eyed the gadgets, the cookware, the delicacies and the cookbooks. My heart went pitter pat, as I ogled the vast array of dishware, flatware and linens. So many napkin rings and so little time!

As I descended the staircase after a quick view of the items on the top tier, I was greeted by the voice of a strange woman looking up at me.

“Oh my god, you mean there is more up there?” she asked.

I saw the look in her eyes and I recognized it as a combination of excitement and exhilaration, bordering on hysteria, that look we women sometimes get when we find ourselves in the midst of the mother load with limited time.

“Yes, there is lots more up there,” I answered, “It’s almost overwhelming isn’t it, but in oh so such a good way?”

I stepped aside as she lunged for the stairway and quick climbed the stairs with the wild eyed look of a woman on the hunt.

“Deep breath, focus,” I told myself and I continued my quest.

I ran my fingers over the pottery, picked up the plates, and stroked the tablecloths. I sipped the coffee samples while reading labels and handling jar after jar before finally settling on a few saucy additions to our culinary routine. I selected linen napkins with delicate imprints of herbs and olives and some simple but elegant napkin rings. Frivolous, maybe, but fun, you bet!

Too soon, my patient shopping companions returned and feigned interest in my treasures and nodded politely as I rambled on about the platters and possibilities that remained there.

I glided out of the store onto Pearl Street, to be greeted by the street performers and the swell of shoppers and lookers on, all on some mission of their own that day. For me the mission had been fulfilled and I picked up my stride with a look of a fifty something female who was packing pure pleasure in a paper bag.

I came! I shopped! I conquered!

Ten Things I Wish I Knew

2011-01-08T17:36:00.000-06:00

?…

As we jump the hurdles to fifty and beyond, we find that there are many things we know for sure. Alas, the things we do not know, intrigue us too. My list of things unknown is long. Fear not gentle readers. I will limit my rants and ramblings to just ten things about which, I wish I knew.

1. I wish I knew how to operate my TV. It seems that we always have extra remote controls. Where do they come from? Do they multiply? Why is it that the buttons are so small? I would prefer to have less buttons and be able to see them. I don’t use most of them anyway. I want one remote, with large buttons, that does not take an electrical engineer to program or operate? Where can I find this? I wish I knew.

2. I wish I knew where stubbornness comes from. For several years in my teens and early twenties, I worked as a waitress. I would cheerfully place bubbling lasagna dishes on the table and say with a big smile “Please be careful. These are really hot.” At least fifty percent of the time, they would go ahead and touch the fiery things anyway and then quickly pull back and say something like. “Boy you weren’t kidding there were you? Har Har Har, Yuk Yuk Yuk!!” Naturally, I would bite my tongue and feign concern, as my tip would have been greatly reduced if I had said, “I told you so.” People hate that even more that they hate being told what to do. Why are we like this? I wish I knew.

3. I wish I knew where the extra socks go. How do they vanish so completely? I would think that someday one would find them, tucked under a sofa cushion, or behind the dryer. Does the washing machine eat them? Somewhere there must exist, a surplus of socks and mittens and the other halves of things that are supposed to come in twos. There must be a method to finding these things. I wish I knew.

4. I wish I knew north from south from east from west. You see, I am, and have always been, directionally challenged. Without map and compass I am a goner. When taking down directions I prefer left and right as I then raise my chances by 50% that I will choose correctly. I ride along to the same destination, over and over, and will pay absolutely no attention as to how to get there. I have no extra room in my brain for such trivia. Even a wrong turn can lead to the most interesting places. After all, I have GPS and my husband in times of crisis. Even so I wish I knew.

5. I wish I knew why most men are quite certain that they are attractive, capable and of superior intelligence, no matter what their age, size, or background and most women do not. Why are we not better at tooting our own horns? Why do we shoot each other down? Why don’t we stand up and pat ourselves on the back more often and then turn to our sisters and say.” You Go Girl!” I wish I knew.

6. I wish I knew how to play the piano. For those of you that have taken the time to develop your musical talent I salute you! As a girl, I fancied myself as a singer, even though I wasn’t. I took a few guitar lessons. I even sang and played once, albeit very badly, on a local TV talent show. My parents sat and dutifully watched and supported me, as parents do when their kids are attempting to excel at something that they have no real aptitude or talent for. Over time, responsibilities took over and the need to sing was pushed aside. Now I find myself at the age where I worry less and less about appearing foolish and I sing loudly and often, in the car, on the deck after a few glasses of wine, and even in the shower from time to time. I think that my hands would love to get into the action too. For this reason, I wish I knew.

7. I wish I knew where I put my ………(Insert, car keys, glasses, cell phone, portable phone, remote control, nook book, and any number of charger cords.) Try as I might I never seem to have them all in the right place. Quite often I empty the entire contents of my purse onto the countertop only to hear the phone ringing from another room. I lose minutes each day, hours each week, and days each year, looking for these things. Even with all of this searching and groping for lost items, my husband still finds that my skills in this area are stronger than his. He does quite often expect that I possess some form of tracking device that renders me capable of locating his wayward belongings too. How does this work? I wish I knew.

8. I wish I knew when the moment was when I suddenly became so..…(Insert, old, tired, discombobulated, invisible, hot!!!!) Sometimes I play the “what if” game and I stand in front of the mirror and speculate where a nip and a tuck might help my situation and I ponder how I may turn back the clock in some way, shape, and form. A night on the town takes time to prepare for as I pack myself into an under suit of licra that I call my “sausage casing”, apply makeup to my makeup and attempt to form my dry, graying hair into some reasonably acceptable style that fits within the current decade. How did this happen? I wish I knew.

9. I wish I knew why it seems to be a requirement to have fluorescent lighting in all dressing rooms. Hello marketing people!! We don’t really want to see all of the details. Lie to us! Dim the lights! Give us wine and candlelight! Make us believe we are beautiful and we will whip out those credit cards so fast it will give you whiplash. After all, if you believe you are, you are. I wonder why the same lighting is used for clothes shopping as it is for buying a shovel. I wish I knew.

10. I wish I knew when it became a crime to eat a cookie. Here I am, on that soapbox again! I can’t help myself. I try to be good, I really do. I wish I knew how to politely silence the dinner companion, who drones on about his or her diet and worries about each bite until you want to run from the table and hide. As good hostesses we try to provide choices for guests who do not care to imbibe in the vino or the carbs and only wish we could find a way to say, “Please make your choices and then suffer in silence if you must, so that you don’t ruin it for the rest of us.” The Europeans have this down. They have their cake and crème brulée too. How can we do this? I wish I knew.

Dear friends and readers please provide the answers to these questions of mine. I could use some tips, some helpful hints, even tid bits will do. How about you? Are there things that you wish you knew?

La Bella Figura

2010-12-30T13:55:00.000-06:00

Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical.

-Sophia Loren

Another year has passed with lightning speed. The last few days are spent in celebration and the anticipation of new beginnings. The start of a new year sparks in many, the desire to make some positive changes in our lives. We reflect and resolve.

The exercise of committing to writing, a list of goals for the new year, is an important custom, perhaps more so that putting up (and taking down) the Christmas tree, and the multitude of other activities that make this season so special and yet so harrowing at the same time. Resolutions are a good thing and no matter what our age, it is never too late to shape and mold ourselves. We are never too old to learn, to improve, and to grow in some way.

As I make my list, I am careful not to choose words, like never or always, as I know them to be the enemy of such well intended guidelines. I am continually learning to appreciate the power of words. Words carefully chosen can motivate, stimulate, and move us forward in a positive way. Words thrown thoughtlessly about can wound and hold us back. I seek within my vocabulary just one sentence, which could serve as my foundation for this goal setting exercise.

I ponder some phrases until the perfect choice comes to mind. As a seemingly lifelong student and lover of the Italian language, I am enamored with the poetry and the magic of its phraseology. The Italian language is rich in expressions, a common one is Fare Una Bella Figura. Literally translated this equates as “to make a beautiful figure.” The meaning of this expression, however, goes far deeper than staying in good physical shape.

La bella figura is a concept that applies to all factors of appearance, dress, manners and actions. It is difficult to define, but we know it when we see it. A person with la bella figura exudes poise, but is not arrogant, is attractive, but not vane, has impeccable manners, but remains warm and approachable. This person behaves with style, elegance and grace in all situations, yet she is accepting of others and never snobbish. She walks with confidence no matter her age, bank balance or size. She is well dressed but not overdressed. She is open to new ideas and respectful of the opinions of others, while at the same time, she remains comfortable with who she is. She knows to laugh at herself when she makes a mistake and realizes that no matter how good her intentions, that she is human and will sometimes fail. She knows that it is as important in some situations to remain silent, as it is in others to speak her mind.

La bella figura requires that a person take care of themself, both physically and emotionally, as a tired and miserable person cannot carry this off. The woman that knows this is careful to nourish her body as well as her soul. She chooses the right ingredients and does it often.

And so I have made short work of my writing exercise and I have reduced it to but one subject. For the coming year my resolution is;

Fare Una Bella Figura!!!

Happy New Year to All!

Camera Phones for Dummies

2010-11-24T13:13:00.000-06:00

Social media is the new frontier, fueled by camera phones and other gadgets that allow the user to capture the moment, upload, and share with the worldwide web with just a few pokes on tiny little buttons. It seems one can’t turn around these days without someone snapping a shot or two.

Photo sharing can be a good thing and I do enjoy perusing the pics of family and friends, especially those living far away. Vintage shots feed feelings of nostalgia and warn the heart. I am never too busy to see updates on hobbies, recipes and family events. After all that is what friends are for.

Alas, too much of a good thing can become a bad thing. Certain places should be a picture free zone. Common sense must rule. For all of us, a few words on picture posting etiquette:

• A good friend will take care to post only the most flattering pics of her posse, no double chins or belly rolls permitted. Only post those with eyes open and fly shut, please.

• Never, never catch someone while shoveling food into their mouths, while bleary eyed after a night on the town, or from behind. Exceptions are made of course for the twenty-something group, who look good no matter what. Oh yes those were the days!

• Never post pictures of bodily afflictions, whether it is a bad tooth, swollen ankle or any other abnormal growths. No one wants to see this. Period.

• Never post anything that could get you fired, arrested, kicked out of school or otherwise into hot water. Never put anything out there that you would not want the entire world to see, because you never know who is checking.

• Never do this to anyone else either.

So as we roll into the holiday season, cameras ready, I look forward to seeing the smiling faces of family and friends. We are a multigenerational social media family as grandparents, parents and kids all get into the game. Happy snapping to all and to all a good night.

The Eagles Can Still Fly.

2010-10-25T16:21:00.000-05:00

What are three things that improve with age? Fine wine, redwood trees, and The Eagles, as they so convincingly proved at a recent stop on their Long Road Out of Eden Tour.

Oh what a night!

The harmony, the guitar solos, the percussion in all the right places, combined so brilliantly that a couple of times I had to ask myself, “Is it live, or is it Memorex?”

Live it was!

This iconic all man band, provided the audience with spot on performances of so many hits it boggled the mind. The Eagles are a band so prolific and popular, that they can still fill the house with an audience of all ages. They needed no opening act as they churned out the tunes one after the other. Their easy on stage presence was a rare combination of dignified cool. No tight fitting costumes or buxom backup singers a third their age, interfered with this stage show. The performance provided each member of the audience with both, a fantastic in the moment good time, and a heart tugging trip down memory lane. Yes, I did tear up a couple of times. I couldn’t help myself.

I saw these guys perform, some 35 years ago, as a slip of girl in some outdoor venue that I can no longer recall. What I do remember is a bunch of us piling into a car and heading out to see a group of guys, who like us, were in the beginning stages of a long and varied journey. A lot has happened since, to them and to us. Glen Frey jokingly referred to this go around as “The Assisted Living Tour.”

Jersey boy Joe Walsh provided contrast to the harmonious melodies of the other three with his piercing renditions of Rocky Mountain Way and Life’s Been Good. My daughters joked that he was a combination of Tom Petty and Gérard Depardieu. Yes, the aging process is a wild and wondrous thing.

At the end of the show we were all left feeling good. The band seemed to be genuinely touched by the enthusiasm of the crowd. The crowd streamed out with the good feeling that so rarely happens when something far exceeds our expectations. It was great to see that this group of old guys could still do it and do it so well.

A Trampoline and Other Adventures

2010-10-20T13:49:00.000-05:00

The voice of an old friend came across the line, an unexpected pleasure, the best kind. This friend and I go way back. We raised our kids together for a time and shared all kinds of experiences. As single parents we learned to enjoy simple pleasures, like sitting on the back porch to share a bowl of strawberries or a trip to the beach with our kids. Those were the days when each one was truly an adventure and a test of our parenting and other survival skills.

There was never a dull moment with what mischief the two of us and our six kids, three each, could get into. One day in particular stands out among the memories of this era. The two of us had been out shopping for the afternoon. We arrived at her home to find an empty house and a strange odor. Puzzled, we set down our packages and prowled about in search of the source. As I stood in the living room I heard a scream come from the back of the house.

“OH MY GOD!!!”

This was in the days that when someone said, “Oh My God”, it meant something. It was not an overused acronym added for emphasis on any given topic. This was an all caps, fully spelled out, ear splitting scream, with a triple exclamation point.

I ran toward the scream to the bathroom and there they were, four large black fish swimming in a fully filled bathtub. There was another one in the bathroom sink and later we found two more in the kitchen. It appeared that her boys had caught quite a string while we were out. I did what any really good friend would do in that situation. I laughed myself silly and went home.

Years have passed since then, but each time I see her, I think of this day.

This friend, who is now in the process of moving, was calling because she had a few things that she wanted to get rid of before she leaves, one of them being a trampoline. I paused at first as my weekend was all planned out. There was not time for this in my busy schedule. But then…. I searched my mind for a way to make this work. I called her back a few minutes later and agreed to buy this trampoline as long as her hubby would bring it to my daughter’s house and set it up. In route to my next stop on the day’s agenda, I notified the family troops that we were moving Sunday dinner so all of the grandkids could jump.

That following day, I had not been in the lawn chair long, when little voices beckoned, “Come jump with us Grandma.”

“How hard can this be?” I thought to myself as I clumsily climbed up and struggled to get my bearings with children bouncing all around me. I took my stance, firmly in the middle at first and began to jump.

“When was the last time I jumped?” I wondered out loud.

The kids smiled with that look of endearment that younger ones give to older ones when they are attempting to do something that makes them look really silly. We jumped and laughed and I will never forget the joyful looks upon these little faces, the same ones that will grow too fast.

A few days later I spoke with the old friend and told her of our trampoline escapades while moaning of sore muscles in places I had forgotten existed.

“By the way, what did you ever do with those fish?” I asked her as we walked around memory lane.

“Well, we cleaned them of course.” she answered.

I thank you dear old friend for the trampoline, and for the reminder that we need to answer the call for new adventures and spontaneous fun when they come to us. I thank you also for the laughter filled memories of fish in the bathtub and smiling faces flying in the October sky.

A Toast to Autumn

2010-09-27T16:09:00.002-05:00

Autumn is the season of the harvest, the third act ......

Varied hues create character, no longer green. Skin tingles in the fresh fall air as the leaves drop, one by one, to the ground without a sound.... Quiet.

An occasional rustle breaks the silence. It is true the birds and cicadas no longer play, but the mosquitoes too are gone, the trade off. Sandals make way for sweaters pulled from the shelf..... Comfort.

And so it goes, as we harvest what we have sown, in our families and our friendships. We gather. Experience tells us what to take with us and what to leave behind.... Reflection.

Around the fire, nostagic notes blend with recent tunes, a pleasant recipe.

My favorite season, so far.......

I raise a well aged glass to you.

For a favorite oldie.....Click Here.
                                                Stevie Nicks, Landslide

Turn it OFF, Turn it OFF!

2010-09-08T08:41:00.000-05:00

I am suffering from numb thumb, also known as remote control, out of control syndrome. My knuckles have cramped up from holding on, as I peruse the multitude of options available for my viewing pleasure. After scrolling up, down, and all around, through the vast maize of many choices, I decide that there is really nothing on.

                                  This could be a result of any of the following:

                                 a) I have already seen it and I watch too damn much TV.

                                 b) I am out of touch and don’t know what I am missing.

                                 c) I don’t know how to operate the remote.

                                 d) Most of what is offerred is really just plain crap.

                                 I am going with d.

I ask myself, do I want to spend an evening watching the minute by minute activity of another person’s life? The answer is clearly no. Do I want to waste my precious, few, free hours of the day listening to commercials blasting across the airwaves, for products that I never intend to buy? No way.

According to the A.C. Nielsen Co., the average American watches far too much TV, more than 4 hours of TV each day (or 28 hours/week, or 2 months of nonstop TV-watching per year). In a 65-year life, the average person will have logged an equivalent of 9 years glued to the tube or some other form of media.

September 19-25 has been designated as Turn Off Week (fka TV Turn Off Week) by the Center for Screen Time Awareness. The Center for SCREEN-TIME Awareness is an international nonprofit organization based in Washington, DC and seeks to reengage people with their families, friends and communities.

Life is out there, if we get out of the chair.

I have started my list of things to do during TurnOff Week. They include:

1) Take a walk.

2) Write a letter with pen and paper.

3) Call an old friend or a relative.

4) Read a book from cover to cover.

5) Create something from old things around the house.

6) Take a long hot bath with wine and candles.

7) Bake from scratch.

8) Clean a closet.

9) Attend at least one live entertainment event.

10) Learn a language or skill.

What’s on your list?

Bell Bottom Memories

2010-08-19T10:39:00.000-05:00

A favorite pair of jeans or a well worn sweat shirt can take the edge off a hard day. We all have them, these items that bring comfort to our lives, the ones that we can’t seem to part with no matter how torn and frayed they become.

As a teenager I had a pair of jeans with many patches. These were placed haphazardly across the backside and in various places along both legs. Colorful swatches of many colors and patterns were attached with clashing thread. Jagged edges and odd shapes were laid one upon the next, to cover each hole, as the threads wore bare with a few more for effect.

My mother and father could not understand why I wanted to wear these things, when a closet of more suitable clothes waited untouched. A teenage basement dweller, I would rise from the deep as they shook their heads and exchanged looks of irritation each time they spotted the dreaded patched pants. Their reaction only served to reinforce my desire to wear them as often as I could.

Fashion rules change and for a few years, the rule of cool was bell bottoms. Denim drug the ground, causing frayed ends that only added to their appeal. Talented seamstresses added color fabric to the side seams to further widen the leg. Hip huggers, topped with wide belts, propped up with platform shoes, were what the groovy kids wore. No one wanted to be caught wearing floods, or high water pants, the polar opposite of cool. Cut off shorts made from the last year’s favorites, were the norm in summer attire.

Skirt lengths were more forgiving, as there was an array of choices from the mini, the midi and the maxi. Maxi coats and skirts paired with granny glasses were hip. Fringe hung on everything from belts to bags and the ever popular suede vest. The true hippie chick donned love beads and flashed an occasional peace sign.

Designer jeans rolled onto the scene in the 80’s, as this generation tight rolled and tucked to avoid any kind of flair at all. Shorter lengths were all the rage and stone wash ruled. Waistlines rose higher and higher, now referred to as mom jeans. By the 90’s the designers had found ways to get big bucks for jeans that came prewashed and pre torn.

I hung onto the old favorites for many years until finally they were too hideous even for yard work and with trepidation, I tossed them into the trash can. The stone wash, ankle length mom jeans are but a memory as well.

As we roll through life, fashion concerns can often take a backseat to the many other areas that demand our time and attention. As I survey my closet, I find that the jeans residing there are all the wrong length, color and size. I find that it is time for a closet intervention. No matter how comfy the old standby’s are, some more fashionable alternatives are much needed. Jean shopping I must go. So I head to the mall with my credit card and memories of styles past tucked into my back pocket.

Where are you Bobby Sherman?

2010-08-07T08:44:00.000-05:00

1970, Anywhere USA

Giggling and girlfriends are two things that go together like bread and butter, peaches and cream, or toast and jam. Each ingredient is pleasing by itself, but put them together and you just can’t go wrong. Of course nothing will start the giggling like swooning over boys.

Swoon we did! It may have been the Age of Aquarius, but there was no lack of love for wholesome hunks in the heartland. Many an afternoon was whiled away as we flopped ourselves down on our pink chenille bedspreads, with the 45’s on the player, as we gazed upon our favorite fresh faced, shiny haired, pop icons with the pearly whites. Walls came alive as posters pulled from the pages of Tiger Beat were tacked and taped to every available inch of plaster. No room was complete without Bobby, David, and Donny.

Bobby Sherman was both a singing sensation and a TV star with a role in the hit TV series, Here Come the Brides. He is alive and well and volunteering with the LAPD.

Bobby Sherman, Then

Bobby Sherman, Now

To see Bobby perform, click here.

Bobby Sherman, Easy Come Easy Go!

David Cassidy did prove that it can be cool to be on stage with your mom, with his role in The Partridge Family. David continues to perform live in venues around the world.

David Cassidy, Then

David Cassidy, Now

To see David perform, Click here.
David Cassidy, Medley

Donny Osmond sprang onto the stage at the age of five and has been bringing the house down ever since. His most recent success was to win the competition on Dancing With the Stars.

Donny Osmond, Then

Donny Osmond, NOW

To see Donny perform click here!

Donny Osmond, Go Away Little Girl

How things do change and yet they stay the same ! Newcomer Justin Bieber has adolescents across the globe swooning as he croons.

To see Justin perform, click here.

Justin Bieber, Baby

How do the pop icons of the 70's measure up ? You decide. Leave a comment below or vote at the top of the screen.

Those Were the Days

2010-07-31T15:27:00.000-05:00

Fast forward. Years speed by as we charge ahead and life moves on faster, faster, faster, while we acquire more and more. Suddenly, we stop and take a long look in the rear view mirror. Nostalgia takes over as we long for old times. Memories are mined for hidden gemstones. Rewind….

I yearn for evening breezes through the lilac bushes, kool-aid, bomb pops, a run through the yard sprinkler, some-mores, and chasing lightning bugs. I long for a game of hop scotch, jumping rope, and a drink of water from the fountain. Popping the heads from dandelions, picking violets, a search for a four leaf clover, and the discovery of grasshoppers and monarch butterflies, were but a few of the simple pleasures of summer.

Unscheduled time, with no plans and no expectations, paved the way for many adventures. Mothers maintained the home base as calloused feet hit the sidewalks each morning. Stingray bikes, with banana seats, some of them specially equipped with a basket, horn or playing cards clipped to the spokes, provided further transportation. Food, drink and the occasional band-aid would eventually draw the bicycle crusaders home. Lunch and dinner were served with regularity at the kitchen table and mothers used their vocal chords to call when a tardy vagabond did not report for meals.

Suntans were all natural, as days were seldom spent indoors. There were no scheduled play dates. Impromptu matches of four square, kickball, baseball, and an occasional card game developed in the neighborhood parks, vacant lots and in the streets themselves. Neighborhood tribes roamed free into the evenings for games of hide and seek, also known as “ditch em”, and other forms of mischief.

Imaginations were put to use as items were built, created, and crafted. Each neighborhood found a way to fashion a fort or a clubhouse and a few go-carts, from scraps of wood and other items scavenged from who knows where. Kids will be kids was the unspoken rule and rarely did anyone complain if a few flowers, or a tomato or two were missing from the neighboring gardens.

Clotheslines filled with laundry dotted the landscape and the windows were always open. The neighborhood grocery stores brimmed with customers, including kids clutching shopping lists, with an extra coin or two for a treat of their choice. My favorite was the pop machine with glass bottles of ice cold soda in many flavors. I remember the clink of the coin and the clunk of the bottle and the feeling as I pulled out a bright red strawberry, my usual.

Girls would be girls as our mother’s and grandmother’s discarded clothes, hats and jewelry, became costumes, topped off with necklaces created from colorful strands of pop beads. Cardboard boxes became dollhouses, with empty thread spools for chairs, material scraps and tissues for blankets and curtains, all displayed against the designer crayon drawn wallpaper. The beloved Barbie doll was adorned with stick pin earrings, the ones with the colored ball ends.

Boys would be boys as an old tire became a swing and strips of the discarded inner tube tied to a piece of wood, became a sling shot. Dirt mounds were shaped into villages for matchbox cars and toy soldiers. Empty cans were fastened together with black electrical tape to make cannons as tennis balls rocketed through the air.

Middle class values prevailed as toys and clothes were handed down from one child to the next and a less than perfect item was still considered useful. A doll without arms was still a doll. A car with a missing wheel was still a car.

The wish book provided more fuel for our imaginations. Each Christmas and every birthday a box was unwrapped that contained a new Barbie or Chatty Cathy doll, a chemistry set, a microscope, perhaps a kit to make Creepy Crawlers, or a paint by number set, some Lincoln Logs, an EasyBake Oven, a View Master, an Etcha Sketch or a GI Joe.

An occasional trip downtown with a dollar tucked in our pockets would provide entertainment options with a visit to local movie theatre or to the “Dime Store”, for small treasures such as a Slinky, Silly Putty, Superballs, Clackers, bubble stuff, Playdough, a Mood Ring, a Troll doll, or a tasty treat of Incredible Edibles, candy cigarettes, Cracker Jacks and Bazooka bubble bum..

From all of these excursions, experiments and escapades a few words of experience ring true. Never use a slinky as a collar for your cat. It is not wise to take a test run on a go cart until some form of brakes has been attached. Once you cut a doll’s hair it will not grow back. Neighbors do not take kindly to holes in their clothing from any “stray” bb shots that come from the bushes and the right combination of chemicals will definitely cause an explosion. Police do show up when enough fireworks are set off in the backyard and laughing while drinking soda will cause it to come out of your nose.

Every generation looks back fondly on years gone by and perhaps Archie Bunker said it best. Those were the days!

Archie and Edith Bunker's Theme Song.

"She Don't Eat No Tomatoes?"

2010-07-20T00:49:00.000-05:00

About a year ago, my son brought home his new girlfriend. Now he is not the kind that falls in love easily and we knew that if he was bringing her home that it must have been a pretty serious thing. So I did what I always do when we are about to have guests, I started to cook. I put the sauce pot on and the kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of basil and garlic dancing in a thick tomato sauce.

For years my specialty was manicotti filled with a creamy four cheese mixture , topped with a zesty tomato sauce and then baked until bubbly hot. Stuffed peppers are another family favorite. Small red and yellow peppers with a hearty meat filling are topped with the special tomato sauce that is a feast for the senses. Heavy sauces like carbonara are reserved for holidays, but for quick entertaining, a spicy amatriciana sauce, made stove top in a skillet is a quick and flavorful hit. It is an easy blend of bacon, onion, red pepper and tomatoes, the key word being tomatoes.

I went to work in the kitchen and I mixed up a caprese salad, garden tomatoes and fresh mozzarella , with a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of basil and garlic. I decided that it would be fun if we all made our own personal size pizzas, so I made ready the ingredients, including a thick tomato sauce, and I awaited the arrival of our new guest so the fun could begin.

“ My son introduced me to this new girl and we are instantly delighted. The conversation flowed easily, we talked, we laughed and I suspected that they may be a good match.”

“Anyone hungry?” I asked.

I then went on to describe the menu that I had planned.

“Michelle doesn’t eat tomatoes, Mom,” he answered with slight trepidation in his voice.

The scene that followed was like the one in the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The room fell silent and then....

“What do you mean, she doesn’t eat tomatoes?”

“She doesn’t eat tomatoes. That’s it.”

“Do you mean raw tomatoes?”

“No I mean no tomatoes, no tomato sauce, no tomatoes.”

Dumbfounded, I found myself at a loss for what to do and I struggled as I searched for the appropriate response. I envisioned future family dinners without any sign of tomato sauce and I am stunned into silence for a moment or two.

I recovered and pulled myself together. I can usually think pretty well on my feet, so I pulled out a jar of alfredo sauce from the pantry. I added it to the choice of ingredients for our pizza making party. I shook it off and moved on.

Michelle built a “white pizza” with the alfredo sauce, a bit of cheese and a sprinkle of herbs. I tried a piece and will admit that it wasn’t bad. The topping on the pizza was not after all, the most important thing. I realized that the ingredients in the food were not nearly as important as the people around the table. Many gatherings have come and gone since then and we have managed to alter the menu to accommodate our newest member of the family by adding a dish or two. It has challenged me to try new recipes and to change things up a bit. I will admit that I do struggle for ideas.

That’s Ok I’ll make chili!

"Change Your Hair and Change Your Life"

2010-06-26T00:12:00.000-05:00

As I stand in line at the grocery store, I check out the other ladies, like a woman does. We size each other up, make comparisons to ourselves, assess our success or failure on the attractiveness meter. As I continue to wait my turn in line, I notice something. Among the women my age, I determine that our hair styles are all pretty much the same. We are all some combination of blond highlights, mostly straight and with nothing below the shoulder. I wonder to myself. When had we all stopped trying to be different? We had gradually morphed into the same middle aged woman in capri pants.

I start to whistle Little Boxes. For anyone not familiar with this song, it was recorded by Malvina Reynolds in 1961, and came back into the spotlight as the theme song for the Showtime series Weeds. It is a somewhat of a social commentary on sameness.

There is a certain comfort in sameness, in knowing where we fit. There is a certain sadness in it too. Turning fifty is a time of reflection for many as we take a closer look at ourselves. We question and we self evaluate. Why am I here? Why do I have the same outfit and the same haircut as everyone else? Is it a lack of imagination, a lack of courage, or is it simply a lack of effort? It does take effort to be different. It is not always the popular thing to do. Some may view it as uppity, immature or even crazy.

So as my mind continues to wander,I think of people with great hair, truly amazing ,unforgettable hair, and I am jealous. Why was I born with this straight, thin, nothing hair? I lament to myself. This is my fate, to be just like everyone else with this hair. If only I’d been born with thick, curly hair, then perhaps I would stand out in the crowd. I’d probably be a famous author by now, living in a fabulous villa, sipping limoncello by the sea. It’s all my damn hair’s fault! I decide to myself that some change must be in order!

When a woman changes her hair, it is usually just the beginning. There are bigger changes to come. Change your hair and change your life, so the saying goes. Since I am pretty comfortable with my life, I pause to reevaluate my plan and then I think of Aunt Doris. Aunt Doris wore the very same hairstyle from the time that she was in her early twenties, until the day she died. It was the same color and style, meticulously coiffed and properly rolled each and every day of her life. She never changed a thing,ever. I am sure that her hair stylist loved her.

For most ladies, your hair stylist is an important member of your team. You just don’t change unless you have a darn good reason. It is like re-electing the incumbent. Fear of the unknown can take over and often will lead to complacency. Why change when accepting the status quo is so much easier? We know that what we have is not all that bad, so why risk getting something truly awful?

So again I think of Aunt Doris and I remind myself that change is good. Maybe it is time to take off in a new direction. I will start with the hair and see where is goes from there. My villa by the sea is waiting.

Fear the Carb Nazi!

2010-06-05T08:41:00.001-05:00

We all know them. They can rain on a dinner party when the sun is shining. They can make you feel small and weak and downright lesser than, these folks with ironclad willpower and the willingness to show it. I call them the Carb Nazi’s. Carb Nazi’s will look down their noses with suspicion at those who indulge in the glorious world of the carbohydrate.

For those of us of Italian American descent, carbohydrates are like water and air. We simply can’t live without them. There is a common expression in Italian, “Buono Come il Pane”, which translates as ”As Good as Bread.” This expression is used to describe someone or something of true goodness, simple and down to earth. We get together to “Break Bread.” The act of tearing off a junk of hard crusty bread from a shared loaf is a sign of friendship.

The world of Italian breads is vast and wide. We’re not talking Wonder Bread here folks. Wonder Bread is one of those products that I put in the same category as Spaghetti O’s. No self respecting Italian would eat them unless starving on a desert island somewhere with nothing else. These breads are truly a thing of beauty. A walk through an isle of your favorite bakery or Italian grocery store is a feast for the eyes and the nose, with stacks of paper wrapped loaves in varying shapes. Ciabatta, focaccia, braided breads, and flatbreads will grace the senses.

Then there is the pasta. There are more types and shapes of pasta than I could possibly expand upon in this short post. Sauces dance across these varied shapes al dente, using fresh simple ingredients to create culinary bliss.

The problem that we often have with pasta in this country is the same problem that we have with everything else, over doing it. The oversized, over sauced, over cooked and over cheesed dishes arrive to the table in many restaurants in buckets, not plates. In Italy, pasta is not typically served as the main course but as a first course, un primo, following gli antipasti, the appetizers. It is most often served as a smaller portion, with light flavorful sauces, as a primer for what is to come. You see it is not an all or nothing proposition.

Carb Nazi’s take the all or nothing approach to the extreme. Carb Nazi’s really do want to eat carbs. The more they deny themselves, the more they want them. The act of making anything off limits only serves to increase the desire. Their eyes glaze over and their backs stiffen as the bread basket is passed. They look straight ahead and avoid eye contact with the bruschetta while nibbling lettuce. It’s painful to watch, poor dears.

Call my crazy, but I’d rather spend my time in a quest for a fuller life, than a smaller waistline. I’d much rather spend my time around the table with friends and family happily breaking bread.

Road Trip Therapy

2010-05-20T15:55:00.000-05:00

There is nothing like a road trip with your honey when you need to get the heck out of Dodge. When the need to escape overwhelms and to go anywhere, just anywhere, takes over. We do enjoy sailing down the highway with the radio on. There is something so freeing about this no matter what the final destination. Along the way we have this little game that we play.

“Who did this song?” he asks.

I lean back in my seat and listen for a few lines. More often than not I can tell him. Every once in awhile I get stuck, and since my hubby is ahem, a few years older that I am, he will often know the answer. I love his knowing look as he nods and gives me the name of the song and the performer.

At times I impress him when I am able to belt out entire songs, word for word. You have to know someone pretty well to feel comfortable enough to do this sober. Who knew all this was still in there? I call it my RAM, random access memory, the stuff l have tucked away that pops out from time to time. It’s just one of those fifty something moments when I can recite the entire lyrics to Maggie May, but will not remember where I put the car keys or my glasses. Maggie May, now there is a song for you. I can name that tune from just the first guitar chords.

Old radio hits can stir up all kinds of memories, some of them shared, some of them unique to our own experiences. Flashbacks from old rock concerts and reminiscences of music festivals in the rain wearing moccasins and frayed bell bottom jeans resurface. Nostalgia takes over as I recall listening to record albums in my parent’s basement until they pounded on the floor or yelled down the steps that the floor was vibrating, again. I was a particularly annoying teenager and loved to rock the house with ZZ Top’s, La Grange. This was a guaranteed floor shaker. I will admit that I had no idea what the song was about at the time. I only knew that it annoyed my mother with its rafter shaking guitar buzz. Sorry mom!

Faces of old friends pass before us in between the road signs with blue skies glowing overhead. Happy times both them and now, we tell stories and laugh over the time that so and so did this or that. With each melody we recall all modes of tacky dress and silly behavior after sucking down sweet sticky drinks like the tequila sunrise, the sloe screw, the salty dog, and the fuzzy navel. Well at least we all got our fair share of vitamin C!

As the sun begins to fade we look at each other and smile. Where did the time go we often say? I wonder, how did this young rebel end up in this old body with sensible shoes? Lots of twists and turns along the way have lead to this place. Even so it’s fun to let it all go for a weekend or a while. As far as getting older is concerned, I have just one comment. What happens on a road trip stays on a road trip.

Mothers Day Reflections

2010-05-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

It’s the little things about motherhood that stay with you forever, like the feeling of little fingers grabbing your own and holding on tight. Baby fingers leave me awestruck, these small creations with tiny knuckles and dainty fingernails. Baby toes are equally as pleasing. If there is a more perfect moment in all of motherhood than holding a tiny foot and kissing it over and over, I have not found it. Baby smiles are followed by baby giggles, the best sounds on earth. They come forth from hours of coos and gurgles, mother’s music, as we sit and admire these little creatures from top to bottom. A soft kiss to a child’s head as they sleep, with lips brushing across silky fine hairs and the smell of powder, warms the mother’s heart like nothing else can.

The taste of chocolate, lady bugs, and butterfly kisses, are but a few of the countless discoveries each day. These shared adventures strengthen the bond between mother and child. Small arms reach, stretch, pull, and grasp each experience with innocent joy. The first steps come and we watch as they totter back and forth. We know that they will fall, more than once, and that we have to let them or they will not learn to walk for themselves. Long strolls while learning the words for cow and grass and sunshine, never last long enough before it is time to rush them off to school with a lump in our throats as we turn to leave them.

We watch with trepidation as they take their first turn at bat, their first jump off the diving board, and their first ride without the training wheels. We stand guard at the playground and gasp as they climb just a little too high. We have to control ours emotions so that we don’t give the neighborhood bully a good spanking, but instead teach our children to stand up for themselves when they need to.

Brush your teeth, eat your vegetables, clean your room, and do your homework, the familiar lines of a mother’s tune. A good mother knows that they won’t like us all of the time. We don’t let it break our hearts when they scowl and turn to run to their rooms in disgust after we have to tell them no. We remember fondly the days when they thought mom knew everything, but our chests swell with pride as they learn to think for themselves.

We support them when we can, but not too much. We can tell them when we think they have veered a little off course, but must respect some decisions as theirs alone to make, and can only pray that the road they ultimately take will be a good one. We hope that they will surpass all that we have done and want for them only the best that life has to offer, knowing full well that there will be pitfalls along the way. We must teach them that life is not about perfection, but about doing our best. That is all we can ask of them and that is all that they can ask of us. As mothers we are not saints or angels, but women, who do the best that we can with this awesome responsibility that has been bestowed upon us....

and we treasure every minute of it.

The Family Garden

2010-03-31T22:27:00.000-05:00

For Uncle Mike

I come from a family of gardeners. For generations we have tilled the soil, planted and harvested our bounty to the family table. Rows of fine flowers have lined our yards, a symbol of pride for those who reside there.

My grandfather Armando and grandmother Rose planted a garden so vast it would feed an entire family with enough to sell to the local grocers, to provide money for the things they could not grow. Ripe tomatoes and hot banana peppers remain the staple of family recipes to this day.

My grandmother Eva and grandfather Perry once raised a garden to sell by truck. Years later, as a child, I wandered the strawberry beds, the apple trees, the rhubarb patch and marveled at the many wonders growing there. Small hands shelling peas into the white porcelain bowl and snapping beans for the next meal, while hearing the stories of Eva, are treasures that reside in my mind’s eye.

My mother has spent her life tending to the family garden, providing beauty to us all. A favorite photograph of my daughter at three, sitting proudly by the flowers that she helped her grandmother plant, resides in the family album.

With the end of the hoe I break through the crust of the earth that has formed there. The many months of snow have passed and the earth lies here, waiting. With hoe and rake I work this square of ground, picking out the dead, the rocks, the sticks, the leftover root systems, clearing the way for new life. With a push and a shove, I start the first row, looking down to check for depth and then up again. The first row is the most important. It must be straight. The others will follow.

I crawl between the rows; placing the seeds, then with bare hands, gently cover them as if they were my children. As each row is complete I stand up to look it up and down searching for imperfections. I pound a stake on which to place the seed package, a guide for future reference.

There is something so special about this process, so special in creating living, flowering greenery from this dirt, where nothing stood before. Tending to these seedlings each day, builds to excitement as the first lettuce leaves push forth and the bean creatures poke out their ugly heads. We have done this for centuries, digging this earth, planting our seeds, and then waiting, watching in wonder as these beings push forth as if it were the first time.

As summer passes, I will spend my evenings picking through these rows, planning dinner in my apron, like my grandmothers before me. Perhaps a crisp salad with scallions and a banana pepper, a sauce of tomatoes with fresh basil, or an omelet with baby asparagus will be the choice today. I look and listen, as the plants call out to me.

Keep Pushin On

2010-03-21T13:30:00.000-05:00

I would not have wanted to miss this morning, with the snow outside my window. It would have been a shame not to be here, in my kitchen sipping coffee, while listening to soft music. I treasure this moment and I am thankful.

I think of an old friend who has died. I see his young blue eyes and mischievous grin as I chop the vegetables. I wonder where the years have gone and I cry a little as I remember what once was and ponder what could have been.

I would not have wanted to miss the phone call that I received last night from my son announcing his engagement, a sign of so many good things to come. As I stir the soup I think of wedding plans and children.

I think of this old friend and all that he will miss now that he has passed from this life so early. I am sorry for him and for all that he has lost. I am sorry for his family and for the friends who remember him like I do.

I would not have wanted to miss the wine, conversation and song that we enjoyed last evening with old friends and new, around the kitchen table. Each day I will celebrate and roll with the changes.

I think of this old friend as he was at twenty, full of hope and confidence. He loved life and REO Speedwagon. This is how I will remember him.

I would not have wanted to miss this moment, as I put my thoughts on paper, and listen to the wind chimes outside my window. I am home.

Keep on Rollin.

Twenty Six Letters

2010-03-18T22:20:00.000-05:00

Twenty-six letters
provide possibilities,
an infinite selection
of words carefully chosen,
arranged to mold sentences
layered one upon the next
to shape prose.

Words peppered with punctuation,
seasoned with personality
become characters, whose actions create the plot,
artfully presented to form the novel,
the reading of which spawns ideas that beget
greater ideas, combined together
to incite opinions, illustrations, song.

Phrase and verse evoke emotion;
move the listener from laughter to tears,
provoke anger and may sway the reader
to the other side, or not.
Power comes in words selected,
crafted, and composed from only these
twenty-six letters.

Everybody's Fine

2010-03-03T23:52:00.000-06:00

A film starring Robert De Niro,is a remake of the Giuseppe Tornatore film Stanno Tutti Bene that is written and directed by Kirk Jones

Widower, Frank Goode, is readying himself for a holiday visit from his four children when the phone starts ringing. The cancellations roll in, each one with a different excuse. Frank does not take this lightly and sets out on a road trip to pay surprise visits to his offspring in order to get closer to them, to know them better. Little does he know that he hardly knows them at all.

The Goode family has many secrets. They only give their father the often embellished good news and spare him the true details of their lives. Frank Goode worked at an ordinary job fabricating the plastic coating that covers telephone cables. He, like most parents, wanted more for his kids and was not afraid to push them. Thus the push and pull of expectations and independence from them has driven each of the Goode children far from home.

Robert De Niro is believable as the aging father. We have come to accept him in this role since Meet the Fockers. His former mobster persona allows him to realistically portray this father figure that everyone seems to fears just a little bit. We understand as they all strive to please him even if the way to do this is to stay away.

Drew Barrymore, Kate Beckingsale and Sam Rockwell give adequate performances of three of the Goode children, even if they do seem a bit stiff and fake. After all, that is the point. They are playing characters who are themselves acting, playing a role. These are not genuine folks, but characters that do not delve much below the surface for fear of being exposed.

The visual effects of the film add to the storyline. As Frank Goode sees each of his children, a flashback to what they looked like as children appears as they speak to him. What parent does not at times, look into the faces of their grown children, only to see the small child they once were. We miss these little people so and would welcome the chance to turn back the clock and spend some more time with them. We can identify with Frank Goode as we wish we could take back some of the hours spent at the office or in front of the television, and spend them sitting around the family table as we savor each moment.

The image of the telephone lines are used throughout the film. As Frank moves from city to city, his children relay messages about him and the fate of another sibling. The phone lines illustrate how they are all connected even as they live apart.

Frank travels along in his favorite state, oblivion, until a series of events unfold that force him to admit that everything is not fine. The movie illustrates with clarity, a character who like so many people, pass through much of their lives with blinders on. It is only when a life and death situation occurs that he faces reality and is able to accept the truth about himself and others.

This film is two parts drama, one part mystery, with a dash of comedy for good measure. Although it has not drawn much in the way of critical acclaim or box office success, I enjoyed it for its simplicity and for its message. Savor the present for it is too soon past,and learn to accept life the way that it is.

Were You Always a Guido?

2010-02-16T07:48:00.000-06:00

What started as a second rate reality show has quickly become a phenomenon. The Jersey Shore, places eight housemates, four men and four women ranging in ages from 21 to 29, together for a summer at the shore. The male cast members are Mike aka “The Situation” known for his cocky attitude and his ripped abs, DJ Paulie D, the king of the blow out, Vinny a self professed mama’s boy and rabid fist pumper, and Ronnie, muscle bound lover and fighter. The females are led by Nicole aka “Snooki” whose only goal in life is to find a guido, marry him and have babies, J-Wow a female predator with enormous breast implants, Sammie Sweetheart, romantic interest for Ronnie, and a short stint by the tough talking Angelina.

Outcries from Italian American groups, protesting the derogatory stereotypical depiction of Italian Americans, have only helped to thrust the MTV cast further into the spotlight. The Guidos and the Guidettes, as they prefer to be called, have achieved notoriety on a worldwide level and have become the cultural equivalent of professional wrestling and roller derby. While few will admit that they watch, many actually do.

The guido archetype is nothing new. Maria Laurino describes a similar group from her past in her book of essays; Were You Always an Italian?

“In high school, the Italian-American boys were known as the “Ginzo Gang”; they were greasers with beat-up cars that first chugged then soared, thanks to their work at the local gas station (Palumbo’s), owned by the father of one of them. Olive-skinned and muscular, they were sexy in their crudeness; and their faint gasoline scent and oiled-down hair defined the image of Italian-Americans in our school. The young women who hung out with them had little separate identity other than that as the girlfriends of the Ginzos.”

John Travolta brought this stereotype into the mainstream with his portrayal of Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back, Kotter. It is no coincidence that his last name resembles the word barbarian. We laughed at ourselves a little easier in those days as we watched Vinnie swagger into our living rooms for each of seventy eight episodes that aired between 1975 and 1979. Travolta took on the nightclub scene via Tony Manero, in the smash movie hit, Saturday Night Live, which put disco on the map for many. During this era, Travolta won hearts with his portrayal of Danny Zucco in Grease, as another none too bright pretty boy with tight pants and a slick hairdo.

The guido lifestyle is portrayed as an obsession with physical appearance. The guidos and guidettes spend their days tanning, pumping themselves up with weights, and applying hair products, specifically hair gel. By night they cruise the night clubs and “hook up” with random partners. Their personas are swarthy, exaggerated caricatures of macho bravado, and I am not just talking about the men.

The origin of the word Guido is the Italian equivalent of the name Guy. It is also closely related to the verb guidare, which translates as, to lead or to guide. The term guido, as used in the US, has a negative connotation and has often been used as an ethnic slur. So why does this group of young people choose to embrace this label and adopt this archetype as a lifestyle? The answer is simple. Why do young people in general like to dress and act in overtly rebellious ways? Because they do, that is all. Each generation searches for new territory to exploit and explore so they can believe, even if for a little while, that they are different. Rebels without a cause they may be, but no one can say they aren’t at least rebels.

The protests by the Italian American groups are not without merit, even if they do smack somewhat of another look down the proverbial nose at the mezzogiorno. The age old battle between Northern and Southern Italians wages on. At some point each group must embrace the other as part of “Italianness.” As a fifty something woman of Italian descent, firmly planted in the heartland, far from the Jersey Shore, I think we do protest too much. We must look at this for what it is, entertainment. Reality shows are based upon the extreme rather than the norm and I do believe that most people are intelligent enough to understand this. As Italian Americans we are not by default guidos, guidettes, mobsters or mamma boys, but fearing to acknowledge the existence of these characters, only serves to highlight our insecurities.

Laurino goes on to reflect upon her own feelings about the Ginzos;

“The Ginzos were my rearview mirror, a reflection of the near past that I wished to move beyond.”

Rumor has it that due to the unprecedented popularity of the show, season two is in the works. Across the nation, Jersey Shore parties are popping up. The cast of the show has been on every talk show and red carpet and it members have become overnight celebs. What can we do? Not much but laugh, roll our eyes, and take some pleasure in the fact that Snooki and Sarah Palin once sported similar hairstyles.

Grammys are for Grown Ups

2010-02-01T21:58:00.000-06:00

Grammy night, the ultimate evening of guiltless pleasure for the music enthusiast, rocked in the night like a rollercoaster. It was up and down, then round and round. Lady Gaga opened the show with Poker Face followed by a trip to the fire pit, only to rise from the ashes in a dueling pianos duet with Sir Elton John. Putting these two together was nothing short of brilliance as the lyrics of Gaga’s Speechless were interwoven with that of John’s Your Song.

Throughout the evening, pairings of the oldies with the newbies made for some interesting entertainment. Leon Russell looked the part of father time as he collaborated with newcomers the Zack Brown Band on a harmonious rendition of America the Beautiful. One combination that fell short was that of Taylor Swift with Stevie Nicks. Now Taylor fans don’t get your bobby socks in a bundle. I am sure that Taylor is a fine talented young woman, no disparaging remarks to be made here. I must however make note of the fact that Taylor sang off key for most of her performance. What she lacked in talent she made up for in enthusiasm and I will give Ms. Nicks much credit for her patience with the situation.

And the beat goes on…. Sorry another era.

Pink twirled around in a body suit that looked like it was made of masking tape and left little to the imagination. It was truly awe inspiring and I watched in amazement and wondered aloud, “How can she sing like that?” However breathtaking, I am so pleased that I was not one of those in the audience that got water whipped as she spun about flinging droplets like a lawn sprinkler.

My favorite quote of the evening came from comedian Stephen Colbert as he wondered to the crowd why Susan Boyle was not in attendance. "You may be the coolest people in the world. This year your industry was saved by a 48-year-old Scottish cat lady in sensible shoes," Colbert poked.

There was too much rap for my taste, but of course, any rap is too much rap for my taste. I’m sorry; I just do not get it. It all sounds the same. Bad. I will make an exception for The Black Eyed Pea’s, I Got a Feeling which has a hip hop, rap, but feel good kind of sound, and with lyrical genius such as; “I got’s my money, let’s spend it up,” well who could be unimpressed.

We can’t leave out Beyonce, the queen of the awards this year taking six to Taylor’s four. Thank god, as we did not want another replay of the outrage that was expressed by Kayne West last year at the MTV awards. I must confess that I could empathize with these feeling a bit as I watched Taylor receive the award for album of the year, but I am far too much of a lady to run up on the stage and say so.

Beyonce stole the show as she marched on stage with her posse of futuristic soldiers, grabbed her crotch, and belted out If I Were a Boy, followed by an Alanis Morrisette cover of You Oughta Know.

Other highlights of the evening included the shared splendor of Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Andrea Bocelli and Mary J Blige performed for Haitian relief, classic tunes by heart throb Jon Bon Jovi, a rocking medley by Green Day and tribute to Michael Jackson. No matter what your preference in music, Grammy night is a free opportunity to experience it all, take away from it what you like, and leave the rest. Where else can you see such star studded, eye popping performances fireside in the comfort of your home?

I for one, plan to get out there and buy me some Lady Gaga. Now I know what you are thinking. Does a fifty something female have any business becoming a fan of Lady Gaga? It just doesn’t seem right does it? But fan I must become. This might even make exercising fun. I could break out the old leg warmers and torn sweatshirts and bust out a little Flashdance action in sunglasses, red lipstick, crazy hair, and tights. I can see it now, the expressions on the faces of my friends and family as I show up to future functions Gagafied! Call the hairdresser, I need some help here! Forget the Red Hat Society, let’s form the Gaga Club.

Could be fun.

Too Heavy to Fly ?

2010-01-17T22:48:00.000-06:00

The art of living baggage free is the path that Ryan Bingham has chosen. Bingham, the lead character in the movie “Up in the Air” believes in traveling light. He spends most of his time in airports as he makes his way from one city to the next, carrying out his duties as a corporate down size specialist. He is the one that the big guys hire to give people the ax, to let them go. George Clooney is one of few actors that could pull this off, as his good looks and charm allow the viewer to forget for a good portion of the movie what a jerk this character is. It takes a very strange sort to fire people for a living

Many of the scenes in the movie use ordinary people instead of actors. They were asked to portray their feelings over their recent job loss by reenacting what they said to the person who fired them, or even better, by saying what they wished they would have said. The viewer witnesses a host of emotions from anger to despair, sadness and desperation. Bingham delivers this news over and over, never seeming to flinch, and then telling the person not to take it personally. For anyone who has ever been fired or who has had to fire someone else, there is much to relate to in these sequences and puts faces on the ranks of the unemployed.

Bingham meets his match in the corporate world with Natalie Keener,played by Anna Kendrick, a young go-getter who believes that the way to make the business of firing people even more profitable is to do it on-line rather than incur the travel and personnel expenses to do it in person. Miss Natalie has much to learn.

He meets his match in the love department with romantic interest Alex,played by Vera Farminga, a female version of himself who is turned on by collecting travel rewards and sexual conquests. Oh yes, Miss Alex has much to teach.

Bingham prides himself in the fact that his backpack is empty, a metaphor that he uses while doing stints as a motivational speaker, his sideline. The empty backpack is used as a visual technique to illustrate the loads that people put on themselves with the possessions and the relationships that they acquire. Bingham takes his “no baggage” philosophy to an extreme, as he lives in a sparsely furnished one bedroom apartment and seems to have no real personal relationships beyond a couple of flings here and there, and the occasional call from his sisters whom he rarely sees. He is much too cool to have time for things like family much less romantic love or commitment of any kind.

Well this movie got me to thinking about the baggage free concept and while very few would want to carry the concept to this length, there is something to be said for lightening the load a bit. It may be time to clean out the proverbial closets. Just think of the time that we spend working so that we can buy things and more things and then even more things. We just get enough things and we realize that these things are out of style or that the person next to us has even better things, so we must work more to earn more to have more things. Next we have kids and we have to get them all kinds of things and these things have to be as good as or better than the other kid’s things. Eventually we have to have a bigger house to store all of the things. Some acquire multiple houses full of things and then have to hire multiple people to keep track of and care for all of said things. We work and we acquire, and we work and we acquire, and on and on until we are too old to care about all of this stuff. Then we have to find somewhere for all of it to go. Sounds quite a bit like baggage doesn’t it!

How much is enough? At what point do we weigh ourselves down with possessions and commitments to the point where we can no longer fly?

The baggage free concept as it applies to relationships merits a bit of thought also. We all have those people in our lives that wear us out. These are the folks that cause us anguish, give us heartburn and make us feel bad about ourselves. You know who they are. These are the people that are impossible to please no matter what we do. These are the “all about me” people that do all of the talking and none of the listening. These are the people that you can never do enough for to gain any lasting appreciation.

Now human beings are not nearly as easy to weed out as possessions and presumably if they are in our lives it is for a reason. So what are we to do about these bad seeds? For most of us it is about retraining ourselves to ask for what we want, spending more time with people that build us up, and limiting the energy that we devote to those who weigh us down. Even more difficult is evaluating our own behavior to determine whether we might be the burden for someone else. Are we the ones weighing down the backpacks? Hmmm……

Well that’s a lot of heavy thinking about a movie. Forgive the pun. The sign of a good film is one that sticks with the viewer as they leave the theatre and beyond and sets the wheels of thought in motion. This film is worth the price of admission if for no other reason than this.

Too Old To Be a Cougar

2010-01-01T22:02:00.001-06:00

It's New Year’s Day and I find myself a little fuzzy headed from the late night festivities. Movement is very difficult and deep thought is out of the question so I do something I almost never do, that is watch daytime television. We are staying with friends and it is raining, most everything is closed and I am ready for a change in scenery from all of the touchdowns and tackling in the next room. My hostess has recorded the talk show Ellen from earlier in the day, so I kick back and tune in. The musical guest is a kid named Paolo Nutini. Hmmm. Well you know that anybody with a name like this will immediately spark my attention, so I resist the urge to go into the other room and scream, “Hey a-----les, just how much football does anybody need to watch in one day anyway?” and I focus my attention on the entertainment at hand.

It turns out that this kid is really good. I mean shiver up your spine, makes you want to get up and dance good. He has a unique sound that I can’t quite put my finger on, so after dinner while the boys are watching football game number four (please kill me now), I go to the web to do a little research. Paolo Nutini is a cute little Scottish-Italian with a voice that can make you melt. He has been on the music scene for just a couple of years now, mainly in Europe and has recorded everything from his original tunes to remakes of hits by Sly and the Family Stone, Cher, Amy Winehouse and Louis Armstrong to name a few. The foregoing list should give you some idea of the range and variety of the music. My favorites so far are “Last Request” and “New Shoes.”

Now just when I am starting to get over the whole turning fifty thing, I have to go and find something like this. It makes me want to quit my job, get a bunch of Botox, liposuction, hair extensions, and start going to concerts again. I still have it in me, I know I do. I brought in the New Year dancing on four inch heels and I didn’t fall down once. So this poses an interesting question. Just how old is too old to be a cougar? Is forty the cut-off, forty-five?

So I jump up from the sofa to launch into some aerobic exercises when I realize that my feet still really hurt. It seems that I am experiencing a new phenomenon, the dancing in high heels hangover. This occurs after a night of drinking and dancing, sometimes simultaneously, and will result in both your head and your feet feeling like they have been pounded with a sledgehammer the following day. After a few minutes of extreme discomfort I decide that reinventing myself into a cougar may have to wait and that maybe buying some more reasonable shoes, drinking less wine and getting a little more exercise should be on the list of resolutions for the coming year.

Even so tomorrow I am going music shopping to buy some more Paolo Nutini and I will listen to it regularly to remind me to stay young at heart and to dance more often. (And I was just kidding about giving up the shoes.)

The Art of Doing Nothing

2009-12-16T22:53:00.001-06:00

A few years ago while sitting on a beach in Southern Italy, I noticed a man kicking a soccer ball down the shoreline. He kicked it a few feet at a time, nothing too strenuous, just a nice bit of play in the middle of a glorious sunny afternoon. It struck me as unusual that this man would take the time to do this. It was as if he had all the time in the world at his disposal and the only thing he cared about at that moment was kicking that soccer ball. The explanation for his behavior then occurred to me. He had developed the abilty to practice l’arte di non fare niente. This is an Italian expression which translates as the art of doing nothing.

Ah, dolce far niente! It is also known as the sweetness of doing nothing. Now let's ponder this for a moment or two. Such poetic phrases aren't they? In the United States we refer to this as killing time, a crude and brutal term that implies wastefulness. Yes, we are a nation of overachievers and multi-taskers. Now don’t get me wrong, I can multi- task with the best of them, but every so often I think of that man, kicking that soccer ball,and I yearn for a little down time of my own.

A term such as the art of doing nothing, implies something more than sitting in a lazy boy in front of a television set. It demands more from us. The art of doing nothing and doing it well could be realized in many ways. For some it may be reached by drinking wine on the deck while listening to the cicadas or by lingering over several cups of coffee with an old friend. No box wine or instant coffee will do. For some it may be accomplished by sipping tea by the fire, with a cat softly purring nearby, or by watching a baby sleep. For others the art is practiced by taking the time to share a story or two with the locals at the market. People watching at the piazza, a swing at the park, and making animal creatures from play dough would all qualify.

I know what you are thinking. None of the above mentioned things are nothing and they are indeed something. L’arte di non fare niente implies spontaneity and doing a thing for nothing more that the pleasure of doing it. The man on the beach was not out to refine his technique, burn carbs or impress the ladies. He was kicking that ball for no other reason than the sheer enjoyment of his solitary movement along the water’s edge, and that my friends, is a beautiful thing.

Going Nowhere Fast

2009-11-30T21:36:00.000-06:00

Life is good. Even so, as I navigate through the grand buffet of the good life, it can be tricky. Lingering too long can take it's toll. Some choices must be made along the way. In order to stay in the game for the long run, some time must be carved out to take care of ourselves.

As part of the my treat myself better plan, I decided to head to the gym to take in a spinning class. For those of you who have never taken part in such a class, the concept is simple. It starts with a darkened room filled with a bunch of strangers on stationary bikes. Together with these nameless, faceless individuals, you all ride your a—s off, accompanied by extremely loud music. There is typically a gray haired man in full biking regalia at the front of the room shouting commands and words of encouragement into a microphone that is mounted to his face.

It really isn’t so bad and he does try to keep you from going crazy by having you stand up and sit down more times than the attendees at a Catholic wedding. Then of course there are your fellow participants that shout out the occasional Apache war cry or howl at the moon. I am not kidding! They actually do this! I did mention that it was dark. This has a double benefit. The lack of light prevents others from observing the belly roll that has formed as one crouches over the handle bars. It also gives the rider a strange sense of obscurity, and allows everyone to feel free to look and sound ridiculous for the full forty five minute period.

Why would I choose to spend my time staring at a bunch of sweaty back sides bouncing up and down as I hide in the back row? Because I realize that I finally need to do penance for all of the pasta, wine and song that I have enjoyed for the past three decades or so. Now I don’t plan on giving up pasta, wine, or song anytime soon. I’ve been a party girl from way back and though the party ends a little earlier these days, I plan to carry on. However, as I find myself at fifty, I have vowed to turn over a new leaf or two. A few days a week I vow to join the ranks of the peddlers and steppers. I pledge to move this old bod of mine a bit more often as we strut to the oldies, run in circles, climb stairs and ride bikes that go nowhere. Who knows, maybe I’ll even grow to like it.

Probably not.

Ten Things I Know For Sure

2009-10-28T00:00:00.002-05:00

As I wind down the path to fifty, there are a few things that I have learned along the way that deserve a word or two. The messages that ring true at twenty are less enduring at thirty, forty and fifty…. Less drama more pajama, that is my mantra. We old folks love to share our gems of wisdom, so here goes. The top ten things that I know for sure are:

Number One: It is almost never that big of a deal. I look back on many of the things that may have upset me in the past and I realize how trivial they now seem.

Number Two: Don’t worry about what other people think. There is an old expression that goes something like this. ”You would spend less time worrying about what other people thought of you, if you only realized how seldom they actually do.”

Number Three: Always take time to plant tomatoes. I wish that I had spent a lot less time chasing the dangling carrots and more time planting my own tomatoes. No matter how important you think you are to an organization, you can and will be replaced. There is always some eager beaver that will rise to the occasion.

Number Four: Ask for what you want. If you don’t, you may never get it. Speak up! Let it be known how you want to live, work, eat, vacation etc. No one will be a better advocate for you than you.

Number Five: Be comfortable with your own skin. Do take care when making choices. Some things like tattoos last forever, so if a mid-life crisis is on the horizon, it may be better to go for the massage, unless you are really sure you want what you think you want.

Number Six: Olive oil is better than butter. It is much healthier and it tastes better,that is unless you are making frosting. There are exceptions to every rule.

Number Seven: Better to have two desserts than six glasses of wine. You will feel much better in the morning and may actually save calories, if anyone is counting.

Number Eight: An orchestra is not needed when a piano solo will do. It is Ok to do just enough once in awhile. We can conserve our energy for when we really want to shine.

Number Nine: Even an ostrich is beautiful to another ostrich. Pick your style and go with it.

And finally……drum roll…..

Number Ten: Sometimes enough is really enough. Contentment is a valid emotion.

Facebook, Friend or Folly!

2009-10-22T18:19:00.000-05:00

Those of you that read my blog will notice something new. I finally succumbed to the hype surrounding social media and decided to give it a try! Yes, I have created my very own Facebook page.

Now for those of you who have no experience with Facebook, the simplest way to decribe it is a personal mini Web-site. You can list as little or as much information as you care to in your profile and you can share this information with your friends. You also have a Facebook Wall on which you can post photos, video and anything else that you want to share with said friends.

Your Facebook friends are others on Facebook that you have contacted and sent out a friend request that they accepted or vice versa. Sounds simple doesn't it. Welllll maybe... So far so good, but I will keep you posted.

There seems to be some sort of contest among some to see how many friends they can attach to their pages. It is a nice feeling to get a friend request in the mail,e-mail that is, but we do sometimes have to decide if we truly want that person to be privy to our daily activities and inner most thoughts. I got a friend request from my insurance guy who I see once every couple of years. I am sorry but I had to ignore that one. Aquaintance yes, nice guy, certainly, but friend, not so sure.

There are some that have hundreds and hundreds of friends listed. I am not sure I even know that many people. It makes me feel down right inadequate when I see stats like this, but you know there are overachievers everywhere.

Having finally experienced this Facebook phenomenom first hand I will say there are some very positive aspects to it. It has enabled me to get in touch with a couple of old friends that I have not seen in awhile. It is great to see pictures of their families and to catch up with them in this way. I hope that we can get together in person in the near term and without Facebook, who knows if we would have ever been on each other's radar screens. It is so easy as we get older to let old friendships fall by the wayside as we grow busy with the present.

It is also a fantastic way to stay tuned in to family members, especially those that live far away. It is possible to link up with cousins and in-laws and keep them informed on the family events with the posting of a couple of photos on the "Wall". We can trade some funny tidbits and get a glimpse of each others lives from afar.

Facebook can allow us to share little pieces of ourselves with others. I have seen a couple of really good videos, seen some good jokes and it is nice to see their smiling friendly faces pop up now and then. All in all, it is just plain good to hear from them and I feel fortunate to truly call them friends.

Twitter anyone?

Contemplating Cher

2009-10-10T17:24:00.000-05:00

There are few people that have achieved worldwide recognition by their first names. One of them is most certainly Cher. We all know Cher from her music and movies. We grew up watching the Sonny and Cher show. We know her kids names, Chastity and Elijah Blue, her husbands names, Sonny and Greg and we have followed the trials and tribulations of her life and career. We have seen her grow from teenage hippie chick to full blown celebrity over the past four and a half decades. Few stars have achieved such enduring success in such a wide variety of genres.

Cher is currently the headliner at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. She is in pretty good company as her show alternates with that of the Divine Miss M and followed a multi-year stint by another superstar, Celine Dion, at the same location. I saw the show last week and it was nothing short of spectacular. My husband was generous enough to score seats just eight rows from the stage so we had a view that was up close and personal.

For an hour and a half, she performed in an array of costumes that left little to the imagination and some how it felt right. It was Vegas after all and it was Cher. We have at times witnessed the aging rock stars that still have talent but look a little silly in their tight pants under the bright lights. This was not the case here folks. Let me tell you ladies and gentlemen, sixty three has never looked so good! Her voice is as strong as ever and she moved about the stage with grace and agility.

As much as we can admire her talent and great looks, the thing that I admire most is her attitude. She is a survivor. Her self confidence and her conviction to settle for nothing less than what she wants resonates. She is not afraid to take life on her own terms even if that means that she is the subject of scrutiny and even a certain amount of ridicule from time to time. She does what she wants. It is that simple.

I almost missed out on this show. As often happens there is a variety of viewpoints whenever a group of people get together and try to select a plan of action. If I had a dollar for every time that I have deferred to someone else and went along with what other people wanted I would have a pretty big stack by now. There is always someone in the group that decides what the choice of entertainment will be or the choice of restaurant and there are those of us that typically follow along. We get used to this as we allow our spouses, children, family, clients, and even friends make the choices. Every once in awhile we have to stand up and say loud and clear, "This is what I want," whatever it may be, and stick to it.

Taking a stand and asking for what we want can be risky. What if it turns out badly? What if we end up looking silly? What if we make someone mad at us?

Taking a stand, asking for what we want, and not apologizing for the outcome, these are all qualities of a DIVA. Having the self confidence to make choices for ourselves and to take chances is essential to holding ourselves in high esteem and in receiving the same treatment from others.

As I watched the show, I sat there suspended in amazement and most certainly happy that I had done what I really wanted to do, no apologies needed. I plan to do it a whole lot more often.

Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs

2009-09-28T08:56:00.000-05:00

Being a grandmother has many advantages. Among the many perks are unconditional bragging rights and unconditional love. We are unencumbered by the stress of young parenthood and have the freedom to enjoy every change and accomplishment of these little people, without all of the work. We do not have to worry about the extra laundry loads but can fully enjoy the mud pies.

One of the benefits of having grandchildren is having an excuse to be silly and young at heart. We can justify taking off early from the office on a Friday afternoon to sit in a dark theatre wearing 3-D glasses, munching popcorn and watching, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. Where else in life can such precious memories be created by something as simple as sharing a bag of multi-flavored tootsie rolls?

" I love the lime ones, grandma." my grandson tells me and kisses me on the cheek. Those kisses on the cheek will make you melt!

The hard part is not getting carried away. We do carry on, we proud grandparents and we have to watch it or we will bore our childless and grandchild less counterparts to tears. There are also the seasoned grandparents, those that have so many grandchildren that they are past the gaga stage that we young grandparents enjoy. They simply nod with understanding as we babble on and then change the subject.

We also have to watch ourselves so we don't become "that grandparent", you know the ones who are way too involved. We have to allow our kids to be good parents and we sometimes have to keep quiet about things. It is difficult to remain silent on a topic that means so very much to us but silent we must be, even if we think we know better.

If we are lucky we will be invited to the soccer games and dance recitals and we will find ourselves with a lump in our throats as we nervously watch them, hoping that they will succeed, giving them a high five when they do, and standing by with words of encouragement when they do not.

We also have to exercise restraint. Spoiling them is so very much fun but we must take care not to go too far. We must not overshadow what their parents try to do for them with our grandiose gestures and we can't buy them everything they see and allow them to do whatever they want. Not all of the time anyway.

That being said, there are certain inalienable grandparent's rights. It should always be OK to share tootsie rolls, build forts with every pillow in the house, hang things from string, and dance our crazy dance to our favorite movie theme song; I Like to Move It, Move It, in our pajamas as we watch Madagascar for the umpteenth time. It is the grandparent's right to make the kid's favorite foods. Mom and Dad can deal with the peas and carrots. We get to handle the pizza and spaghetti. We will make sure that there is ample root beer and plenty of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish at all times and we never have to take them for shots or dentist appointments. We always get to have a hug and a kiss goodbye and we do not have to go to parent teacher conferences or PTA meetings.

With all of this in mind, I will watch with anticipation for the next 3-D movie feature and I will be first in line for tickets. I will occasionally splurge for special things and make pepperoni pizzas on demand. Finally, I will try not to go on and on about any of this at the next dinner party! I promise.

Taking Woodstock

2009-09-15T10:26:00.001-05:00

Every once in awhile, I indulge myself. I am a movie lover of sorts. Most of all, I love the whole movie going experience, the popcorn, the ice-cold soda and shutting out the world for a few hours in the semi-privacy of the dark theatre. I arrive a bit early to review the posters for upcoming events and to size up the crowd. You can tell much about a film by checking out who is attending. If there are teenage boys in line, I steer clear.

I also like to take a visual survey of the audience as we sit in the theatre waiting for the movie pre-views. Among the small crowd filing into the theatre for the Sunday showing of Taking Woodstock, an Ang Lee film, were several gray long haired couples, sixties throw-back types. You know what I’m talking about. They still wear sandals and T-shirts. They don’t dye or cut their hair, don’t wear make-up and they definitely do not “work for the man.” I was sure of that. Some of them may even have been to Woodstock. They were just that cool.

I was too young for Woodstock myself. As a ten year old hippie in training in 1969, I was groovy with my Peter Max posters and peace signs. It was fun to be a kid in the 60’s even if it was a bit confusing with all of the craziness going on.

Taking Woodstock is an entertaining step back in time to the 60’s era. The movie is a fact based fictional account of the events that led up to this historical event. Just recently the 40th anniversary of the great happening was celebrated. At the time, nothing had ever been seen like it and nothing has been seen like it since. This may not be a bad thing.

The movie focuses on the Tiber family who owned the motel El Monaco, located nearby the Yasgur farm, the ultimate location of Woodstock. The Tibers are first and second generation immigrants, pinching every penny to make ends meet and stay ahead of foreclosure. Young Elliot Tiber has left behind his life in the city to return home and help his parents stay afloat. Mom and Dad Tiber are somewhat cartoonish in character. But no one trusted anyone over thirty in those days, right?

Elliot steps in when the Woodstock promoters are turned away from other locations due to their inability to obtain a music festival permit. Elliot had an existing permit, an easy thing to accomplish as he was head of the local Chamber of Commerce and City Council. He then teamed up with Max Yasgur, a neighboring dairy farmer, to provide the location. As they initiated negotiations with Michael Lang, the concerts promoter, they estimated that there would be a few thousand attendees. They had no idea what they were in for!

Moviegoers are entertained with a behind the scenes peak at the turmoil that follows as thousands of concertgoers descend on the area, much to the chagrin of the locals. The hair, the clothes, the bare feet, the dialogue peppered with “beautiful” and “far out”, are all there. Once the concertgoers make it to their destination, problems ensue. There were not enough food, water or bathroom facilities to match the demand. Add to the mix a lot of mud and it is hard to believe that they all stayed, but stay they did and what they saw will never be matched.

The main focus of the film is the people, not the performers. Hints of Country Joe and the Fish, Janis Joplin and Crosby, Stills and Nash are heard in the background but there is little in the film about the musicians. This film is about the people behind the scenes and the concertgoers themselves. Footage of the concert is portrayed in split screen with many things going on at the same time. The viewer sees hints of popular culture as bra and draft card burnings by concertgoers are mixed in with ample tie dye and LSD. Oh yes, that was the 60’s!

A glimpse of the free food booths set up by the “Hog Farmers” and a ladies group that brought in thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, as well as the first aid tents to deal with bad trips paint quite a poicture. We all remember scenes of the hippies bathing in the open waters and sliding in the mud. Whoa boy! Hold me back from that fun!

One of the standout characters in the film is the cross-dressing former marine, Vilma who the Tibers hire to assist them with security during the event. Vilma is the catalyst for change among the Tiber family members as young Elliot comes of age and comes out during the film. Add to the mix a group of wacko local theatre performers living in the garage, a delusional Vietnam veteran with a host of other great characters and you have the recipe for a funny and entertaining film.

The actual event was by all rights a disaster for the promoters who lost money as thousands descended on the scene without tickets due to a snafu in the publicity and lack of any way to keep them out. The mess that was left behind was much more than Mr. Yasgur and the local townspeople had ever bargained for! Even so there was something magical if not mythical about the event. One thing for sure, things have surely never been the same since the sixties.

To see the movie trailer click the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Iq8z2WDbKo

Am I Clueless About Music?

2009-09-07T13:23:00.000-05:00

The other night I was sitting on my deck with a bottle of Conundrum, my new favorite sipping wine, singing songs to oldies tunes. We old folks do that sometimes. We get a little tipsy and break out the oldies like the Beatles, James Taylor, Lynard Skynard and Fleetwood Mac to name a few. So all at once I had a revelation. I am totally out of touch with the music world. I know all the words to these old songs, at least the ones where you can actually understand them. With Stevie Nicks I just go; Mena na na, jes a da me, be te tu la, se la win oh. This is Stevie language. Same for whenever I hear Pearl Jam.

The next day, I decided that a trip to the web was in order to check out what I have been missing. So I head to the Billboard.com to see what’s on the top of the list. Now I was always a rock and roll girl. None of that rap and hip hop sh-t for me. I could do some Country Rock, key word being rock. Off I go to the top ten rock chart . Who do I find at the number one spot? Pearl Jam.

I am thinking, well then, maybe I haven’t missed much in the last couple of decades after all and I pop on over to You Tube to check it out. There I find the video for “The Fixer” which incidentally was made for Target. Yes, you got that right, Target, the store with the big circles for their logo. I listen to the song and although I found the lyrics to be a bit immature and the melody to be quite repetitive, it wasn’t bad and was actually a catchy little tune with an upbeat message. What else would you expect when they are making this for Target. So you get the drift.

I then got caught up in watching some of the old Pearl Jam recordings and I remembered why I liked them. Now I was never a hard core Pearl Jam follower but I did always turn up the radio when the songs came on and I did buy a few of their old CD's which I am sure ended up in one of my kids cars. I made my way through a pot of coffee or so as I listened to their old hits. I still love Yellow Ledbetter, whatever that means, and I found a You Tube video that has the lyrics to follow along with that helped me to appreciate the song even more. I especially love when lead singer Eddie Vedder turns to the guitar soloist Mike McCready and says “Make me Cry.” Now that kinda hits you, doesn’t it. Great song whether you can understand him or not.

I work myself down the list of the top ten rock hits and I do recognize at least one tune, “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon and I have actually heard of Nickleback so I give this one a try. Their latest hit “Burn it to the Ground” is actually the theme song for a Transformers movie, a film that lots of kids are sure to see. So again I check out YouTube and find a version complete with lyrics. What I found was more suitable for a Hells Angels rally or a bunch of wanna be party boys as they load up the frat bus. I guess there is a time and place for everything right. Parents beware.

All of this research made me aware of two things. We need to get out and buy music from artists that we appreciate. You can’t blame a band for so called “selling out” when we are all listening to their stuff for free on YouTube and everywhere else.

Most of all the experience brought back some lyrics to a favorite old song of mine.

So you’re a little bit older and a lot less bolder than you used to be.
So you used to shake ‘em down, now you stop and think about your dignity.

I was not above throwing back a shot myself in the old days and shouting out something like “Let’s hear some Bob Seger.”

Years of being a career mom took precedence over my rock and roll experience and my kids are all adults now and old enough to read this for a good laugh or two. But the line is true.

“Come back baby, rock and roll never forgets.” (I can hear them groaning now.)

To Buy or Say Goodbye? That is the Question.

2009-08-25T07:34:00.001-05:00

Most women have a common passion, in a word, shoes. No matter what our age, marital status, budget or size, we can always find a pair to perk up our outlooks and raise our spirits. Nothing does it better that a great pair of shoes.

One summer evening, I joined a group of women while wearing a special new pair and I was greeted with sighs of envy.

"Those are positively wicked!" one woman quipped with a sly grin.

"Thank you," I replied, smiling with a glow of satisfaction.

"I just can't wear heels anymore," she added.

Well, that gave me pause for thought! I nearly panicked at the prospect of never wearing heels again. Upon further reflection, I had to admit that I was choosing the flats more and more myself as it became less feasible to navigate through an entire day wearing stilettos. When does the day finally arrive when heels are no longer an option? Is it a gradual thing we work ourselves into, like elastic waistbands? Do we unconsciously navigate to the cushy flats on our shopping trips until our supply of sassy shoes has dwindled and we are left with nothing but the basic black flats that our grandmothers wore.

"To hell with this," I say.

Still I wonder, at what age does wearing the latest shoe trend look silly?

The answer to this question is the same as in all things. We have to be comfortable with our choices. Whatever we do, we must do with good taste and a sense of style. Perhaps the heel is a little lower than it used to be, but it can still be fun. Flats do not have to be boring. I love my Roman sandles.

Even so, I do not plan to give up my heels any time soon. I will keep the flats for everyday wear and long walks, but will revel in my higher options for dinner parties and other gatherings where panache is a plus. If it requires a soak in a foot bath and a bandaid or two, it is worth it!

Blame it on Barbie!

2009-08-11T12:50:00.000-05:00

Those of us turning 50 this year share our birth year with a very special lady. She is on a first name basis with the world and her product line has achieved brand recognition around the globe. We grew up with her, as did our daughters, as will our granddaughters. You guessed it! Barbie!

Barbie first came on the scene in 1959. She came clad in a black and white striped swimsuit and high heels. The following year her boyfriend Ken was created, and the two were an item up until 2004, once of the longest courtships of all time. All little girls love Barbie and some big girls too. Who can resist the cute little shoes in all varieties?

Barbie has created a stir now and then with some discussions concerning her body proportions and the image that she perpetuates with young women. Although there are various opinions as to how her measurements stack up to a full size woman of similar proportions, the dimensions go something like this: 38" bust, 18" waist and 34" hips. Now we are talking some seriously unattainable goals here ladies. Not even Scarlett O'Hara with the strongest corset in Atlanta could achieve this. So if we wonder why our bodies have never has quite matched up with our expectations, blame it on Barbie!

Is 50 the new 40?

2009-08-10T13:45:00.001-05:00

As I face the final countdown to the big 5-0, I take solace in this popular catch phrase. But is 50 really the new 40? It seems that 50 something women are healthier, happier and some say more attractive than past generations of women at this time in their lives. We are as a group more independent than our mothers and grandmothers at fifty. We do indeed watch our weight and worry about our waistlines a great deal more that generations past. Our lives move faster with technological advances leading the way.

Most of us take stock in ourselves and our lives upon reaching a milestone such at this. We take a look not only at where we have been but where we are going. We ponder what may be missing in our lives while at the same time giving thanks for all that we do have. We evaluate what direction to take as we enter the next phase. Questions we ask ourselves:

Shall I continue on the same path as before or should I choose the path less traveled? What would I change about my life if I could?

To answer these and other questions, please join me.