Living in a State of Gratitude. Is That Even Possible?

Lately an expression seems to be going around that is quickly getting overused and overworked. In California there is an overabundance of platitudes called upon far too frequently. Aside from hearing this newest addition ad nauseum, I am seriously wondering what it really means.

More and more there are those who wish to portray themselves as superior, virtuous beings by constantly expressing they are living in a state of gratitude.

My question is first and foremost, where is the state of gratitude? Is it in the USA? I don’t think so. We only have fifty states last time I heard. Although I read somewhere they are adding a fifty first, the State of Confusion. It would be the most populated state in America.

Is the state of gratitude in Europe? Highly doubtful. Maybe an island in the Caribbean or the Cayman’s where lots of Americans could join their money.

How would we find it? Is it on a map? Perhaps it’s hanging around under the water near Atlantis. The lost city of gratitude and only a fortunate few are lucky enough to have seen it.

Is it expensive to live there? How is the food? Should you rent or own?

What are the laws in the state of gratitude? Is there inflation and how are the interest rates there? What type of cuisine do they feature?

So after hearing people talk about this new locale now more visited than the Grand Canyon, I had to wonder: Do you live there all the time or can you leave and come back again? Do you need a passport?

It seems to me that no one could live there all day, every day and although most make it sound as though they do, I can’t imagine that is the case.

I mean you are driving along living in the state of gratitude and suddenly someone plows into your brand-new Mercedes.

Hmmm. Do you now leave the state of gratitude for a few moments to bitch and yell at the idiot who cut you off and smashed your new car?

Is your first response. Oh thank you. I’m so grateful you crashed into my new car and gave me a serious whiplash. Why am I doubting that is the case?

Pretty silly to walk around saying I live in a state of gratitude isn’t it? Simply because that would be impossible.

Those who are constantly preaching about their occupancy in that state, make it seem it’s like a total 100% existence.

We all have heard our whole lives that those who are thankful for both the little and big things in life are happiest, so all strive for that meaning.

We are grateful for the people we love and thankful they are well. We are happy when we get up in the morning, open our eyes and see another day.

Let’s be realistic here; life for most of us is a roller coaster of ups and downs. The human condition dictates we must face those challenges we are afflicted by daily.

Death, illness, a bad turn of events we didn’t expect, having to listen to the stupidity out of the mouths of politicians and all other means of unpleasantness to which flesh is heir.

So does living in a state of gratitude mean that when something horrible happens we are not allowed to be bummed? That we are not allowed to feel badly for someone who is suffering a loss or streak of misfortune?

I think it’s wonderful when one can say, even in the darkest of times they are grateful for all the good they have. Despite the negativity thrust upon them.

That is called optimism, thankfulness, gratitude or however you wish to identify the feeling, and it’s a good way to live.

Yet when one literally brags constantly about how grateful they are, it rings hallow. It feels as though someone is lecturing or bragging. Does it mean that when misfortune appears we are less of a person if at that moment of pain we don’t feel any gratitude at losing a loved one? Or for hearing the misfortunate of a friend or witnessing the horrors we see every day now in the world?

It almost makes one feel as though these people who constantly preach about their own sense of gratitude are somehow lording it over the rest of us.

That they know something we don’t and have discovered the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx.

I figured it all out and you’re all still in the dark.

Are they so enlightened they can stay in a state of gratitude even when the very nature of human existence is to feel sorrow, happiness, pain, remorse and empathy?

Shall we simply rise above every excruciating deed we witness and say I can’t feel this I’m in the state of gratitude. That’s my protection, so pass me a brownie, please. What type of gates can protect one from the emotions life delivers daily?

I must object to those who would tout their unfailing thankfulness when we merely see someone who is saying, I’m cool with everything and it’s great to be me. I have what I need to be happy, you need to get yours.

There will be times in every life when it’s almost impossible to be grateful. That isn’t the grand plan. Life throws us curveballs and even when we try to hit it out of the park, we sometimes fall short of the fence.

Although we as humans aspire to the highest ideals, it is a long-established fact on planet earth you won’t find perfection here.

It’s easy to be grateful for the great moments in life that come our way, but being grateful for the little things is a cultivated talent. Indeed, one for which we all should strive.  But it’s hard to listen to those who speak about gratitude as a new dress or outfit they can don as easily as slipping it over their head.

We are grateful and should be. We just are not grateful for those who tell us when and how to feel thankful. I imagine that is between us and our maker, and holier-than-thous should just keep their platitudes to themselves.

P.S. I’m thankful for all my readers, so that’s one for me. Have a great day and be grateful for how easy it still is to find chocolate.

Birds Don’t Sing in Beverly Hills

The first sign of spring for most people in America is Robin Red Breast. Hearing his little tweets and songs make one feel the cold and darkness of winter is past and one can look forward to a warm spring and fun summer.

In my area of Beverly Hills one receives no such hope for the birth of the coming seasons. I’m not quite sure why it’s the case but it’s rare I’ve been hearing birds singing at all. Yes, I know you all think I’m going deaf.

However, that is not the case for while watching the Masters Tournament at Augusta the other day, I was taken by how vibrant the birds’ songs were when everyone quieted down to let the golfers take a shot. Yes, I heard the birds chirping and cheering on their favorite golfers loud and clear.

Even with a preponderance of trees everywhere in Beverly Hills it seems that the bird population chooses to remain closed mouth and simply exist on the down low. Why?

I of course have no scientific reasons to offer for this occurrence, but of course I have some suspicions about why the little winged and usually vocal creatures choose silence in this high-profile town.

First, I’d have to guess it is a result of their inability to sing for long periods of time and ingest the pollution. After a few coughs I’d imagine most would simply give up and stay silent.

Second it might be the fact they haven’t been able to secure an agent and it is for this reason they choose not to use their talents without any compensation. A bird deserves a worm or two for their efforts. And I assure you Beverly Hills is crawling with them. Worms I mean.

Third is the fact that perhaps because so few birds choose to sing, there is no peer pressure to do so. I mean if everyone is doing it than the other birds might feel left out by not joining in. It seems quiet breeds quiet and the lack of tweeting is not such a surprise after all.

Fourth I believe it’s possible the bird population here may be the most depressed in America. I only say this because if the vibe all around them is human beings walking around like zombies touting positive thinking and then hurrying off to their therapist, it could contribute to the negative, insecure vibes the birds are feeling.

Fifth may be that it’s difficult to be heard above the sirens horns honking and yelling obscenities out car windows one witnesses each day. This is not lost on the birds. It’s possible at one point they sought to sing but couldn’t raise their voices above the craziness going on below.

Sixth, maybe like so many others in this state most of the birds have left for Florida because it’s far too expensive to live here. Perhaps all the craziness entailed living in this insane asylum with palm trees has finally caused them to reach their breaking point. Then of course squatters may have inhabited their nests when they returned and they’re all in court trying to get their little homes back. Or could it be they are simply spending the day shopping?

As someone who always loved hearing birds sing, I find it a bit depressing to face the silence.

There was once a book by Rachel Carson called Silent Spring in which she warned of impending environmental issues.

Could we have reached the point that the birds are thus affected?

I don’t think so because my friends in Michigan claim there is a great deal of happy twilling from the birds there right now. And I do miss that.

So I suppose we must return to California. I can only speak for Beverly Hills, but I must say it is a quiet Spring around here.

Beverly Hills birds although we received an abundance of rain this year seem as yet unsatisfied with the bounty nature provided.

Everyone but me it seems held the attitude there was too much rain.

I however disagree wholeheartedly. Coming from Michigan where Spring and summer sported the colors of OZ with vibrant greens and colorful flowers everywhere, it has been a culture shock for me to see the brownish hue of the trees here.

The little bit of water they usually receive is not nearly enough to serve up lush gorgeous hues, but instead brownish dry looking semi green colors.

This year however after all the rain I’m finally seeing true rich, dark leaves brimming with life and vibrancy.

So I’ll side with nature on this issue and too bad for those who were inconvenienced by the rain.

I’ve tried calling to the birds and explaining my desire to hear their songs, but only a few even responded to my pleas.

It just doesn’t seem right to be sitting outdoors and hear nothing but cars and sirens without the melodic tweet of a nearby bird.

If I am disappointed, and perhaps even making too much of the lack of music available from our feathered friends, please forgive me. I imagine you could get an app for your phone of birdsongs. Not the same. Like buying a candle to get your favorite scent and realize they all smell like cheap perfume.

Living in Michigan we were blessed with four seasons. And each one was highly anticipated.

Still after a hard winter, and it seems they were colder and harder when I was a child, we eagerly awaited spring.

The end of cold snowy days and no more dark gloomy overcast mornings. Now one could look forward to sunshine, tulips and of course robins and their friends singing a chorus of beautiful melodies. Their songs announced that yes, once again Spring has come and the beauty of color and light reappears. They were not only the bearer of songs, but proof of rebirth, new hope and life continuing after winter’s darkness.

So now when I do occasionally hear that courageous little song bird here in Beverly Hills, chirping its little heart out to announce, “Hey everyone it’s Spring,” I stop, listen and hold their song inside my heart until I am once again blessed to hear another.

The Ouch Monster Strikes at Night

It’s what I call a phantom ouch monster that attacks our bodies as we sleep.

Yes, there is such a thing because I just made it up.

So many friends have told me stories about waking up in the morning with parts of their body wracked with pain.

Why I ask? What did you do? Did you run a marathon in the middle of the night?

“The frightening thing is they were working fine when we went to bed,” they all say.

So what happened during the night?

The answer is always “nothing, I just went to bed. Then of course there was the usual bathroom trips, but I didn’t fall or bump into anything. So why does my foot feel like it’s broken?”

As one who has watched Sherlock Holmes ad nauseum I feel qualified to take on this mystery and find a hasty conclusion.

I have a theory. I think many great detectives, Holmes, Poirot, Scooby Do, Marple, quickly get a handle on the evidence and where it might be leading. Or is it that the writers already know the ending? I’m not quite certain, but I shall propose an idea that popped into my head while I was searching the cupboard for a box of Girl Scout cookies I may have overlooked.

There is obviously a bone fairy that comes in the night and twists and turns our bodies in unmanageable ways while we’re sleeping. When we awake, we suddenly face a knee that’s not working, an elbow aching, or any number of body parts screaming, “ouch.”

Why you ask would a bone fairy attack someone? And what the heck is a bone fairy?

Aha, this is the part you have to wait until the end of the story for Holmes to reveal…it’s actually the tooth fairy’s evil twin. I didn’t want to make you wait.

Yes, like Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West, related by birth, but oh so different.

There is no other explanation to these sudden body parts turning on us during the night.

Unless one chooses to believe the mattress is attacking.

I have awakened to painful toes, a shoulder than refuses to allow my arm to turn, and a neck that one can only call completely uncooperative.

Is it not bad enough that every day brings a new adventure in ouch-something-else-hurts land?

That the simple act of watching an athlete is depressing and trying to open a jar has become a task as Herculean as the Trojan Wars.

Where bending down to reach into a lower cupboard can seem like a guarantee of a shoulder injury. And forget leaning on a knee anymore!

I actually find it hard to believe I have friends that still go to spin classes and play pickleball.

Oh sure they have sore knees, but there is at least an explanation for their plight.

What can one say to justify an ace bandage on a knee when the cause was a pillow gone rogue?

I am aware of the whole twisting and turning thing at night, but to wake up unable to walk from it, this is new.

When young we literally twisted to music. We jump roped, ran races, roller skated on cement, and did cartwheels on the lawn.

Today if I unroll the toilet paper too fast I have to put a splint on my wrist.

So why does the ouch monster attack only at night while our guard is down?

While we are unaware that our bones or joints may be in imminent danger of being fodder for the evil Bone Fairy and no way of fighting back?

Can we protect ourselves from this evil and walk upright again?

I guess we could fool the fairy and sleep in a chair. Just like when you have knee or hip surgery and can’t get in or out of bed.

So when the Bone Fairy enters your bedroom at night to twist your knee into an unrecognizable part of your anatomy; surprise. You are comfortably ensconced in the living room La-Z- Boy, feet up and snoring happily away.

But can that evil ouch monster seek you out and hone in on a body part uncovered or unprotected?

I must admit that yes, it is true. While you sleep the forces of darkness are busily at work to create a vortex of pain to which you must awaken.

Suddenly there is an aching back, or unhappy elbow or pain that shoots down your hip into your lower leg.

Ah, the great challenge of a duel against an ouch monster attacking your unprotected body.

I have often asked myself why my body doesn’t fight back. Yell for help or scream a warning that your foe has entered the room.

At least you could awaken, jump out of bed and grab a heating pad or ice pack to defeat its evil purpose.

But alas, no. Your poor tired body sleeps away, totally unaware that when morning comes it will suffer the ravages of an enemy. One so sneaky it can enter during the night and attack without mercy.

Perhaps one day someone will invent a Bone Fairy trap. At night as you sleep it will awaken you at the first sign of something closing in on a bone or joint. Aha, and then you can do battle against this foe with no mercy!

Until that day we must do our best to stretch, ice and heat the bruises and pains from our invisible enemy.

Et tu Ouch Monster?

We Must Fight to Keep the Shopping Gene Alive

As the story goes men are hunters and gatherers and women are nurturers. Oh please don’t start with me about the whole woke stuff, my generation accepts the old ways. Sort of like the Jedi and the teachings of Yoda and Obi Wan. “Shopping do we must.”

It’s a well-known fact that men hunt, but it’s also true that women scavenge also. Just not in the forest. Our jungle is the mall.

We hunt for bargains in clothing and objects to buy that will bring us a sense of satisfaction.

I mean let’s be honest here, finding your favorite shoes 75% off is a rush that brings jubilation. There is even a certain shopping smile one can recognize on the face of a woman who comes home laden down with treasures after a day at the mall.

So the other day my friend Jan and I were shopping at a store in Beverly Hills. In a blissful state of excitement just to be in the midst of gorgeous clothing, handbags and of course shoes, we were shocked to find the number of salespeople far outnumbered customers.

Now it’s not that we need an army to shop alongside us of course. However, there is a certain shopping energy that women absorb when they are in hunting or as we know it shopping mode.

In language men can understand it’s as though there is one prize deer and every hunter in the forest is out to bag it. Yes, I know gross.

But that’s kind of the same energy a woman feels at the after Christmas sale at Bloomingdales as she seeks out the perfect sweater to go with her new slacks.

It’s not just that the shopping energy has waned but there is an innate fear amongst many of us that the stores and malls will completely fade away. I mean without Black Friday America would fall into instant decline.

Many malls have already closed and more and more people are shopping online.

You can shoot a canon through many stores these days and hit no one, and that is frightening. Oh the humanity!!!

Online shopping is fine for a certain purpose. I certainly wouldn’t badmouth Amazon. The truck pulls up to my door plenty, but when you are in a store and walking around you see things you can’t see online. A pair of shoes that call to your feet, a jacket with your name on it, a handbag you’ve been wanting for ages that is now on sale. The adrenalin rush to buy it before someone else spots your prize.

These things don’t happen online.

Online is a far more focused shopping experience. More targeted toward a specific item. Yes, that works fine for a special purchase, but sitting on your tush on the computer is not the same as being out in the forest of fabrics we desire. After all, how many women can sit on the computer all day and shop? Sure we’d love to, but let’s be realistic here.

Our shopping gene needs visual contact with the merchandise.

We need to spot it in the sea of blouses on the rack as we pass by. Then we must slowly creep up on it and eye it more closely. We touch the fabric and if it awakens our senses, we move through the sizes silently hoping ours will be there.

When we find what we are seeking, we head for the dressing room carrying our prey, occasionally to be stopped by a salesperson asking, would you care to try that on?

Lord talk about an obvious question. Of course, we do. Our eyes are glazed over with anticipation. Okay special exception here; if we are bloated, we would rather try it on at home after the water weight diminishes.

After we are led to the room, we slip the silky fabric onto our body and turn toward the mirror.

Our eyes are fixed on the fit. Perfect, just as we knew it would be.

We have done it. We’ve bagged a winner and there is still a mall filled with prey we can sleuth out and capture. Women have needs.

Yes, we are hunters and gatherers and we crave our shopping fix.

So what will happen if the stores close? How will we fulfill our need to satisfy the shopping gene? That desperate urge to possess fresh new items.

I worry it will disappear, like our tails. When they were no longer necessary evolution just eliminated them from our body structure.

I dread to think that when the malls and stores are gone our shopping gene will be lost to the ages.

Can you imagine years from now women reading about a shopping gene they once possessed, but has gone forever.

Two future teenagers look up from their computers and one texts the other?

What’s a shopping gene? Puzzled emoji.

The other texts back, I don’t know, look it up online. Annoyed emoji.

Shopping gene: A genetic predisposition by women to enter stores and seek out clothing shoes and other items. This was accomplished traveling in pairs, groups or alone. It was done in a place called a store, either standing alone or in a mall.

She texts back what’s a mall? Question mark emoji.

Look it up I’m on reels here. Annoyed emoji annoyed emoji.

A mall: a place where people shopped that contained stores and restaurants.

She texts…that sounds cool, why don’t we have them anymore? Smiling emoji.

No one cares, we don’t shop now, we just take what is sent to us. It works fine. Are you complaining? Scary emoji.

No, no I’m fine with it, I have no desire to drag around in stores looking for stuff to buy. Laughing emoji.

Good then let’s get back to our computer staring. Who cares about ancient history? Disgusted emoji.

Wow, the other one texts. Did you know that America was a country that used to have restaurants where you could eat inside? Surprised emoji.

No but that would be kind of awful because you’d have to actually sit and talk to people face to face. Yucky emoji.

I know, boy those people were primitive! Shocked emoji.

LOLOL emoji sent back.

And that my fellow mall seekers is how the shopping gene will disappear. So girls it’s imperative we shop as much as possible to avoid losing vital parts of us we desperately need.

However, if I could just do something about losing that chocolate-craving gene I’d be so fine with that. Sad emoji. Fat emoji.

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

Someone asked the other day if I exercise at all. I indignantly responded that it depends on what type of exercise one means?

I must admit my exercise is age related. In other words, appropriate for someone in their laugh laugh, golden years to be doing.

They looked at me quizzically and I said I suppose one could say that yes, I actually get a great deal of exercise. Just not the same as one might be doing in their forties.

For example, when young you might do a series of yoga poses like cobra, lotus, downward dog, happy baby, etc. All very effective and good for the body and soul. Whereas I might do another type of yoga pose like say snoring dog, where I fall asleep on the floor while watching television with one leg up on the ottoman and the other on the floor. Good for the inner thigh muscles.

Or instead of cobra pose I might fall on my stomach and reach for my phone for an hour while I try to slither forward to retrieve it. I call that one the Apple worm slide pose. Same idea just a different name, but great for stretching.

Of course, the most exercise I get each day is moving the heating pad from one part of my body to another. You’d be shocked at how much exercise is entailed in picking up the heating pad and adjusting and shifting it into a new position. Wait, shouldn’t walking to the wall to plug it in count for something? And how about all the steps to take the heatable neck roll to the microwave? And the balance it takes to keep it around your neck?

I am very well aware of movement and I must say I get plenty each day.

First there is the number of steps to take my meds in a timely fashion. Each glass of water I ingest with my pills equals at least three trips to the bathroom. All cardio is welcome here.

I counted and most of my steps are a result of bathroom trips and I also count the ones to the bathroom during the night. I’m just not sure if the ones after midnight should count in the previous day or current day’s step total.

There is a great deal of hand exercise that goes on each day punching the phone to make doctor appointments. Keeps your fingers agile. Sometimes it might take as many as four or five calls to get through to a human being.

I am adamant that putting on spanks should be counted as weight training.  Does anyone have any idea how much muscle it takes to pull those damn things over your hips? Who needs dumbbells when you’re lifting your whole lower body weight?

I don’t discount how much energy is expelled when bringing in the grocery bags from Amazon and putting the food away. I refer to that particular exercise as the Amazon cardio/muscle building combination.

Does it count as resistance training if you stop yourself from eating a second sleeve of Oreos?

Recently I have been the recipient of comments from numerous people that my eyelids look anorexic and very wrinkled.

This is obviously the result of constantly closing them to avoid watching politicians when they appear on the news. I do also count bending and ducking their constant bullcrap whenever they speak for those newly lost inches on my waistline.

I am always working my upper torso by what I call the no-no-no workout. This entails raising my arms to tear my hair out over the crazy lies that come out of Washington. Who says politics aren’t healthy?

A great Cardio workout is easily accomplished just trying to find a salesperson in a mall. I only spend half the time traveling from store to store these days, because just walking through Macys to find some help can add up to a thousand steps.

One must not forget the health advantages to preparing meals. I mean walking to the freezer, removing the Lean Cuisine, walking it to the microwave, waiting for it to cook, placing it on a plate, opening a drawer to take out a fork and then walking into the dining room can provide all the steps you need in a day. I’m tired just thinking of it.

I’m not certain, but I believe it’s fair to count head shakes when my daughter asks me if I’m getting enough exercise.

The up and down movement of yes, I am, counts for something, I think. I mean it helps the back and neck muscles, right?

There are some lesser exercises and after all each step counts.

Things like answering the door for the cleaning service.

Never valeting my car in LA, which I count as quite a commitment to my fitness regime.

Dressing and undressing for every MRI, CT Scan, X Ray and doctor’s appointment surely must increase that activity level.

I’m not sure; does moving your eyes back and forth when you read a book count as facial exercise?

Many of my friends tell me they get great upper body breathing exercise from screaming at their husbands to get up and get their own damn diet coke out of the fridge.

There have been many studies proving it’s easier for Baby Boomers to get back into shape than today’s children to get into it. This is due to muscle memory from our active childhood lifestyle.

This sounds great in theory, but one must keep in mind at our age one cannot be certain our muscles still remember any better than we do.

Oh yes, I know how important it is to move your body each day so I make a conscious effort. There is of course a problem when you are intent on getting in as many steps as possible, and your body is intent on stopping you from doing just that.

But I have learned that with a constant supply of ice packs, heating pads and Motrin on hand, I shall prevail.

So take that Gluteus Maximus because Baby Boomers never quit!

Hmmm, how many calories do you think I just burned typing this blog?

Can You Cut the Line at the Pearly Gates?

Many religions include after death scenarios in their tenets. I’d think if one got to the pearly gates and there were lines with signs, most people today would definitely head for the enter heaven line.

I mean let’s just say there were big screen televisions at the gates portraying scenes of earth. While waiting in line you were watching what’s going on below as you pondered where you might want to spend the next portion of your soul’s existence.

At first you may be adamant you want to return to earth.

It may sound appealing, especially if you’ve been a good person and you’re moving up the ladder.

Sort of like spending your life caring for the sick and then you learn because of your good deeds on earth you have the option of returning looking like Heidi Klum with a metabolism faster than Mario Andretti.

Some believe it’s a choice to come back or move on to whatever is available for souls.

Of course this got me to thinking about whether or not most people today would return, or stay the heck away from all this craziness.

I can’t say for certain what happens or where we go after we have shuffled off this mortal coil as the Bard so eloquently wrote, but I’d have to believe the state of earth would impact anyone’s decision.  

But is this actually the reason for current world problems?

Can you blame spirits for not wanting to return and is that a factor in the insanity we are dealing with?

If good people are all in the line that says heaven to your right and Hamas is in the line that says, return to earth to keep trying to be a human, maybe that’s an issue here.

After all terrorists aren’t known for allowing positive information into their brains. If that’s the case evil terrorists may have to keep being reborn to learn their lessons and stop repeating horrific behavior.

So if all the good people are in the line that says Heavenly condos this way, beachfront or city views form a line here, and all the evil souls are shoved over to the no-way- you’ve-got-a-long-way-to-go line, what does that say about the element that’s returning to earth? One might even assume it’s a valid explanation for why every way we turn today we see some pretty scary stuff.

I mean when you have to lock up toothpaste that’s pretty sad.

Excuse me, could someone unlock the Colgate please? And while they’re at it could they also grab me a Revlon eyeliner?

I guess unless you have the entire day to wait around the drug store, securing a Snickers bar would be out of the question.

So if I’m in line and have my choice of a condo overlooking the Adriatic sea, being able to eat anything I want and not gain weight and have a chocolate fountain running 24 hours a day. Or returning to a crime ridden insane asylum with palm trees like California, mouthwash locked up, smash and grabs and politicians who have lower IQs than the temperature in Buffalo, New York in the middle of January, how long do you think I’d have to ponder that one?

And that could be the problem in a nutshell, excuse the pun. If good people are opting for heaven and all the crazies and evildoers have to come back and keep repeating life until they get it right, how can we expect any balance on earth?

Oh sure there are still beautiful places here, but if we do come back we don’t know we did anyway so no wonder the line for chilling in heaven is getting larger every day.

Especially if you know the people you love will only be a few doors away and you can sleep at night without an alarm, isn’t the choice rather obvious?

I’m not sure that anyone is up at the gates doing a head count, but I’m willing to bet if they did, they would see the numbers are rising for those who opt for heaven. Therefore, the amount of undesirables who are dropping back to earth are higher than the number of pounds Hollywood is shedding on Ozempic.

Aging highlights the ironies of life. As we get older we see things far more clearly, especially after cataract surgery.

That is a sad state of affairs because at a time when one feels entitled to peace and harmony after a lifetime of challenges and struggles, we are faced with a heightened awareness of the grasp evil has taken on the world.

As a Baby Boomer, and how sad when that term is retired, most of us now embrace tranquility and seek the goodness in human nature. Yet most of my friends admit they can no longer even watch the news.

In a world where experience should have exposed lines never to be crossed, people are stepping further and further over them each day. Where optimism is becoming as scarce as a politician who can’t even spell morality yet alone exhibit any. Where the desire for peace has become as elusive as salespeople in retail stores why choose this chaos over blissful peace?

It’s no wonder those lines in heaven are filling up with hoards of souls saying, “No thanks I did my time on planet earth and please make sure my condo has no phone or Internet. Ignorance is a great reward after a lifetime of awareness.”   

How to Live Without Guilt?

How To Live Without Guilt?

The other day as I was erasing old emails and clearing more room on my iphone memory, I thought about how easy it was just to sweep away the past. With a simple swipe of my finger old emails, phone calls and messages disappeared into the ether to be lost forever in some nether world of clouds. To remain forever somewhere with no permanent way to simply clear out the storage or turn off the whole damn computer.

Suddenly I realized how much better life would be if we could simply swipe left and erase the memories that fill our minds with sad and unresolved messages from the past.

Experts (whoever they are) claim that a major portion of our decisions in life are actually made by our subconscious mind.

In other words, we think we are making our choices, but surprise, surprise we’re not.

That little container of all hurts and negativity from the past has stored away all the memories guaranteed to sabotage even our most diligent efforts to cast off the bad.

As long as that storage memory is the keeper of such power we can only make what we believe are our conscious decisions. But are they?  Did we really choose that chocolate ice cream or did the choice come from somewhere deep inside the recesses of our mind. Selected for us from a childhood trauma in second grade when there was only vanilla left, but you wanted the chocolate and now you’re compensating and…

Wow that’s a pretty scary scenario I’d say. It kind of tells me that no choice is ever without some link to the then.

In our memory bank the storage is never full and we can’t find a way to empty out the old clutter and input new and fresh ideas. So even if our attitudes and our thought processes have evolved, the little storage bank in our brain has a strangle hold on our creative minds. Too deep?

Okay let’s make this a whole lot easier for those of us who haven’t had our morning coffee yet, that sucker called the unconscious mind is out to get us and we really have no way to fight the bugger off.

Clear now? Yep, and seems even more scary after our coffee.

Our brains are truly only computers that begin accumulating information when we are born. At least that’s the popular notion. I know there are others that may disagree, but for our purposes I’m going with the computer thing here.

So whatever is inputted into our brains goes immediately to a storage locker titled our subconscious that locks it away and it alone possesses the key.

Thus we simply go through life making choices based on information we believe we can clearly see and know. Wrong, it’s that evil sabotaging sucker up there in our brains, dancing around a fire with a key that gives it control.

So how do we defeat the little bastard? It’s not easy I can tell you as someone who has gone more rounds with my subconscious than Ali or Fraser.

So many times in the past I’ve believed decisions I’d made were perfectly rational and well founded. Think again.

At the end of the day a part of me had reverted back to old patterns I thought had long been forgotten and eliminated from my psyche.

So what the hell can any of us do to change the old and bring only the new forward?

Some experts say we can reprogram our mind through deep meditation or a voice talking to us while we’re sleeping.

My subconscious just laughed. No, I actually heard it daring me to even try.

Wow this is pretty heavy so let’s lighten it up. Disguise it as advice which my you-know-who won’t pay any attention to anyway.

I have some suggestions for eliminating the power our subconscious mind wields over us.

One: eat more chocolate. I believe we’re all aware, especially chocoholics that a giant dose of cocoa beans will completely take our brains into another world. Coat them with a haze rendering them weak and spaced out. Thus, the subconscious will be buried under a sea of Oreo cookie residue and unable to exert any power.

Second: get into a food coma. I highly recommend this be done at Italian restaurants. I have nothing against Asian, Mexican, Greek or any other ethnic offering, but hey let’s remember our history here. A couple of bowls of pasta and a slice of pizza and Brutus was all about the knife in Caesar’s back.

A good Italian food coma does wonders to cloud our brains. Besides even the worst pizza is better than any other food on earth. So while that thing in our heads is sleeping it off we have the power to make our own choices.

Trick it: Yes, that’s what I said. Trick your unconscious mind into thinking it’s making the decision, but use reverse psychology.

For example, a jerk asks you out on a date. He’s the same type of slimeball you’ve always been attracted to until it’s too late. So, this time you say out loud “he’s such a saint.”

Phone a friend and sing his praises about the work he’s done with orphans in Africa and how kind and thoughtful he is. Your saboteur will be listening carefully to this conversation and the very fact he is everything you have never been attracted to will make him extremely desirable to the little evil bully in your head. So if you convince your brain he is perfect, your mind will instantly reject him on all levels and you will saved from yet another bad choice. Brilliant huh?

But why do we have to go to such lengths to trick ourselves into making smart choices? Who instilled us with the bad habits we have embraced?

Damned if I know. Who am I Freud?  I mean it doesn’t take much to see if a guy’s a jerk, yet our brains seem to overlook the obvious. Or do they?

Are we aware we are actually making bad decisions? Don’t we know that when we’re on a diet that double chocolate brownies are not allowed, but we stuff them into our mouths anyway?

So why do we give up control to you-know-who, he who shall not be named?

I say it’s because it’s easier than fighting.

Yep, just give in. Then you can just blame that evil little monster in your mind for all your bad choices.

Otherwise, we’d have to blame ourselves and that guilt would force us to make more bad decisions.

Perhaps the subconscious mind is simply a great deal stronger than us, especially as we age. Seriously how would you fare in a tug of war right now without help from Conan the Barbarian?

I’d be mud bound in two seconds.

Your brain has given you a great excuse to make stupid choices. I say accept the gift and be grateful! Go ahead, embrace your subconscious, love the sabotage and shovel that Godiva in with no guilt. After all you’re not responsible. It’s you-know-who.

Sorry, I Don’t Recall Does the Glove Fit?

I haven’t had this much fun watching a courtroom happening since the OJ. Trial. I cannot take my eyes off the trial in Georgia with the DA and her boyfriend. It has reminded me how slippery lawyers can be. I know of course no one can ever be Perry Mason. I’m not foolish enough to believe that anyone like Perry actually could exist, but not since I heard the words “if it doesn’t fit you must acquit” have I so enjoyed watching slimy lawyers at work.

Of all the take aways so far, my favorite is how many times one of the lawyer witnesses has spoken the words, I don’t recall. He also relied on the all-time favorite “Could you repeat the question?”

I have decided that, “I don’t recall,” even when he is faced with actual written documents that contradict his testimony, proves this guy must have developed dementia.

Can you imagine how great it would be if we could use the words, “I don’t recall” every day in real life?

Although I think this lawyer has probably used up all the “I don’t recalls” available to humans on the planet, I still feel there may be a few more hanging about. You might find a few lying around a federal court building.

So just to be clear “I don’t recall” is actually another way of saying “I’m lying, but I don’t want to be charged with perjury.” Or in everyday lawyer speak, “I lie like a rug.”

So how can we all make use of these words to our advantage in everyday life?

Let’s say that someone asks you, how do you like my new hairdo? You see that it actually looks like they just stuck their head into a blender, but don’t want to hurt them.

“Can you repeat the question?”

“Do you like my new haircut?”

“I don’t recall your old haircut.”

“It was longer and pulled back.”

“I don’t recall.”

“I just want to know if you like it.”

“I’m sorry, can you please repeat the question?”

“My hair, is it better than my old style?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Oh just forget it!”

They may be frustrated with you, but at least you didn’t have to lie. 

Or just perhaps if we tried it on a policeman who just pulled you over.

“Do you know how fast you were driving?”

“I’m sorry, Officer, I don’t recall.”

“You don’t know you were driving twenty miles over the speed limit?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“Do you even look at your speedometer?”

“I don’t recall.”
“Recall what?”

“Recall how fast I was driving.”

“I asked you if you looked at your speedometer.”

“Could you please repeat the question, Officer?”

“Which question?”

“How fast I was driving.”

“So you knew you were speeding, but don’t recall how fast you were going?”

“I’m sorry could you repeat your original question?”

“Which question?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Are you on any medication?”

“I don’t recall, Officer.”

“You don’t recall taking drugs this morning?”

“What was the question?”

“This is the name of a psychiatrist here in the city we work with. Maybe you should go and see him.”

“See him about what?”

“Your memory lapses.”

“I don’t recall any memory lapses. Did I forget something?”

“Drive slower or next time I’ll give you a ticket.”

‘Is that why you stopped me, Officer?”

“I don’t recall. Now drive safely.”

I think I’m on a roll and discovered something great here. 

I’m going to try it on the next man I date that keeps bugging me after I move on.

“Hello, is this Norma. When did you change your phone number?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I had to call your friend to get the new number. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“I was asking when you changed your number.”

“I don’t recall that. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I tried calling the old one and a recording came on.”

“Could you repeat that, please?”

“I called the old number you changed.”

“I don’t recall.”

“Recall what?” He asked.

“My old number.”

I’m hearing confusion in his voice now. It’s working.

“I didn’t ask you about your old number.”

“Well, could you repeat the question?”

“I was asking why you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“That you changed your number?”

“I did, I’m sorry I don’t recall.”

“Recall the number or that I asked you?”

“Oh my, you’re confusing me. Could you repeat the question again?”

His voice is getting louder now. 

“I’m asking why you never told me you changed your number.”

“I said I don’t recall.”

“Recall what?” He was shouting now,

“What you were asking me. Maybe you should repeat the question.”

“Maybe I should just lose both your numbers, the old one and the new one. Would you like that?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“Maybe you’d prefer if I never called you again. Maybe that’s why you never gave me your new number.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall, but if you’re going to shout at me please lose my number.”

Slam.

Well if he’s that touchy I’m glad I didn’t give him my number. 

Gosh, I hope he’s the one I don’t like and not the guy I do.

Oops, I can’t seem to recall. Dang!

I’m Innocent I swear it; You’ll Thank Me Later

I’m writing this blog from my jail cell in Beverly Hills. I’m not complaining, the service is great and the food is from five-star restaurants. Even the police in BH understand that it’s all about fine dining. They also provide Ugg slippers and the silkiest Frette sheets in here.

I think everyone should get arrested in Beverly Hills. It’s better than most people live.

But as usual I digress. By now you’re all wondering what I did to deserve all this opulence.

Well, you see it was actually all very innocent, and I still don’t know why they’re making such a fuss.

Apparently, something about me being made an example or some such tripe. But I’m guiltless and justified, and I know that everyone on a jury will absolutely see things my way. I believe they’ll not only set me free, but award me a medal to boot!

It all started the other night at three in the morning. I was once again peacefully sleeping after my two-thirty a.m. bathroom run when it began.

I knew immediately when I heard the sound there was going to be trouble. I also knew from experience there was no denying I’d have to do something quickly before all hell broke loose.

I pulled the blankets aside and walked to the closet where I keep my weapon and then crept very slowly.

I had to be stealth because for some reason it likes to toy with its victims.

I waited. Chirp…a few minutes went by and again, chirp. Then it began coming faster. Now the chirps were louder and a minute apart.

Chirp, chirp. Defying me, goading me into a fight. Another few minutes of this torture and I would lose my mind and jump out a window.

The offender was smirking knowing it had the edge against this short person now looking up at its evil face.

Ha ha it thought. You can do nothing, nothing to stop me now.

I held the broom handle firmly and lifted it over my head.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp” it barked defiantly.

I aimed and with all my strength I banged it.

Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp it responded. Laughing that evil laugh it then started chirping faster and faster.

I lifted my weapon again and started to beat it until the battery flew out and it was silent. Michael Jackson must have written Beat It while he was killing a smoke alarm.  

I waited, nothing. All was quiet. Still attached to the ceiling bent and broken I

I picked up the battery and gave my nemesis the proverbial na na na na na.

Then after calming down with a few mediation breaths, I peacefully fell back asleep.

I knew I had to get someone to replace its vile battery, and I honestly planned to do it in the morning, but before I could even get my make up on, the bell rang.

“Who is it?”

“First Alarm. We’re here to see you about casualty 7360042.”

“Huh?”

“We need to see you immediately about 7360042.”

“Is this those television guys who play pranks on people?”

“No. Madam. We’re from First Alarm and we need to see you. Please open the door and let us in. We believe we have a victim in there.”

“A victim?”

“Yes, number 7360042.”

I dialed the Beverly Hills police and told them someone was trying to break into my place.

“Just a minute,” I called out. “I’m not dressed.”

“Well please hurry, we may still be able to save it.”

“Okey, dokey, sure,” I answered.

The police were still on the phone with me and asked if the robber had entered yet.

“No, they are still outside the door and I’m sure they are insane.”

“The officers are pulling up now, they’ll be in shortly. Just stay on the phone with me.”

I heard the door open and footsteps in the hall. There was talking and then I suddenly heard a knock at the door.

Beverly Hills police, please open the door.

It’s so nice that they said please.

So anyway, I opened the door and the policeman said, “I understand there is a victim in here, may we look around?”

“Huh?”

“Is there a dead body in here?”

“Of course not, look around,” I stammered.

The guy from First Alarm walked into the hall and pointed at the ceiling. “There, Officer, there it is, number 7360042.”

“Are you going to press charges?” the Officer asked.

“Absolutely, I want this murderer arrested. Do you understand this alarm could save your life? And this is how you reward its caring, comforting nature?” He asked me.

“Or it could drive me into a psycho ward,” I countered.

The policeman shrugged and placed the cuffs on me. By the way those bracelets hurt and they are definitely not from Cartier.

I went into a state of shock and didn’t recover until they put me in front of a camera for a mug shot. I begged to at least put on some lipstick after they refused my glam squad request.

They did let me fix up a bit because after all this is Beverly Hills and we’re civilized here.

So now I’m sitting in the cell watching my flat screen TV and waiting for my unbelievably expensive Beverly Hills lawyer to bail me out.

I see him enter and a policeman open the door.

“What the hell?” he asks smiling broadly.

“I’m so happy I amuse you, but I know these people are crazy. It’s a damn smoke alarm,” I whimpered.

“I think I can make it go away. There is a new law that protects you from nuisances, including annoying chirping in your home. I’ll use that and have you out soon. Although you look pretty cozy in here.”

Ten minutes later he was back and the policeman let me out of the cell.

I will definitely miss those Frette sheets.

I was shocked when I left the station and there was a crowd outside carrying signs.

CHIRP and DIE. Free the Victims of First Alarm. Someone had Beat It playing on their iphone. Kill the beast! Norma for Governor. Someone held a newspaper headline reading Newsom Claims Smoke Alarm Chirping Speeds Hair Growth.

People were snapping pictures and I was grateful I’d worn black and applied lipstick.

So now I’m at the Beverly Hills City Council meeting. Can you believe this? They are giving me the key to the City.

I guess most of them have had the same experience with that annoying thing and that’s why they passed the new law.

It’s called the anti-chirp amendment and I understand Congress is thinking of enacting it nationally. Lord knows those Bozos have nothing else to do.

So anyway, now I’m some kind of local hero. Geez, all I did was smack the life out of an evil smoke alarm designed to run out of battery power after midnight.

I guess it’s in its DNA.

But I feel vindicated because First Alarm now has a new product that has a ten-year battery. At least I won’t have to hear the damn chirping for another ten years. But don’t worry, I’ve got my broom ready just in case.

Tripping The Light Not So Fantastic

I imagine we all remember how slowly time passed when we were young. It always seemed like summer vacation was a lifetime away.

I also remember how we all rushed through our lives. We couldn’t wait to turn sixteen so we could drive, or twenty-one so we could drink.

As we grew older we thought, wow, pretty soon I’ll get a senior discount.

How stupid do I feel? If I knew then what I know now, I’d say, screw the driver’s license I’m good just walking.

And to be excited about a senior discount? What the hell? Were the drugs we did in the sixties finally kicking in?

In our rush to speed through life and get to the next milestone faster than an LA blond chases a rich, old fool, we forgot one important thing…aging is a bitch!

We also were too foolish to realize that the road we hurried to travel was one way and return tickets don’t exist.

About getting older there is something upon which we can all agree…it sucks.

My life now is made up of doctor’s appointments, remortgaging the house to afford trips to the dentist, and an inability to live without an ice pack or heating pad attached somewhere to my body.

I travel frequently now. Only my trips aren’t to Europe, Asia or Bora Bora. They are trips over the rug, the curb, or the sidewalk that lifted up from a tree root. Hard to love trees after you kiss the pavement at twenty miles an hour.

I can even go to bed at night and wake up with a pain somewhere I didn’t possess the night before. It’s like the tooth fairy has been replaced by the pain fairy.

I find myself tripping and not in the way Timothy Leary proposed, but over any object that’s within two inches of my feet.

I swear sometimes I have seen a rug actually move closer to get under my foot and send me flying.

Someone should invent trip-free shoes or slippers that yell a warning when they see an object coming to get in our way. Now there’s a Nobel Prize I could sanction.

Speaking of trips, the bathroom is a place I frequent often at night without the need for a passport. Good luck getting back to sleep again. My bladder used to be the size of a lentil now it’s shrunken to a raisin.

Don’t for one minute think I’m alone in this clumsiness convention here. I’m always receiving calls from friends, and the minute I hear their voices I know immediately.

I start the conversation with, “Okay so where did you fall?”

If you think for one minute that after you heal there won’t be another adventure in pain awaiting you, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. If you can get across it these days.

Black ice, the enemy of the aging is the reason people move to Florida and Arizona. Even people who are old and senile are smart enough to know not to move to California for warmer weather. The danger of catching stupidity and insanity in this state can be fatal.

So, life has pretty much become, okay, on to the next thing. Or my favorite mantra, this too shall pass.

Of course, I haven’t even mentioned the really bad stuff that’s harder to fix than using ice packs or heating pads. There’s that to contend with as well.

So you’re probably thinking, “I know people who are old and live amazing and active lives.” That’s so rare Netflix does specials on them. Did you notice they all seem to live in clusters in a place that probably has no throw rugs, black ice or uplifted curbs.

I’m certain everyone over the age of sixty-five has a list of places they’ve fallen and every doctor or dentist they frequent is on speed dial on their phone.

My new favorite is going to lunch with friends. While we once used to actually peruse the menu for our favorite dishes, we now check for foods we are allowed to eat.

A typical friend’s lunch these days sounds like this…

“Oh I love their ravioli, but last time I ate it I was sick for a week.”

“I know, it gives me terrible heartburn. I’ll just have a salad.”

“I can’t eat salad, the ruffage gets to me.”

“They say you shouldn’t eat certain vegetables if you have acid reflux.”

“No green pepper please. I’ll be burping it for days.”

“I can’t live without my Tums. They literally save me.”

“Let’s order quickly cause if it gets too late I can’t eat a complete meal.”

“Waiter, can you please ask them to go easy on the garlic and make the marinara sauce with cream? Otherwise it’s too acidic.”

“I’ll just have half an order of the spaghetti please. If I eat too much, I can’t sleep all night and easy on the salt, I bloat.”

‘I was going to have a face lift but I decided to have my bladder lifted instead.”

“You’re smart to do that. Who can handle wearing those diapers?”

“Oh, and waiter, be careful not to trip over my cane, I’m still recovering from a fall.”

Lunch nowadays sounds more like a medical convention than a meal.

Then there’s the balance issue. I used to have such great balance that seals with balls on their nose envied me. Now I have to hold onto walls when I’m attempting to exercise.

Yet on a positive note, I do have friends who stay active especially the ones I call the pickleball posse. They seem to be able to do the things so many of us only dream of doing now.

Forget pickleball, I’m thrilled if I can just eat a pickle without heartburn.

Walking downstairs used to take a minute, but now it takes half the day. Instead of one foot after another, it’s one foot then put the other foot on the same step and then move on to the next one.

And heaven forbid there is no railing.

I have so many bars in my shower and tub now it looks like saloon row in Las Vegas after dark.

I guess if we weren’t all talking about our aches and pains we’d have to discuss the horrible things we now call reality. So maybe a fall or two is worth avoiding the bad trip that is the news today. Let’s face it, hanging in there is still the real goal.

I guess being a klutz is a good thing after all. It does prove we’re still here and kicking. Well maybe not kicking…

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

So, the latest thing on Instagram and Reels is the abundance of cleaning experts or as they are called now, influencers.

There must be thousands of them talking about how to empty your refrigerator or make room under the sink for the millions of products you need.

Here’s one I love; take the stuff off the shelves of your refrigerator door that are spoiled or you aren’t using anymore.

Let’s examine this piece of sage advice.

I’ll try to simplfy this confusing element of cleaning expertise. On the refrigerator door there are shelves with bunches of bottles, cans and packs of food stuff. The expert never said the products were nonfood. In other words, beauty products, cold creams or dead raccoons.

So if one opens a jar of mustard and the top looks like a green fur coat, I’m guessing she’s advising you to throw it out.

Or if there is a jar of pickle relish from 1999 one might want to reexamine placing it back on a shelf. Wow I never would have thought of that. Genius. Has someone nominated this chick for the Nobel Prize yet?

One cleaning influencer had 291,546 likes showing her cleaning the shower with a brush.

Well slap my forehead and call me stupid. I always thought you were supposed to lick the dirt off the floor. Thank goodness I saw this and know I need a brush. I bet my shower will be much cleaner now.

How stupid are people? I can’t believe 291,546 people bothered to like this reel. I’m excited if 500 people read my blog.

Maybe I’m doing this all wrong. I should be including the obvious in every one of my blogs. Let’s see.

My advice for this post is when it’s twenty degrees below zero outside you should definitely wear a coat.

I’ll bet my readership triples by just offering genius tidbits like that one.

Or can you imagine how many people would read my blog if I actually wrote, if your hair is so dirty you can’t get a brush through, it’s time to wash it and probably shampoo twice.

I’d probably break the Internet with that piece of wisdom.

One expert had 857,302 likes on her post about using racks to dry clothes in the laundry room.

Well, that changed my life. I thought you just throw everything on the floor helter skelter and wait for it to dry. Wow, what a revelation.

I do have to admit I have seen some products on these posts I wasn’t aware existed, but I’m too lazy to buy them anyway so no matter. Here’s a great hint. Stop cluttering your house with cleaning crap you’ll eventually wind up throwing away.

I mean why don’t these influencers or experts or whatever they are offer important cleaning advice?

Like if if there’s so much mold on your tomatoes they’ve turned back to green, maybe you should toss them. 

Or after you get out of the shower and the floor is wet, step on a towel and move it across the floor carefully with one foot, Viola clean!

Or if you run out of room in the pantry throw away the stuff from ten years ago. I find that’s the best way to make more room.

Or if there are two packages of Oreos in the microwave, which I use for storage, I usually just finish shoveling in the one with the least cookies. Or if you don’t want to eat them, and of course that boggles the mind since I can’t imagine not wanting an Oreo, combine them into one bag.  Genius stuff, right?

Also, if you have Ready Whip cans on the refrigerator door and you’re not having pumpkin pie, just squirt it directly into your mouth and then throw away the can. There you go! More shelf room just like that. No muss, no fuss and yummy to boot.

Damn, I bet I’d get millions of likes on my cleaning and food tips.

Here’s one of my favorites: eat standing up and all the calories will drop right to your feet.

Did I not tell you I’m a natural. Forget the blog, I’m going to start giving out advice and I’ll become the number one influencer.

If a sponge has stuff crawling on it perhaps it’s time to replace it for a clean one. Sage advice indeed is it not?

Or to keep your floors clean after you walk through a construction site and your boots are caked with mud, take them off outside the house.

When I walk into someone’s home and everything is in perfect order, I get an attack of PTSD. This is because my mother wrapped her white kitchen cupboards in Saran Wrap every week to keep them clean.

Once a date came over, walked into the kitchen and asked, “Wow, did you just move in, the cupboards are still wrapped?”
“No,” I said. “My mother likes to keep them from getting dirty.”

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

So forgive me if a house that looks like no one lives there scares me a bit.

It seems to me that as far as all cleaning influencers are concerned baking soda, vinegar and some lemon juice can cure all life’s ills. silly me I thought it was chocolate.

I’ll leave you with one great piece of advice I learned the hard way. If your refrigerator smells like a cow died, your milk is probably spoiled.

So as all the influencers say, likes are appreciated and more great tips to come.

Peace Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll and a Piece of Apple Pie

Peace Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll and a

Piece of Apple Pie

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;…William Wordsworth

I watched a news report on AI, (Artificial Intelligence) the other day and ran for a bag of Oreos.

I always assumed artificial intelligence was how one described Congress, but apparently it isn’t. It’s actually really smart so boy was I off by miles.

Since I’m determined to reverse the tone for this piece and turn it into a happier read, I’m struggling to find a way to help myself and others achieve a sense of peace and acceptance over those things in life over which we have no control.

I’m no expert on how to live a great life, but I imagine there are some obvious problems we might tackle head on before the robot armies attack.

We need to reject those decisions that are made when we are, so to speak, out of the room and into which we have no input.

This whole AI and robot thing is kind of scarier than I thought it would be even when HAL took over the ship in 2001: A Space Odyssey. I always thought robots would be fun and helpful like my favorite of all time, Beep Beep Rosie. Boy could she swing a vacuum cleaner.

How do we cope and why is it important we must?

Well on a human level and to add some humor to this discussion, we need to cope because otherwise I’ll be five hundred pounds and the bakeries will run out of cookies and the pizza joints cheese.

I don’t give a damn about calories at all when I can justify eating day or night to mask fear.

Yes, I know I’m only adding to my problems, but one isn’t as bad as the other so I’ll keep eating for now.

Some people exhibit an innate ability to “deal” with crap life throws at us.

I’m not talking only about death, but the numerous other awful challenges we face as humans each day.

Somehow it seems life had more balance when we were younger. Although it’s true we lived through our share of craziness and horror. Viet Nam, the Chicago ’68 convention, cities burning,  Kent State, riots, new Coke, Yoko Ono and polyester; yet life seemed more balanced.

There were more parties, more laughter, more gatherings with family and friends back before the gloomy times.

When bad left, good came until our next go round with the dark forces.

Yet today it seems we must actively seek out ways to restore the balance. That negativity is winning the day.

Finding joy is like seeking out a truffle in the midst of a thousand pigs, when it used to seem more plentiful and easily available. Is it the times and is joy more elusive today?

So how do we restore order to the universe without bothering Yoda?

How do we awaken and dismiss the bad news, the insanity and have a good day despite turmoil?

I ask friends and it seems the answers are the same. Stop watching the news, find a new hobby, visit your grandchildren, volunteer, stop watching the news, visit your grandchildren, see a concert, take a trip and yes, see the grandchildren.

But we all know our children and grandkids have their own lives. We need to find a way to fill our days with more joy, less time to dredge up memories and ways to feel happy and upbeat.

Are you a lousy painter? Good, take up painting. Ever think about pottery? Why not? Make a vase to keep some beautiful flowers in and grow them yourself. If it’s lopsided who cares? Say it was intentional.

Swim, play bridge, canasta, maj jong, and go to classes at your local library.

I would love to apply for my dream job of shusher in the Sistine Chapel, where you only have to work every twenty minutes, but I doubt they’ll let a Jewish woman do that job.

We need to laugh more, be together more, have more tea parties, those little sandwiches and cakes are the best thing the British ever invented.

More than anything we need to love.

Life is a challenge today, at least as I see it. It’s a concerted effort to find harmony through tranquil endeavors.

To eliminate stress by avoiding stressful situations and a desire to restore peace, love and rock n roll to the world.

We could plan a Woodstock for the Baby Boomers and hear any bands still alive play?  We could pass out hearing aids, or take them off, and paint old VW vans. We’d wear flowers in our thinning hair and talk about how Gerry Rubin died a Republican and Abbie Hoffman killed himself. And Tom Hayden suffered a worse fate… he married Jane Fonda.

I guess it doesn’t matter how we achieve Nirvana as long as we do. And perhaps it’s not the achieving that will do the trick, but the actual seeking we need.

William Wordswoth wrote… “the world is too much with us”…I have never agreed more.

Now we must decide what life we want for ourselves. What world we wish to exist within. We have allowed others to choose for us and create a universe we’d rather not accept. They bully us into living within the walls of their insane reality. Even an artificial one.

Sure we all love our computers, and there are new technologies that are super cool, but this AI and robot thing, I don’t know…

We need to make the universe a better place ourselves, because I’m here to tell you the people we’re allowing to run this world are doing a piss poor job.

Gut the house and rebuild and I guarantee future generations will thank us. Send AI marching into oblivion and honor humanity and its gifts.

Excuse me, I have an apple pie in the oven and I’m churning the ice cream to go with it. Let’s see AI roll out the perfect pie crust.

Some Promises Kept. But Where is My Beep Beep Rosie?

Promises Promises! Where is my Beep Beep Rosie?

If anyone has tried the new wonder called Virtual Reality you will feel as cheated as I do.

Where was our virtual reality when we were young?

Okay, I admit childhood today requires the ability to escape the craziness, but hey, we did too when we were teens. But I guess we should be grateful that we have our grandchildren to guide us through this strange new world.

So how does it feel?

Well for those of you who haven’t been fortunate enough to try VR yet, let me tell you, it’s amazing.

I can fly, without leaving the ground. Although I do get a bit nauseous. It is really scary when you’re standing on a cliff and it seems so real you’re afraid any second you’ll fall off the earth.

That’s how authentic this thing is. I actual sometimes feel like if I move one step I’ll drop into an abyss. I really love this whole able to leap tall buildings in a single bound thing.

The technology, and it was promised for a very long time, does not disappoint.

I remember hearing about all of these gadgets when we were kids. I’m still waiting for Beep Beep Rosie. But at least with VR I can watch a virtual Beep Beep Rosie cleaning my house.

Jetpacks, now that’s something I could really get behind. Beam me up Scotty.

The ability to strap on a backpack and fly to the store. Wow, just think about it. No gas stations, no charging EVs, it’s just up we go. What fun and so easy.

Baby Boomers can really appreciate what it means to escape into virtual reality. How great it is to get out of Dodge? Or any of these new fangled inventions like cell phones. Remember party lines and when you got your own phone line?

But young people have no idea. So, what is the benefit of this VR? Is it merely a cool way to spend time, taking a video game to another level or is it something more? Is it not really a toy, but a glimpse into a future divorced from real life.

Perhaps it’s the new reality, a parallel universe where one can go to fly, see beautiful places, travel to other lands, even walk with dinosaurs. Play games with avatars so lifelike it could freak you out.

For my part I would love to have a virtual reality where I could sit down and have lunch with Moses and ask him about schlepping through the desert.

Or maybe spend some time with JFK or ask Marilyn how he was in bed. Wouldn’t it be amazing to chat with Jack Ruby and find out why he killed Lee Harvey Oswald?

I do find that the more time I spend in that ether world of VR the more I want to. But my mind usually says this is too much, let’s sit down for a while.

It’s so real it’s difficult to grasp and I wind up with a headache.

But is it worth it? You bet. Seeing the world without running through an airport.

Climbing Machu Picchu without sore feet. Standing on top of Mt. Everest and looking down at the world, visiting the North Pole without a coat. Jumping into the Grand Canyon without breaking your neck. How could this possibly not be the coolest thing ever?

Kids today can’t truly appreciate the significance of an invention this amazing because they didn’t have to wait for it an entire lifetime.

I’m saying that unless you’ve seen Howdy Doody’s strings or had to watch television with aluminum foil on the rabbit ears and stand in a certain place to get reception, it’s difficult to really grasp the wonders of VR.

How amazing it is putting on a mask and leaving the planet to fly through space. Or go deep-sea diving at the Coral Reef without any sharks, or eat at five-star restaurants in Italy without ingesting a single calorie.

Many might poo poo the wonders of this new technology, but as someone who has been impatiently awaiting the inventions we read about as kids, I have no intention of taking any of this for granted.

I can golf like Jack Nicklaus, fight Darth Vader and travel to the top of the Eiffel Tower without leaving the room.

At a time in my life where I feel so unable to be daring and over the top courageous (my kids would enrobe me in bubble wrap and lock me in the house) I can be anything or go anywhere I want with Virtual Reality.

I guess by now you’ve figured out what a fan I am of this new invention.

Some things we wait for in life are sadly a bit disappointing when they finally appear. VR is not. It is actually far more phenomenal than I anticipated.

It’s a video game on steroids.

It’s Pac Man in IMAX, it’s a trip to Hershey Pennsylvania, it’s staring at the Sistine Chapel without winding up with a sore neck. It’s wandering through the streets of Rome or Spain without being robbed or ripped off and flying over London like Marley’s ghost. Someday soon you’ll probably enjoy the biggest hits on Broadway without paying a scalper for tickets.

All will be possible and you merely have to don a mask to enter all these new worlds.

There is no limit to what VR will ultimately deliver and the universes it will open.

I for one am excited about how much more it will do in the future, because as of now it’s far more than even I ever dreamed.

Perhaps that’s the answer to aging. VR make me sixteen again. Damn, I look good and no plastic surgery. You mean my turn is over? I have to take off the mask? Boo hoo, just as I was about to chat with Cleopatra about make up tips. Yep, I think Grammy definitely needs her own headset.

When it’s my turn again I’m going to hang out with Winston Churchill. I sure hope you can’t smell his damn cigars.

My Heating Pad Myself

My Heating Pad Myself

There are certain perks to getting older. Senior discounts, the inability to see close up in the mirror and no more pap smears.

However as with everything in life there is that darned old yin and yang thing, and growing older is no different.

What I’ve noticed is how many of my friends have been tripping. And no I’m not talking about LSD or cruises to Europe. I’m referring to standing up straight and walking without landing on the ground.

I’m not sure why it happens and if there is anything to be done to prevent it. I’m saying that only to alleviate the guilt I feel for every time I stupidly fell after failing to look ahead or watch where the hell I was going.

Yes, I suppose many of us should be doing a better job of focusing our eyes, but I don’t think it’s because of talking on our phones or texting.

It seems many of us fall in or near our homes.

Silly things like missing a step, or slipping on the floor, or tripping over an area rug or your dog. Or sadder yet our own feet. Yes, it happens. Then of course there are those dreaded steps.

Even friends who are in what I consider good shape, or as I like to call them the pickleball posse, find themselves sprawled out on a floor wondering what the hell is happening?

After a few falls you are determined to be super careful and you are for a while. That is until slam bam a piece of ice, a lifted sidewalk or a turn of your head at the wrong time. Now boom, you and the cement are sharing a passionate embrace.

If you are really lucky you won’t fall on your fake knee, new hip or break anything necessary. But even if you sprain or bruise something welcome to the ouch, ouch, ouch, I can’t get out of bed bunch.

The next day you find yourself in agony over the moans and screams from every bone in your body and the mental anguish at hating yourself for being such a damn klutz.

Parts of your body hurt you didn’t even fall on. Like sympathy pains for that thigh now turning a bright shade of blue.

So why do people fall and is this restricted to us more mature and sophisticated fallers?

Nope, yet it seems that it is somehow expected as you age.

So many myths about why. Your balance is off as you age, isn’t that why God invented Yoga? Your eyesight isn’t as good, hello Cataract or Lasik surgery. Or maybe your bones are weaker and on and on.

I disagree. And I agree.

When I fell when I was young and believe me I did, it seemed I bounced back sooner. Like one of those bob em-toys you punch and it stands back up for another punch in the face. Nice toy, I just realized there’s something really masochistic about that smiling evil sucker. But I digress.

When you fall past sixty it’s not just the bruises that come out to play, but the achy bones and gigantic ouches with each step.

Some of us who have a large amount of martyr in us choose to hide our latest fall from our children.

Oh yes, we know what we’ll hear. My son would like to encase me in bubble wrap and keep me in the house for as many years as I have left.

My daughter will shake her head and ask, why are you always falling? You need to look where you’re going. And despite my attempts to hide a fall from her one false move when we’re on the phone and I scream ouch and give the whole shebang away.

I have a friend who will cover herself from head to toe with clothing even in the hottest days of summer to hide her bruises from her kids.

So how to cope with all this tripping, falling and bruising.

Ice. I spend a great deal of time with ice and I’m not even a skater.

I have seven ice bags and I have been known to use them all simultaneously.

I think the best thing they could invent would be a giant ice pack that you could just crawl inside of until the bruising goes down.

Then of course many say after the ice should come the heat.

I’m not a doctor and I don’t even play one on TV, but I definitely believe in the heating pad.

If there was one that covered my entire body head to toe, I would wear it constantly. Crawl inside it for hours.

As it is I can’t exist without the heating pad.

It’s funny I remember my mother always lying in bed with the heating pad on some part of her body.

Okay, I’m a little better than that, at least I sit on the couch with it covering me, but now I understand why my mother was addicted.

The minute I pick it up my aching bones start dancing and singing, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

It’s like a party.

“Hey guys, the heating pad’s here. Put on the music and we’ll dance.”

I swear I can almost hear them sipping champagne and eating little quiches.

It’s like I get happy in an oh-my-goodness-that-feels-so-good kinda way.

My back relaxes and my bruises start to purr.

Damn if I know what that heating pad does, but I know that when you’re past sixty it’s like a best friend.

I come in the house and I run to it.

I can’t wait to plug it in and snuggle underneath. I swear you fall into your old people’s nap at least ten times faster when it’s on.

I have a friend who has already worn out one of those ten-pound hot blankets and is on his second one.

I had one, but I couldn’t lift the darn thing.

If there was a fire, they’d have found me lying underneath it struggling to get out.

But they do feel really good if they don’t crush you to death.

So is falling and self-heating something we all have to look forward to down the line.

That seems to be how it lays out.

I hate falling, yet no matter how careful we are stuff happens.

My friend was in school teaching and a student ran into her and broke her hip.

She was in rehab for one year.

Of course, I love to joke, but falling is no joke, people get seriously injured or worse, yet it seems to be a frequent occurrence these days.

So, I guess all one can do is ice and crawl under the heating pad. Or reach for the bubble wrap coat. Perhaps Ralph Lauren will add a few to his Spring collection.

I Saw Goody Proctor Consorting With a Tomato Worm

I saw Goody Proctor Consorting with a Tomato Worm

So I believe by now we can all agree the world in which we are living is definitely unrelated to the world in which we were born. That coocoo for cocoa puffs no longer solely applies to breakfast cereal.

But I digress.

I have no idea what life was like in colonial times in America.

I know they ate turkey on Thanksgiving so I imagine they left the table stuffed and sick like the rest of us. I guess some things never change.

I know there were no modern conveniences and women had to wash clothes in the creek and in tubs and hang it all on the line. I get exhausted just unloading the dryer.

I know there were no microwaves, computers or commercials about Cadbury eggs, and I imagine most  women worked off their calorie intake just doing their “chores.”

So I’m guessing spinning classes weren’t a necessity.

I know they gossiped like crazy, “I saw Goody Proctor consorting with the devil.” As I said, some things never change.

When we’re born we grow up with the new-fangled notions and inventions already there.

If something new comes down the pike we kind of take it in stride, Oh look, a color television!

Yet, as I get older I’m finding the rapid pace of today’s world is not often easy to navigate.

Okay, I’m down with computers, not so much with this AI stuff. I’m not sure I’ll ever wrap my head around having something or someone out there that can make me say or do whatever I want without me even knowing about it. I guess we have no choice.

So it’s adapt or go the way of the dinosaurs. I’m doing my best to adapt cause whichever way the dinosaurs went I want to go the opposite.

Trying to adapt I’m remembering things that I never really was okay with throughout my life, yet I still managed to get through and make it to wrinkle city despite the things I disliked.

Of course I’m not alone in having to navigate a sea of stuff we hate and would rather not know was there.

Each person has their own pet peeves.

I have no idea why they are called pet when a pet is actually something we embrace, so I guess that’s really an oxymoron.

In the spirit of total transparency, I don’t care how old I get I will never understand tomato worms.

UGH! Not only are they ugly and disgusting, I still can’t figure out where the hell they come from.

Okay I’ve asked and people tell me they are in the soil. Oh are they?

I can understand why they might be in the soil in one’s backyard garden. After all they can travel from house to house showing their ugly faces. That is reasonable to me.

However, and here’s the big question…if one plants a rooftop garden in a high rise on Fifth Avenue in New York, how the hell do tomato worms show up there?

Do they take the elevator or do they fly in on tomato worm drones? Oops, next morning there’s suddenly these hideous creatures in your plants. Do they jump onto the cuff of your pants and hide out until you hit the roof again.

I mean what’s up with these things? I guess that’s why they freak me out so much. I feel like they fly around in special red tomato worm UFOs looking for rooftop gardens to land on.

Yes I know I need help, but let’s face it, we all have things which we find it difficult to accept and stomach.

Yet, we are told human beings are quite adaptable.

But are we? Does this new world demand a new set of rules? Can we just stay away from the bad stuff and keep busy elsewhere?

Or does reality have a way of creeping into our lives like a tomato worm to the fiftieth floor?

Do we all have to make a conscious effort to live with new challenges far scarier than ever before?

Technology we can’t even understand.

A world that’s difficult to fathom despite us being adept at understanding what is right and what is wrong yet somehow things are upside down?

I have no answers, but I imagine because my generation is older it’s more difficult to go with the new flow.

Now it’s more important than ever to find new ways to escape all the unpleasantness around us and just focus on fun things.

We need more lightness, more Christmas, more chocolate, more pickleball to get through the day.

We need to shop, do lunch, try new kinds of pizza and burn our scales in effigy.

“I saw my bathroom scale consorting with the devil.” Or is it really the devil itself?

I don’t know how to sort through all the craziness thrown at us every day. There is really no shield big enough to stop that flow, but if we need to learn anything at this age, it’s how to become the most effective Cleopatras of all time and be total queens of denial.

Some things never change, some change all the time and some are difficult to understand. Perhaps we should form Baby Boomer support groups where we can sit around and talk about the good old days when the world made sense.

When drone meant someone who never shut up and AI stood for Al who lived down the street.

When gas was nineteen cents a gallon and Trix were for kids.

When Rod Serling could scare us and there was actually something called penny candy.

If I am waxing nostalgic it’s because I miss my wax lips and when a hot summer day was called delightful and not global warming.

Maybe we could have stopped the flow of insanity and maybe not, but we all have to live in it now.

Holy Moly, there’s an invasion of tomato worms at the Plaza Rooftop in New York. I warned them but they wouldn’t listen. Home grown tomatoes my grandmother’s bustle.

Do We Stop Living Before We Die?

“Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese. Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” Jack Benny.

Lately I’ve given a great deal of thought to getting older. I never had before and truth is I never believed I was or ever could be old.

That was for my grandparents and the elderly.

I wasn’t even aware of the commercials that sell you caregivers on television.

Now when I see one I get a knot in my stomach.

Can it be that I’m old?

Is aging actually something I’m actually dealing with now?

My son acts as though I need to be in a bubble and protect myself from going outside and falling.

My daughter is always saying Mom don’t run after the dog in your socks you’ll fall.

Could I feel any older. Probably not but time will tell.

So did our parents feel this way or is this sudden realization of the laugh-laugh golden years creeping up a product of the last few years?

Since Father Time always gets his way, perhaps I can rationalize this old age thing with the fact that COVID slowed us down.

But didn’t it actually?

I mean we were all going along at a speedy pace, living our lives and then wham bam we’re prisoners in our homes. Afraid to breathe too heavily, spraying our food before we unpack it and hiding from a world fraught with evil germs. Germs with the ability to sneak under our doors and through windows. Oh those pesky viruses.

Perhaps we were naïve to believe it wouldn’t affect us down the line. Or are we just getting old and looking for excuses?

I think not.

The truth is I never felt old until COVID. I felt young and optimistic about checking off items on my bucket list, and skipping into old age with vitality and an eager and excited attitude.

Yet strangly something happened and our lives hit a speed bump.

Our ability to outrun time waned a bit and we came face to face with our own mortality.

YUCK! It wasn’t a pleasant realization.

Suddenly we were all talking about our health.

Making plans like, when COVID is over I’ll get that knee replaced. And sure I’ll take a trip when it’s safe again.

And we all ran screaming from the house when it was. Safe again, at least we thought it was.

But something had happened to us.

Mentally we lost a bit of the spring in our step.

We walked more carefully and weren’t so quick to run headlong into adventures.

We hated being stuck at home and weren’t in any way eager to repeat that experience by being sick or falling.

So many of us became more cautious. Some ran headlong into life once again trying to make up for lost time, but too many felt just a bit hesitant to take chances or risks any longer.

We began treasuring and protecting every day and prioritizing how to to spend it.

I actually have friends who would rather stay at home now than venture out and risk illness.

It’s as if the world lost its appeal. The excitement of living took a hit and we all suddenly came to terms with our limitations. Not so much fun.

Yes, many sought to make up for lost time, but isn’t that actually an oxymoron? We all know deep down you can’t recover time and once its gone well, so long.

I suppose there are two ways of looking at this.

One we must realize that the time we have left at this party is more precious than ever. To waste even a minute would be foolish and now more than ever living must be a priority.

However there are those who have decided perhaps being more cautious is the better way to

simply move forward.

That the series of constant doctor appointments, risks our cities now present and new diseases would be better dealt with carefully.

So when does the fun start up again? Where are the party hats and noise makers?

I mean when you get to the golden years aren’t you supposed to have the time to enjoy life. The freedom to tackle those projects you put on hold while raising a family, working or building a life?

Where are those adventures we see in all the cruise line ads and travel pitches with happy older people running through the capitals and wonders of the world smiling and waving?

Sometimes going to the grocery store, especially with today’s prices, seems like quite an adventure.

I’m sad to say that vulnerability that comes with age seems to have exacerbated with the COVID years and the ability to slough all that downtime off isn’t as easy as task as we believed.

So what can we do to undo the damage?

Is there a way to restore  youthful attitude? An optimistic mindset and skip headlong into life once more?

Perhaps it is possible to recapture some of that zest for living we once possessed. Maybe thinking too long and hard about living life is actually preventing us from doing so.

I imagine just booking a trip, and I understand the state of the world I truly do, would be a great first start to living again.

If there is somewhere you want to see consider visiting it in easier ways. Instead of a foot tour perhaps an ocean or river cruise?

A private tour company might be best.

Maybe there’s a charity gig you’ve always wanted to do. Or friends or relatives you haven’t visited in too long.

What about a tour of that gallery or museum you’ve been wanting to see? Or a symphony or concert you put on hold? I’m not a travel agent but I do know one thing. A trip to the doctor to check on that knee replacement isn’t something you dreamed about when you were thirty.

So no matter how easy it’s been to hold down that position on the couch and watch the new Netflix offering, now more than ever we need to push ourselves to live.

Like Auntie Mame used to say, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving.”

Maybe it’s time we all grabbed a seat at life’s table and started stuffing ourselves with some great adventures and new exciting memories.

Love to hear where you went when you get home with all the fun stuff to report. And I am really glad your hip replacement is doing its job.

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

I have been without electricity all day. Now you’re thinking…and so, what’s the big deal?

Okay I can see why you’d think it’s no big whoop. After all once there was no electricity and oil lamps and wood fireplaces lit and warmed the home.

Yes, but that’s the point. Unless we have oil burning lamps I’m not aware of in this building and a fireplace filled with wood and kindling, it is rather hard to make it work.

And by it I mean your computer, your phone, your refrigerator, your oven, your lights and pretty much your life.

I have never been one of those people who believe they are totally dependent on modern conveniences to survive. I pictured myself as a rugged pioneer type who could cope with hard work to get things done. Me come from strong stock! 

Able to cut firewood and pump the water from the well. Carrying the milk in from the barn after milking the cows. Having cows!  

Boy was I wrong. I now truly believe I can’t exist without the tech junk. And Lord, what a wuss I am.

Tomorrow I shall go to Costco and buy a slew of battery-operated candles to hide away for another day when heaven forbid there is no power.

Can’t open the fridge, can’t phone a friend because I didn’t charge my back up charger, and no television. Oh my! I keep staring at the TV waiting for Netflix to appear.

Talk about desperate, I was sitting in the dark garage with my car on charging my phone.

How on earth did I get so darned reliant on power?

Yesterday sitting on the couch, I felt an earthquake. Nothing huge, but enough of a shaking to make me hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop, literally.

Yet today, although I was prewarned about the power outage, I found myself unprepared to deal at all.

Can’t find the batteries for the flashlights because it’s dark in the closet where they’re kept.

Ran out of matches years ago and use the gas stove to light anything. Too bad my gas stove needs electricity to work.

No news programs and what if there is actually some good news for a change? Okay, I can still dream can’t I?

My grandsons and I can’t play our usual Roblox games on facetime because, that’s right…no phone or computer.

I have decided that if the power doesn’t come back on soon and it gets really dark in here, I may have to go to my daughter’s house.

I’m sorry but I prefer my SUV to a covered wagon. I can tough it out for only so long before this whole frontier crap gets old.

And it’s getting old fast.

It’s cold in here and I’m under a blanket wondering if there will ever be heat again.  I’m actually eyeing that old chair I want to replace thinking it would make great firewood. 

So where did she go? That frontier, pioneer Norma I had anticipated would rise to the occasion. I don’t see her anywhere, probably because it’s getting so damn dark in here I can’t see anything.

So am I shocked that I am such a lily-livered-spoiled-tech dependent-modern convenience-needy person? Damn right I am.

The fact I can’t seem to find enough to keep me busy one crummy afternoon without the stuff I’m used to having and the habits I’m so used to living makes me sad. Hashtag/books on Kindle.

We all have a routine and I guess I have seen firsthand how difficult it is when that routine is interrupted.

Should I be more flexible, more able to roll with the punches? 

I mean what would happen if a UFO landed and took out the grid in LA? Oops, we’d all be toast here. How would Gavin Newson buy his hair gel?

What do you mean my latte isn’t ready?

Hello Door Dash are you there? Door Dash please answer.

It is unbelievable how spoiled we are. 

Good luck to my neighbors with EVs.

So who is responsible for this bunch of cowering weaklings?

Modern science that’s who.

The aliens must be watching and laughing their gray asses off, if they have any, at how easy it will be to defeat us.

“Just turn out the lights and all we have to do is wait.”

Wow, I forgot, Rod Serling wrote that show 60 years ago for The Twilight Zone and he called it The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street. Yep, he predicted it all didn’t he?

Well, I’d love to watch it right now, but you see I can’t because I have no damn power!

I guess I could go for a walk, I hear there is an outdoors with sidewalks and grass and a sky, but it’s cold. In LA anything under 60 is too bitter to endure and I’m too lazy to bundle up.

Lord I’m a helpless, lazy boob.

I guess I should invest in a generator as I now understand those things are worth their weight in gold.

I’d check on Amazon and buy one, but I have no damn Internet!

As I stare at the cable box waiting for signs of life like a child watching chocolate chip cookies bake in the oven, I’m tempted to open the windows and let the stench of the candles clear out of here. But it’s too cold and there’s no heat so at this point I have to choose between darkness and freezing.

All my favorite programs won’t have been taped because the cable was out so I’ll miss them when the TV comes back on, if it ever does.

Boy I can’t get over what a whiny, weak, crybaby I am. Wah wah wah my cable box is off. How will I survive?

I’d order pizza for dinner, but I have no phone. 

By tomorrow they’ll find me frozen and starved in here hugging my cell phone in a fetal position.

I’m forcing myself to be positive and believe the lights will go back on soon. That the furnace will suddenly return to life and begin blowing forced warm air through the ducts. That the cable box will glow and blink with blue numbers reading 12:00 and the fridge will click on and begin refreezing the Hagan Daz.

Of course there is an upside to all this. I was about to clean the make-up drawers in my bathroom and throw away stuff from 1994, but it’s so dark  I have to put it off.

I also have been afraid to open the freezer and eat a pint of stress ice cream because I don’t want to thaw the food, so saving calories is also good. 

My eyes are kind of happy because staring at a computer all day does tire them out.

I’m trying to be positive here so help me out.

The workpeople are already a half hour later than they said they’d be finished, but it is the cable company after all.

I guess it’s good to be divorced from all the tech for a day. 

I’d check and see if any studies have been done on that subject, but I can’t Google right now!

At least the music on my computer works and Ella Fitzgerald sounds really good.

Music sooths and all that. Wait, I saw a flicker, gotta go, can’t talk now there’s some Hagan Daz soup with my name on it.

Now Where’s That Damn Rabbit Hole Again?

Now Where’s That Damn Rabbit Hole Again?

I honestly don’t believe it would surprise anyone who knows me to learn that Alice in Wonderland was my favorite story as a child.

And why not? It was filled with bunnies, a confused girl, an evil queen, fresh tarts, adorable Cheshire cats that talked and blew smoke rings in the shapes of letters and of course the perennial favorites Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. I understood twins because my mother was one.

Of course, the fact there was a tea party and a table set with goodies didn’t hurt its cause any.

So there in a nutshell is why it contained all my favorite things; cute bunnies, great jewelry like pocket watches, evil queens with colorful red hearts, precious pussycats and weird twins. Lest we forget most importantly yummy food! 

Yet there was far more to Alice than met the eye and to say it was a children’s story would be a serious understatement. 

Today more than ever I identify with Alice. Lewis Carroll’s character is the epitome of a human being in today’s crazy, confusing world, only we didn’t have to fall down a hole to wind up in a land filled with fantastical characters. We were just born here.

Lest you think I am stretching the truth a bit, one simply need look around at the upside-down world in which we now exist and open one’s eyes to see how far into some perverted wonderland we’ve fallen.

Alice is the typical American who has awakened to find herself in another country. She is a much older Alice than was written by Carroll because it is a Baby Boomer story after all. A fable of sorts about a generation that no longer recognizes the world into which they were born.

I know what you’re thinking, and I’m very aware of the old adage about we are all born into one world and leave from another. I simply have a difficult time believing the world in which we now exist is in any way even related to the one we came crying and fussing into.

It hardly bears a resemblance to the America we loved. Where we stood happily and proudly each day to say the pledge of allegiance. 

Where we walked to and from school with our friends, never worrying about who might be following us home, night or day.

Where we played outside until the street lights came on and where ice cream trucks ringing bells were the highlight of our day.

Where we shopped in a store and actually paid for the merchandise before leaving.

Where we could sleep well at night with full knowledge bad people would be put away so they couldn’t hurt us anymore.

A world filled with wonders like television and then a peacock that spread his feathers and gave us color.

A world where Disney was asleep and gave us Mouseketeers and wonderful cartoon fairy tales and even Bambi that turned us all off hunting for life.

Where we talked to our friends face to face or on the phone and didn’t have to read what they had to tell us.

Where our mothers cooked dinner and our fathers came home from work and we sat around the dinner table as a family discussing what we’d done that day. No question we carefully edited our discussion to include only our best grades and fun activities. And no I am not saying that women didn’t work, many did and that was fine with us.

A world that included blow up pools, but if you were really lucky an above the ground one that you needed a ladder to climb into.

We sat in front of the fan on hot summer nights before central air conditioning or in front of the window screen in our bedroom to catch a breeze wafting by. 

We watched horror movies like I Was a Teenage Werewolf and then had to sleep in our parents’ bedrooms to alleviate our fears.

We felt safe, happy and chose our friends because they lived nearby and we liked them.

This is no longer America. I know what you’re going to say…times change. Kids today will have their own memories.

I say it’s not the same.

Today kids stay up nights worrying about global warming.

Little girls don’t want to grow to be mothers because they no longer want to bring children into this world.

An America where more kids are confused about who or what they are than the entire population of New York City.

A world where you can’t walk down city streets without stepping on people, or worse, and even in your own back yard you’re no longer safe from predators.

Whose fault is it that the world has changed so much and not for the better?

Perhaps it’s the Baby Boomers. Or am I just too willing to accept guilt even if undeserved?

Were we too certain that the gravy train would ride forever?

That Dick Clark would always be at the Bandstand and John Kennedy would someday return in the form of John Jr.

Our hopes were dashed with the realities that seemed to set in every day as we went about our business, raising our children, shopping and wondering what to do with our lives in our golden years.

We attended weddings, graduations and funerals. Lots of funerals. And buried lots of family and friends we love and miss.

There are those who would disagree with my ramblings and memories of a time gone by. They would even emphasize how much better off we are now with modern science and new innovations.

There is no doubt being bionic is a boon to seniors, but I’m not convinced the price we’ve paid as a nation justifies the Internet or AI.

Yes, there are definitely some good things about this new-fangled-high-tech world, but it seems to me that the more high-tech the world becomes, the more it reverts to its primitive self. That instead of using these innovations to grow as people, we use them to return to the caves to carry out petty wars and pathetic tribal rivalries.

So what good is a world filled with innovation accompanied by low intelligence? Is it possible to march forward on one level and rush backward on another?

I’m not quite certain human beings are capable of handling the modern world that was foisted upon them and it’s leading instead to a caveman mentality. Like handing a toddler an UZI and not expecting him to pull the trigger.

Have we all fallen down a hole without the benefit of cute little rabbits, tea parties and delicious cakes?

Speaking for myself I’d rather join Alice and the March Hare and use his watch to turn back time to a gentler, kinder America. 

Yes, I’m remembering it with rose-colored glasses, but I defy anyone to watch the news and not want to turn the channel and believe none of the insanity is actually happening.

Now where is that rabbit hole again?

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

So, there is a commercial on television now with some guy asking me if I’m going to heaven. How do you answer that question?

I guess I’d have an easier time if I knew for sure there actually is a heaven. Or what heaven is if it does exist.

How do I know if I want to go there if I don’t know what I’m signing up for? Didn’t your mother teach you to read everything before signing?

Cause now that we are watching this insane world you have to wonder; what is everyone’s version of heaven and whose do you want to go to?

I mean I have certain criteria here for how I’d like to spend the afterlife. I don’t mean to be snobby about this, but if I’m going to be in a place for all eternity, I’m not spending my days listening to politicians. 

I definitely don’t want to have to watch award programs and listen to hosts doing unfunny monologues and see Robert De Niro’s pissed off looks when Robert Downey Jr. wins instead of him.

Can you imagine having to spend eternity  listening to Oprah talk about her weight loss issues, car salesmen saying let me check with my manager and see if I can make that deal or watching Nancy Pelosi getting more Botox injections?

I want to go someplace where refrigerators are always fully stocked with unhealthy foods, your stomach is always empty and fat cells don’t exist.

Can someone promise me I won’t have to make a bed, wash a floor or clean a toilet?

A place where there is no traffic, the only newscasters are Huntley and Brinkley and Walter Cronkite and John Kennedy will actually tell me how many bullets really did kill him.

Where all the property is on the water, there are no UV rays and you can walk halfway across the ocean and find a sandbar to sunbathe on. Oh, and the fish are all no longer than 10 inches and in neon colors.

Where pina coladas flow all day and no one gets drunk, where children can play outside anywhere, anytime and no one would ever hurt them and you can pull apart monkey bread without getting your hands sticky.

A place where everything for sale that you want is always equal to the amount of money you’re carrying, chocolate chip cookies are always warm and coming out of the oven next to fresh cold milk, and you can have Thanksgiving any or every day you want with only the relatives you can stand.

Where Santa delivers 24/7 and the temperature is always a perfect 72 degrees with no rain or snow in sight. And the chocolate fountains on every corner are always flowing.

Where your cell phone never runs out of juice, and old Mickey Mouse Club shows and Bugs Bunny, Road Runner and Tweety and Sylvester cartoons are always playing, and Clarabell can talk.

A place where no one says anything nasty or mean to anyone else, where people say thank you and excuse me, and Harry and Meagan are not allowed to write books about how terrible life is in the palace.

A place where babies never cry because their needs are instantly met, where no one is judged by their skin color or religion and anyone who threatens to take over the world has to go back down and live in it again. 

There must be a sign at the gates of my heaven that reads, no politicians or members of Congress, assholes, or haters allowed and there is a no tolerance policy for those who mistreat others.

If a heaven exists with those features, I might be enticed to buy a ticket. 

However, since everyone has their own idea of what heaven or hell entails, I don’t want to get on the wrong train and wind up in the hell where Hamas gets its 72 virgins. 

I imagine my heaven train would be in a special station like the one to Hogwarts, where you have to go to a certain wall and push your stuff through or oops, no entrance for you.

So, in answer to the question, are you going to heaven, I’d have to say I’m not rushing to sign up like it’s a time share opportunity in Cabo.

When I’m sure what I’m in for, I’ll sign on the dotted line. Until then I’m still down here on earth, hell or whatever the name for this place is now. 
Maybe the question this guy on TV should be asking is; “Are you ready to turn earth into heaven by living like you’re already there?”

Now that’s a question I could easily answer?

Too Soon?

Too soon?

Most comedians are familiar with a question they ask frequently of an audience when doing topical humor.

Current events may not always be fodder for comedy, but a comedian’s job is to investigate how far to go when delivering jokes about news of a very tragic nature and how far to push the envelope.

It is always a dance between a comic and the listeners to arrive at a place of comfort when making light of what may only be called wretched and horrifying.

One of the greatest humorists Mel Brooks found a way to do this without making anyone uncomfortable. I of course can’t speak for the entire human race when I say his movies about Hitler and the Inquisition didn’t offend anyone, as I’m sure many found it reprehensible to joke about such horrific events.

However, the enormous success of his efforts speak volumes about the way the world feels the need to laugh and release the tension that comes with evil deeds.

At least after a time.

And so the question “too soon?” enters the discussion.

When is it “too soon” to try and find humor in the most heinous crimes and malevolence perpetrated against mankind?

How long before the world could laugh at Adolph Hitler and by doing so make him an object of ridicule and a joke?

And why do we seem to need to?

It wasn’t long at all with old Adolph as Charlie Chaplin took him on immediately in his classic movie The Great Dictator which still lives to this day as an example of how derision and mockery about evil can cut it down to size.

Yet not everyone feels humor is justified when speaking of the horrors of some of the world’s most outrageous wickedness.

Are some acts just too vile to joke about or attempt to find any humor in at all?

And has human nature decided that laughter is no longer a proper coping mechanism and doesn’t serve the same purpose it once did?

As someone who has often written about the need for absurdity to overcome the pain and suffering of malicious deeds against humanity, I find myself suddenly questioning whether enough time will ever pass to find any humor in the horrors of October 7th committed against the Jewish people. Despite the fact I’ve always advocated that satire can help heal the wounds and pain of such evil, I can’t seem to convince myself that in this case a joke will help at all.

That wittiness will ever ease the pain of knowing Jewish students are no longer safe on school campuses, that Israel is being called out for trying to defend its children and survive another planned holocaust, that even after babies were cooked in ovens while their mothers were forced to watch and hear their screams the Jewish people are being told, “Hey take it easy, it wasn’t so bad.”

The world once again has decided that the Jewish people should sit back and take whatever is foisted upon them no matter how heinous without overreacting.

But is there an over-reaction to a dead baby? Can you find any funny to lessen the anguish of human beings being slaughtered and the world poo pooing their pain and determination to survive.

That they are being told to be careful and back off of their attackers.

Where does one find humor in such callous disregard for fellow human beings?

Can any response be too great after acts of such uncivilized barbarism have been perpetrated? Would any amount of compassion Israel may show be enough to satisfy the haters?

Or is it once again a case of, “Oh well it’s just the Jews and they had it coming?”

As someone who has used comedy her entire life to cope with the injustices and pain living delivers, I’m now afraid I must change my opinion on this matter.

I’m sorry to say, yes, it’s too soon. In fact, it will always be too soon to laugh at this new level of malevolence that has infected the civilized world.

This is sadly not a time for laughter to lighten our load for this load must be carried until we restore humanity to power once again. It will not take wittiness, jokes or satire to fix the world now. Not when a world that should stand fast against such crimes chooses instead to condone them.

So as a member of the audience and former comedian I must say, “Yes, it is indeed too soon.”

Perhaps if the day comes when laughter is restored to the world Mel Brooks will grace us all with his genius at cutting Hamas down to size. Or perhaps just cutting them down will suffice.

Are Dark Waters The Greatest Source of Light?

Are Dark Waters The Greatest Source of Light?
“When you look at a beautiful view from a window, the beautiful view also looks at you from the same window! But the window looks at both you and the view! Wise man is the window itself; he looks at everywhere!…” Mehmet Murat ildan

I have often wondered why a specific view can become so important to one’s life.

People are willing to pay enormous amounts of money to gaze through their window and enjoy city lights, mountains or my favorite, twinkling lights across a body of dark water.

The New York skyline has always been a source of comfort for many. There is something so Zen about looking through huge windows at the sea of lights below. In LA many times I have watched planes stacked up over LAX waiting to land.

But does something always have to be spectacular to deserve your attention?

I love watching the Las Vegas strip slowly reaching its ultimate glow against the purple haze of twilight covering the mountains surrounding the city.

I know it’s hard to find anything about Las Vegas spiritual, but at just that moment of twilight when the landscape comes alive with thousands of flashing lights from the Strip there is something so otherworldly about the scene. I’ve always found it so calming to sit there and watch until the purple haze morphs into darkness and the entire city is ablaze with light.

What is it about a view of radiance twinkling in the distance that seems to calm the human spirit? It can make you feel, embrace you and inspire creativity.

The other day I was watching a movie that portrayed a scene of New York from across the Hudson River. The dark water filled the middle between two twinkling land masses and illuminated its movements. So why am I so intrigued with dark water and luminosity and is there something mysterious about the way it can grab and hold your attention?

Many years ago my family vacationed in Miami Beach. My room faced the ocean with a wall of glass. Before falling asleep I loved to watch the dark abyss that seemed to spread forever before my eyes. One night I noticed a large ocean liner on one side of the window and began to watch its journey across the sea. It seemed to forever to cross from one side of my window to the other before it was out of sight.

I stared hypnotized as the ship slowly moved across the black ocean. The length from one side of the window wasn’t that large and yet the journey took an hour.

Why stare at a ship crawling along a dark body of water? Why sit mesmerized as the sun sets leaving behind a purple haze as mountains slowly become illuminated by lights?

I imagine it’s because somewhere deep inside we identify with the journey from darkness into light. To become part of that view and become one with its beauty and serenity.

Can it really be that simple? Perhaps on a conscious level it may seem so, but somewhere deep inside all of us yearn to attain the other side of pain and bewilderment into clarity.

Why pay fortunes of money to sit affixed before a window sporting a New York or LA skyline, the impressive span of the Golden Gate Bridge or the flaming colors of the trees in Autumn?

What is the allure? What is so captivating about a particular view to so many?

I have thought about why a beautiful vista can so lift one’s spirits and come to the conclusion there are actually many reasons why it may so entice us on a conscious level.

Perhaps it is the symbolism of dark waters terminating in a blaze of lights with which we can identify.

There is radiance, then darkness, then it is bright once again.

Can this be a metaphor for life? Pretty obvious.

Is the opaque water just a representation of the way light can morph into blackness and then once again become aglow? Hope that under the blackness something brilliant is hiding to underearth our brightness once more?

It is especially true of the ocean about which we know so little. What hides beneath is so frightening and mysterious as to ignite our imaginations with a rapturous longing for answers. Answers that elude and confuse one.

Am I making too much of a simple thing like a view?

Yes, I imagine so if one doesn’t consider how everything in life comes back to your point of view.

How we look at things colors our existence in untold ways just as what we see effects our opinions and beliefs. How we see others and allow them into our lives deeply affects our view of the world.

Our perspective is through not just our eyes, but our mind and heart’s eye as well.

A view sparks memories, makes us feel warm wrapped in the intensity of the glow, gives us proof that light returns after darkness.

Or is it the mystery of what lies beneath the surface? Human nature is conditioned to peer inside the depths and unearth secrets.

Dark waters cover so much from our sight we can’t help but wonder and speculate. Is it perhaps the heights we feel we have climbed when staring down at the sea, twinkling city lights or across at a mountain filled with crags and shapes only revealed as the sun sets.

As humans we need to believe illumination follows darkness and that although sometimes surrounded by mountains of pain or immersed in the depths brilliance will return.

Views remind us on many levels of this truth and spark our need for reassurance. There is beauty in observing nature from up close, but perhaps it is our need to see things from afar that brings more clarity. Seeing things from a distance changes the perspective and allows us to take in all the facets of the picture before us.

It is of course obvious not everyone can afford a million-dollar view, but mountain tops are free and a seat on the sand is always available.

So if you need a bit of perspective right now perhaps looking at things away from the distortion of the flashing lights and chaos will allow the light of truth to shine through. Or just simply a need to be a part of a universe more expansive and unlimited.

In these times when moral clarity is distorted and hidden from view, we must create a perspective that sees with our heart, mind and eyes to truly understand what is there.

When Will They Ever Learn? And Why Didn’t We?

“Where Have all the Young Men Gone, long time passing… where have all the soldiers gone, long time ago…When will they ever learn when will they ever learn?” Where Have all the Flowers Gone? by Pete Seeger and Joe Hickerson.

I used to think being crazy was a bad thing. Now I thank God every day I am. I seriously doubt at this moment in time anyone who is perfectly normal can find a way to cope with the insanity around us.

So how crazy do you have to be to exist in a world that has become so totally insane it is impossible to envision a corner of the planet where calm and peace any longer exist? 

A place where flowers grow and deer prance around in green lush woods. Where children play happily on white sandy beaches.

Oh sure I forgot the Garden of Eden which supposedly exists somewhere in the middle east or Africa. Forgive me if I find that scenario to be in any way believable or realistic.

So let’s get back to this whole being crazy thing.

When I was young, back in prehistoric times we had an expression “peace, love and rock n roll.”

Now that has turned to “chaos, murder and hatred.”

What happened to the flower children who lived on communes and painted Volkswagen busses while espousing love for everyone and peace on earth?

Hmmm, well I wonder that perhaps it wasn’t us peaceniks that are responsible for what has become of that dream.

The Baby Boomer generation was entrusted with a sacred task, to spread peace and love across the world in a time when it had been littered with death and hatred.

We did it well, but perhaps too well.

Were we naïve about man’s capacity to truly love one another, to accept other’s flaws, opinions and lifestyles. Even when they conflicted with our own?

Did we assume that our message despite the war in Viet Nam was being taken seriously by the powers that be and that the military industrial complex would ultimately simply expunge their weapons and “the lion would lie down with the lamb?”

There is an argument to be made that we were cavalier about those dreams we created for a better world. That while we got busy living our lives, accumulating our fortunes and raising our children we lost sight of a responsibility that needed tending.

Did we believe that peace would come without sacrifice? That love would simply spread like a virus throughout the world?

That rock n roll was a solution to the problems of a species that was only a few decades out of the caves and could at any moment revert to their uncivilized behavior?

We never saw it coming.

While we were driving our BMWs, shopping in giant new malls and seeking bigger and better neighborhoods and schools for our offspring we assumed someone was on the wall and watching the gate.

But they weren’t. No one was.

The cold war turned hot, new wars arose and countries with no regard for human life sprung up like weeds to populate what we believed was a green and lush topography. China flourished with our help to become a rabid dog intent on destroying the hand that fed him.

So are we at fault for dropping the ball?

When we marched at our colleges for peace how did we never envision future generations that would march to excuse evil?

Are we at fault for universities that encourage hatred, violence and dare I say it, sheer stupidity? Should we blame those who blindly donated to their alma maters without first investigating their policies and attitudes? Perhaps that is a big part of our current problems.

Or was there ever really a ball to be dropped.

Were we simply too high on weed to come down to earth long enough to understand our folly?

To realize after World War II evil not only still existed in our world, but in just a few generations this would become a truly evil world.

A place where good gets shouted down and cowers under the loud voice of the wicked. Where the moral compass of the world would go mahoola and twist and turn into unreadable directions.

That man would more than ever be a lost soul wandering about in a malicious society.

That the red flags were waving and we never noticed. We lost sight of our goals and assumed our message would continue to resonate with others down through time.

We were foolish.

When I say we I also mean me.

I forgot that “good will ultimately triumph over evil” is the grand design, yet before evil is defeated it takes many good people down.

That evil will never be satiated without first tasting the blood of the innocent and that leaders who are fools are no match for those who are malevolent. That evil never sleeps and good naps constantly.

Now I look at what we have allowed the world to become and I feel guilt and sorrow for the mess our children and grandchildren must attempt to clean.

There are no flowers, kumbaya or peace love and rock n roll on the horizon for them.

Only a world filled with the ashes of peace, brotherhood and goodness.

I have always been intrigued by the tale of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and found it difficult to believe that only four could determine man’s fate.

Yet now I have come to realize a group of madmen with homemade bombs can harness that power and engage a world into a battle for the soul of humanity.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that it is in many ways simple math. The world population has exploded and with it has come more good people but many many more evil ones.

Society has found a way to condone crime in its cities, destroy law and order and create a chaotic existence for all people good and bad.

Was this the dream? Was this our goal as we sang kumbaya and just assumed all mankind was in agreement with our philosophy?

How could we have been so naïve as to think evil wouldn’t take advantage of our foolishness and plunge the world into darkness?

Now the war is here and it has come down to basics. Good versus evil once more. We have been here before, but the question now is, how many innocents will die before evil is defeated once again?

As the Peter Paul and Mary song asked, “When will they ever learn?” I may be crazy, but I know an inciteful song lyric when I hear one. Sadly, I just don’t know the answer.

How Watching More Animal Videos Can Make Americans Happier

How Watching More Animal Videos Can Change America?

Has anyone else noticed how unpleasant it is to watch people on television today? So much arguing, dissent and rudeness. No one allows anyone to make a point and if they do by some miracle get a sentence out, no one gives a damn what they say anyway. Even humor has been relegated to the ash heap of history lately.

Where once human beings showed respect for those who didn’t share their particular opinion, now it’s common to see those who believe any who disagree should just shut up and die.

I am seriously struck by the malevolence with which humans converse. The hostility is palpable and the chance for a peaceful resolve to disagreements seems like a wish that could never come true.

So how can people who are shocked and appalled by the way humans are treating one another feel better about the world in which we all exist?

In my desire to make the world a better place I suggest that more cutesy, adorable animal videos are just the answer.

I mean seriously, who can feel bad about the world when kittens and puppies are wrestling around on the floor or you see a video of a girl walking down the street and her dog is walking upright next to her dressed to mimic her outfit?

The faces you witness on these videos give birth to more ahh moments than grandparents standing in a maternity unit gazing upon their new grandchildren.

So it begs the question, if we have a way to eliminate the insanity we’re experiencing in our lives by simply looking at more precious puppies, kittens and ducks, why aren’t we?

Perhaps we are, but the news seems to destroy any good vibes they may deliver. And perhaps the messages in these videos are being ignored.

What is the good of oohing and ahhing over a puppy if the next minute you turn on the insanity?

If you need proof that Americans are depressed check out all the food videos on Instagram and Tik Tok.

We are obsessed with food which is a definite indication we need serious soothing and comforting.

Anyone who doubts my thesis that nastiness reigns supreme need only look at the comments on social media. Suddenly everyone has an opinion and they are excited to share it with anyone foolhardy enough to pay attention.

People who rant and rave about subjects with which they are totally ignorant and uneducated just run at the mouth with nasty comments. They espouse theories from outer space and call out anyone that may disagree with their limited perspectives and knowledge in the most heinous of ways.

If I want to know about the Theory of Relativity I’d probably ask an Astro Physicist. And if I didn’t like his answer, I’d have to admit he knows more than I about these things so I’d defer to his knowledge.

Where once we respected those that spent years training and educating themselves about topics we cared very little about, some actually now believe their limited knowledge is vast enough to decry and defame experts.

It’s also the way they express these theories. Not in a rational and conversational tone, but with anger and personal attacks more vicious than a Pitbull that has been taunted and unfed for a week.

I am a firm believer in the first amendment, in fact I’m rather rabid about it being a journalist, so I truly believe anyone has the right to say and think whatever they want. And I have the right not to listen.  They just don’t have the right to make up their own facts, figures or scientific evidence and insult others viciously.  

I don’t even mind so much that those who add to the conversation aren’t qualified to do so, it’s their right and prerogative, but could we at least contribute in a civilized way. It’s okay to disagree, even a good thing. Yet, I’ve found it to be my experience when engaged in a civilized conversation with someone with a different opinion, I’ve been moved many times to embrace their argument and have changed my view. Being open minded is one road down the positive path to self-discovery.

I’ve never believed someone with whom I disagree is my enemy. Yet that is the prevailing attitude with these social media trolls. Have you seen the puppies and kittens playing together? Hugging and licking one another? I thought they were supposed to be natural enemies.

Well maybe we were all wrong, there is no such thing as a natural enemy, only those you choose to make one.

These cute animal videos are a feel-good moment in the day. They bring a smile and a warm feeling to our hearts. Such a refreshing and welcome change after all the nastiness we are subjected to in our daily lives.

It’s difficult to be upbeat when the world goes around growling at one another. When hating seems to be the national pastime and calling people with whom you disagree your enemy instead of a friend with a different opinion.

How sad is it when the animal kingdom is now forced to show us what it means to be human and exercise love and kindness toward a fellow creature?

I’m not standing on a soapbox here and trying to Pollyanna this conversation into one of those let’s all love one another and kumbaya.

I’m quite realistic about how difficult life has become and how far we’ve moved past love thy neighbor and peace love and rock n roll.

Yet if we all took a moment in our day to watch some pussycats playing with puppies or a rabbit hugging a German shepherd, it might slow our heart rate and bring a moment of Zen into our lives.

We all seem to need a reminder that life, even with all its challenges can be beautiful. That despite the bad things that befall us, it’s up to us to try and create happy moments for ourselves and those we love.

As difficult as it may be sometimes to push oneself away from the night into the sun, once we do we are so happy we made the effort.

If viewing a few more warm and loving animal videos can remind us to try, I say watch, watch, watch!

Everyone Please Stop With the Rush to Rush The Seasons

Anyone who enters a store in this country is usually surprised to see merchandise for sale that is applicable four months in the future. 

The other day at Costco I couldn’t believe all the Christmas stuff and it was only the beginning of September. What is the rush to sell plastic Santas when we haven’t even pigged out on Halloween candy or roasted our turkeys yet?

Is it done for financial reasons? If so why would it make any difference if people bought their synthetic Christmas tree in September or in December? It’s not going to spoil and the price isn’t going to change in a few months. 

I’m sure Halloween candy is already marked half off and we haven’t even hit October first. It seems to me it’s better to wait and get fresher candy, but obviously I’m missing something here. Besides if you buy your candy earlier you eat it all and have to rebuy it anyway. Ah, so maybe that’s their plan. 

Trick or Treat hasn’t changed its meaning since I last looked. I mean kids are still coming to the door hoping for extra-large candy bars and avoiding the houses that give out the healthy crap. 

Then why the rush to move time forward? Who the heck is so anxious to get older? I thought the goal here is to stay younger and all the plastic surgeries, procedures and health nutty things we do are supposed to accomplish that goal.

I would think in this day and age when turning on the news is far scarier than Halloween could ever hope to be, people would embrace and savor the fun and binging on sugar that holiday provides. Why hurry it along when you can enjoy every moment and every candy bar?

Who is making the decisions to speed through the holidays instead of enjoying them like a homemade chocolate chip cookie warm from the oven or a mornay sauce prepared by a Michelin Chef? What’s the hurry here and why?

So I have been thinking about this on many levels and I’ve come to a few conclusions.

Individually these holidays that come in the later part of the year have their own distinct flavor and personalities.

I’ll start with Halloween because that is one of my favorites since it involves begging for free chocolate and no one handing it to you and saying, “Aren’t you afraid you’ll gain weight?” And besides one can always disguise themselves to look like an Oompa Loompa and no one cares what you weigh. I’m just assuming someone could do that, I wouldn’t know firsthand or anything. 

But I digress, so we were talking about the differences of each holiday.

Halloween is about dressing up in funny costumes and wish fulfillment on many levels.

The desire for sugar goodies and oddly enough the desire to create a new identity for oneself.

Choosing a costume we can evolve into our favorite super hero, movie star, supernatural creature or anyone or anything we choose. Damn you could even be a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup if you want, but back to the point here. 

It’s quite fun actually to be something or someone other than us one day a year. A fantasy moment that’s safe, uplifting and hurts no one.

Halloween has always been an enigma to me. The fun is interlaced with scary and spooky. I find it quite interesting how so many supposedly normal people are so fascinated with the macabre. It must be the fun of that adrenalin rush of fear combined with the sugar rush that creates an unbeatable high. Again, I’m just guessing here.

Let’s face it, there is a serious curiosity about Satan and his friends. Who hasn’t wondered if the devil truly exists only to watch someone like Charles Manson and be horrified by the reality that yes, indeed he does.

So why are devils, ghosts, goblins and witches still such a part of Halloween and won’t they still be there in October when it’s closer to the actual holiday? Isn’t real life scary enough for everyone these days? Why rush fear?

Must we begin to explore our inner desire to be Casper the Ghost in August when October is two months away? If it’s a retail decision isn’t the same money spent in August still good in October?

I understand the whole Fall theme that evolves as soon as Labor Day comes. Summer pastels are replaced with autumn colors. Homes and stores are filled with the smells of cinnamon and spices promising cool crisp days, cider and apples and fun hayrides through the apple orchards. 

Believe me I’m not arguing that Fall is an enticing season. It’s my favorite and the mild weather and beautiful colors are alluring, so that may be why everyone is so anxious to start the journey as early as possible. I get that, but what’s with the plastic Santas before we even think about how many pounds the turkey should be?

Is this some sort of slight against turkeys? Has America’s favorite holiday fallen into disfavor or something? As far as I know Macy’s is still planning their parade, Football will be playing on every big screen TV in the country, the Detroit Lions will probably lose, and homes in America will be filled with the same smells that have whetted appetites for over two-hundred years.  

Birds will be basted, marshmallows will be melted on top of yams, stuffing will be overflowing from Turkeys covered with herbs and the pumpkin pies will sit cooling on kitchen counters. Yes, it’s the best time of year when families come together to celebrate their favorite meal and spend the day eating until they are sick, bloated and fall asleep during half time. Gotta love America.

Okay, so I see why people, especially today are in a hurry to celebrate something. 

But isn’t rushing Christmas kind of sad? I’ve noticed as I grow older the Christmas Chanukah season seems rushed. It’s as though everyone is kind of over stuffing their faces and shopping, and Christmas is the last stop before New Year’s Eve. So maybe we’re speeding through instead of luxuriating in the moment?

I know everyone is full to the brim and burned out from the Black Friday sales, but ending the year with Santa and those greasy Latkes is rather special. 

Even Hallmark has started showing the Christmas movies earlier. I love how in their winter movies there’s fake snow on the ground and summer flowers blooming right across the street. But I digress.

Perhaps that’s the problem after all. By the time we get to the holiday we’re just over it. We’ve shopped, planned, gathered and cleaned and by the time it arrives it’s almost anti climatic.

Maybe if there wasn’t so much lead time we’d enjoy everything more.

Last minute Christmas shopping used to be a thing. It kept the adrenalin going and created excitement. Stores and malls were filled with shoppers rushing about, carrying bags and checking their phones to ensure that sweater they bought for Uncle Albert is the right size.

No offense to Amazon, which by the way I couldn’t live without now either. Yet rushing through the mall, stopping to meet a friend for lunch and talking about an updated version of a favorite recipe is all part of the joy. 

I guess what I’m feeling here is that hurrying the seasons diminishes our ability to enjoy what should be the happiness of living in the moment. 

Let’s face it, in today’s world we are bombarded with not-so-great stuff, so if we can hang onto joy a bit longer why not? We probably all need a little Christmas right now.

Perhaps that’s the secret retailers have discovered. By stretching out the holidays, they are actually making all the happy last a bit longer.

I guess that’s their holiday gift to us.

Here’s my delicious recipe that combines Chanukah and Christmas in each bite.

White Chocolate Peppermint Mandelcotti

(Okay, so I made up the word)

A mandel bread/biscotti Christmas and Chanukah recipe 

1 cup canola oil

1 cup sugar

3 1/4 cups flour

3 eggs

1 heaping teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon of peppermint extract

1 cup white chocolate

½ cup very finely chopped peppermint candy for inside recipe

¼ to ½ cup finely chopped peppermint for the topping

1 cup melted white chocolate for drizzling on top of cookies

Place oil and sugar in mixing bowl and mix well. Add eggs and mix until well until incorporated. Add extracts and mix.

Add baking powder and salt to flour and mix through

Add flour to wet ingredients in ¼ cups until done. Check for consistency. If dough is too wet add small amounts of flour until the dough has some body and isn’t loose.

Add white chocolate and peppermint and mix through.

Divide dough into four parts and form them into long rolls and place them on parchment paper.

Bake in 350-degree oven for approximately 20 minutes and check for doneness. Don’t overbake because you will have to toast them. 

They will probably crack and be light brown on edges when done

Lower oven to 200 degrees

Let cookies sit for five minutes and cut into slanted slices. Separate them and place on baking sheet and bake until they are toasty to the touch, the longer in the oven the crunchier they will be so it’s a matter of taste. I like them to have a bit of softness left inside.

Let cool and melt chocolate.

Drizzle over cookies and then top with crushed peppermint while chocolate is still melty.

To give it a more holiday feel you can alternate the crushed peppermint on the top and use both green and red peppermint for a more Christmassy look.

Is Life What Happens While We’re Making Other Plans?

Is Life What Happens While We’re Making Other Plans?

When I was young I remember my mother and grandmother had a phrase they used often. It was their version oh well or que sera sera. I remember them saying, “Man plans and God laughs,” over and over. It seemed to address every situation. Death, a divorce, a disappointment, sickness, it seemed to apply equally to any situation.

But what does it really mean? Where does it actually apply and why?

Assuming you are a religious person you would believe that God is in charge of all things. Your destiny is determined before you’re born and even after if you believe in reincarnation.

So what is the issue with free choice and doesn’t this saying in effect eliminate your free will? Your ability to choose the life you want without interference. Then what is the truth, do we have the freedom to choose or are the choices made without any input from us at all?

My grandson asked me if I believe we have free will. Without getting into a religious discussion, I answered simply, yes about most things. What you have for lunch, what movie you want to see, the video game you choose to play, the choices we make in our own lives each day.

However, and here’s the caveat, in my estimation the big choices that affect our path are chosen for us. If on the way to Starbucks for a coffee we are meant to meet our demise, than it’s no longer a small choice, but one that’s predestined. So can we really escape our fate?

We set out in life on a path and if we veer off the universe has a way to push us back where we belong. Part of our journey would include; when we are born, die, our children our soulmates and of course the lessons we are here to learn.

Many, including my daughter believe that the lessons not learned will be repeated. If that’s true I have to say I am a slow learner because it seems like I’m always making the same mistakes. Yet if I have no free choice aren’t these mistakes inevitable and perhaps I’m destined to never learn them? And if it’s part of our destiny to learn, then what happens when we do? Does that signal the end for us, or are there always new lessons after we’ve conquered previous ones?
I’m no expert here but I do believe in destiny because I’ve witnessed it at work in my own life. Major life choices I assumed I made seem to have been pre-chosen for me and there was some type of cosmic interference in the most important ones.

So many people believe there is no fate and you are on your own. Whatever you do or how you live your life is strictly up to you and how things turn out is because of the choices you and you alone have made.

If that’s true then why are there so many choices and why do some people seem to instinctively know what to do to enhance their lives? While others, and I guess there’s no other way to say this, screw everything up?

Are some born with a superpower that allows them to instinctively know the best outcome while some are clueless?

Is there a psychic ability some possess and others don’t that allows them to live great lives while others are constantly faltering? Can having an “old soul” truly be a character trait many possess?

Is it man or is it God or Destiny that has the final say here?

I don’t know why life seems so random. Why was Cindy Crawford born looking like Cindy Crawford while others can break a mirror just walking past one.

A question I’ve always asked is: why can some eat anything they want and not gain weight while others can just sniff an éclair and gain five pounds?

Or why people are born into wealth and privilege while others face horrible circumstances in every area of their lives?

Can it be something in this life that determines our destiny before we’re even born?

Obviously this can only be the case if we’ve done something before birth to determine how we’ll be rewarded or punished in this life incarnation. Perhaps kicking our mother too much in the womb?

Are our trials and tribulations simply a result of a past existence we screwed up and are now back again to make everything right?

And did those who have good lives earn them before by conquering the lessons somewhere else?

Damned if I know. I’ve shaken my head too many times to count watching horrible people, who have done nothing but hurt and abuse others, be rewarded for their selfish, callous ways.

I’ve also seen wonderful generous giving people who spend their lives helping others suffer terrible fates.

Then what’s the answer here? Not so sure I buy the “karma” explanation anymore. Since I wasn’t there when the universe was created I can’t say for sure what this whole human experience truly consists of, or its purpose. Actually I’m not certain there is any purpose at all some days.

Many say you come back with a good life if you suffer in this one. Others argue there is no karma and what we do in this life has no bearing whatsoever on any lives past or present. It’s just one and done.

Is there a destiny, do we have free will and are we on our own here with no one to answer to but ourselves?

Do we choose our path and if wrongly chosen will we be forced back onto the one chosen for us?

I myself have thought many times about other lives I had planned to live and wondered how I got here. Is this truly the life I’d envisioned or did I miss the cues that might have led me somewhere else? 

I’ve always told myself it’s never to late to live out your dreams, but as I get older I find myself asking, were those dreams or merely an imagined life so destiny led me somewhere different? If that is the case then it is to late.  There are no do overs and although we can make changes, in the end we can’t go backward and relive another desired existence.

If this all sounds a bit familiar and a great deal sad, perhaps it is. Mostly because we lived believing we had free will and might have chosen quite differently had we known we actually did not.

So many ask themselves and others “if you had your life to live over, what would you change?”

I have never had the courage to admit I might. For in saying I’d want another life I’m expressing regret for all the good things and blessings in this one.

Perhaps we as human beings are not born with the skills or insight to choose wisely so we must be guided.

Should we have regrets? Should we castigate ourselves for bad decisions or accept our fates.

Had we ourselves chosen might not our life be empty and devoid of those sad moments that allow us to distinguish them from happy ones? And don’t we need both to understand the human condition?

By now you’re thinking I’ve taken the long way around the block to get to the same place, and perhaps I have. Perhaps because this is a question that can’t be answered.

Yet I know with certainty that as one nears the end of this voyage we truly understand the meaning of how we selected and where it all ultimately led. Why regret our choices when it’s simply easier to believe our lives were predestined. Performing the shoulda coulda woulda exercise on our lives is a wasted effort.

I say there’s nothing like blaming someone or something else for our mistakes. Now that’s a lesson most people learn very young. Perhaps God is always laughing when he sees what I choose and after all everyone loves a good laugh.

I believe the blame game comes under the heading of “The Dog Ate My Homework and Other Time-Honored Excuses.” Too bad dogs can’t eat chocolate or I’d use that one all the time.

Easy Peasy Meatball Soup

Winter is coming and even those hardcore never cook at home diners crave something easy to make on a cold snowy night. If you’d rather stay home in lieu of braving the elements, try this. It takes no time to make and it’s so tasty, you’d never know it’s a true hack.

2 Cans of Campbells Tomato Soup

2 cans of milk or half and half

½ cup of spinach

½ pound of hamburger

1 tsp Italian seasonings

½ teaspoon basil

1 slice of no cook lasagna noodles

½ cup of grated parmesan cheese (optional)

salt and pepper

Season the hamburger with salt and pepper and roll into tiny meatballs.

Place cans of tomato soup in a saucepan and add other ingredients with the exception of parmesan cheese. That’s for sprinkling on top of finished soup.

Add meatballs and turn on low heat. Break up lasagna noodle into small pieces and add to soup. Cover and cook on lowest heat until meatballs are done and noodles are soft, gently stirring occasionally. 

Serve with a sprinkling of parmesan if desired.

Enjoy!

So I Got This Text From my Liver: Stop Sending Me These Damn Pills

In elementary school they offered a class in home economics which taught us the art of loading a dishwasher, how to stuff a date and how to sew a waistband. Okay, so none of these things truly prepared me for life as a whole, but at least they tried.

I feel entitled to bitch because I am so tired of getting a senior discount without even having to ask for it.

Now I’m wondering why no one prepares you for the greatest challenge in life…growing older.

Sure, people write books about how to live forever, how to age gracefully and how to stay healthy, but by the time you need these books you can already write one yourself.

So, what is the secret of learning to grow old gracefully and dealing with all aging entails?

Wrinkles, loss of mobility, forgetting things, wrinkles, loneliness, health issues, did I mention wrinkles cause I forgot, and of course appetite, medical and pain issues.

If one is lucky enough to live into the laugh laugh golden years you are on your own as to how to deal with the constant craziness that inflicts your existence each day.

Men find it impossible to get through a night without a dozen trips to the bathroom, where women can usually get through with only two or three. No one tells you your bladder retires to Boca years before your actual body and you’re left with only the memory of a functioning bladder to get you through the day. And night.

Is there a solution here besides Depends, prostrate surgery and if that’s an option good luck to you?

Your body seems to take on a mind of its own which is a good thing since your mind is usually out to lunch. Now most of the exercise I get is from walking into a room, forgetting what I came for and walking back out. Then two minutes later I remember and walk back in again. Hey, it ain’t Dancing to the Oldies with Richard Simmons, but it is a form of exercise, sort of.

Who ya gonna call when you look in the mirror and see your parents staring back at you? Is that my mother’s ghost or me? Either way it’s scary as hell!

Nothing raises a red flag to signal you’ve crossed into an ancient zipcode than your body telling you it’s time for dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon. 

How many times have you heard your friends say,” I can’t eat any later than six o clock or I’m up all night?”

I had spare ribs for lunch on Sunday and I was still tasting them at Monday night’s dinner. I used to love a great spare rib, now the only rib I can handle is when my grandson’s tease me about getting old.

I also wish someone would tell the truth about reducing inflammation. Can I help my arthritis if I stop eating dairy, meat, drinking wine or liquor, (just when you start to need it most) fried foods, bread, chocolate, sugar and wait a minute what the hell is left? And no, I don’t think you could make an argument that eating only Kale could be considered a quality-of-life diet. 

I just found out I have arthritis in my jaw. Guess we know why that is because if any part of my body is degenerating from overuse it would definitely be my mouth! Isn’t it bad enough that we have to watch our once full and luxurious locks disappear down the drain every time we wash our hair? Now I have to consider eating and talking a luxury.

Or that we have to see the stretch marks once on our hips start drifting downward to our thighs? 

Can someone teach a course in how to see the numbers on your cell phone? Or how to spot a spam call about social security or where to get the strength to get off the couch?

Of course there are older people that have enormous energy and are tech savvy. I have many friends who play pickleball, whatever the hell that is, and some are even still working. 

So what’s the big secret everyone has to write a book to share?

Many say it’s attitude. I suppose an argument could be made that mind over matter is a component, but I’ve known many people with great attitudes who are six feet under right now and didn’t make it to old age.

I guess there is not one magic bullet that can keep us young. In fact, I don’t think there’s a whole gun store full of bullets that can accomplish turning back the clock. And this whole schtick about age brings wisdom is a crock because wisdom is meaningless if you can’t remember it. 

“Yes, grandson so when I was young I used to believe that, but now as I’ve aged I learned…”

“Learned what Grammy?”

“What I just told you. The bit of wisdom I just imparted to you about that thing. You need to remember these gems of wisdom I tell you.”

“What gems?”
“About the thing we were talking about.”

“But you didn’t tell me anything.”
“I just told you what I learned.”

“Okay, Grammy, sure and thanks for sharing your wisdom with me.”

You watch your grandson walk away shaking his head and believing he’ll never get old and forget like you; but we all do, we all do.

Is it possible to exert any control over these “things” that happen to you? To change the direction your mind and body are taking and reverse the trend?

Hell if I know. I think we all make an attempt to do what we believe will help slow the process.

I’m learning a new language because I’ve heard it helps your brain. How can you actually measure if it works or not? If it doesn’t I won’t remember I even learned that language anyway.

I’ve heard exercise helps. Well that’s something I can’t verify since my arthritis has decided the days of running and leaping are far behind me. And yes I realize there are also chair aerobics and low impact choices, but I’ve never pretended to like exercise except for retail cardio and I won’t now. Besides, I count changing my sheets as exercise and I’m not the only one.

So what about eating? Okay moving on here since the thought of living without ice cream or chocolate sends a chill down my spine only equal to the shower scene in Psycho. 

Is it fair that having spent my entire life being too short for my weight I’ve now shrunk and need to lose more weight to keep up?

Is it stress? Hello, it’s stressful getting older. How can you feel calm when every time you pick up the phone or check out Instagram you hear someone else you know has just died?

Is it helpful that they can’t make a hearing aid that creates such a loud buzzing you can’t hear anything? 

Good luck living stress free in the golden years.  One shooting pain in the “good” knee elicits a “damn-not-another-knee-replacement-stress reaction.”

Ah let’s get to the supplements. I have friends that spend about an hour a day just trying to ingest all the pills. Between the prescription drugs you need to stay alive and the vitamins, minerals and strange sounding supplements the average liver is spending all day just trying to sort and send to the proper organs throughout the body, there’s little time for the fun stuff. 

I can hear my liver bitching now…

”Let’s see now, the E is for the heart, the C for immune, D for what was it? How many letters are in the damn alphabet? What the hell is SAM E? Where should I send all this crap? I’m shutting down and going on strike here and no, don’t dare send me any supplements to boost or cleanse me!”

At a time of life where minutes are so precious, I refuse to spend most of my day swallowing pills!

Begs the question; is there a fix for old age? Sure, death. I guess that’s the only way to stop the aging process. As long as we’re here and breathing our bodies are slowing down.

When I was a kid Jack LaLanne was the symbol for exercise and a healthy lifestyle. He died at the age of 96, but so did my mother and she never met a salad or a healthy meal in her life.

The only exercise my mother got was running after my father to yell at him. Actually, that did provide her with a lot of steps every day and she must have worked off a ton of calories screaming.

If there is an answer and I’m not sure there is, we can only do the best we can. Sometimes I’m better than others. Some days my diet is atrocious and some healthy. 

Some days are stress filled and others Zen.

At times I walk a great deal and other days my ass is attached to the sofa cushion.

There are so many variables involved in how one ages I could spend days trying to name them all. 

I still believe it’s a cocktail of genetics, luck, lifestyle, environment and attitude. 

I also believe it’s silly to worry because eventually something’s gonna get you. None of us lives forever, so as long as we make an attempt to enjoy the minutes we have; what the hell, maybe that’s all we can do. If you agree just yell yes! Oh forget it, I probably couldn’t hear you anyway.

How Jewish Can Jewish Comedians Be?

How Jewish Can a Jewish Comedian Be?

Being Jewish I grew up loving to laugh. It was a priority since I was younger than I even remember and the television became my Temple where I worshipped Sid Caesar, Milton Berle, Richard Pryor and all the other hilarious comedians of my time.

I have never stopped loving comedy and comedians and now I have noticed a great shift in Jewish humor.

When I was young Jewish humor sprouted its wings and took off from a heliport in the Catskill Mountains. Many of the great comics time honed their craft in front of appreciative Jewish audiences full and bloated from eating eleven meals a day and water retention from copious amounts of lox every morning.

If you could make a bloated Jew laugh, you were golden.

In large part the focus of Catskill humor was Jewish and catered to that audience. Yet can anyone truly say that marriage, children and parent jokes are funny to only Jewish people? Many comics were featured on the Ed Sullivan show which I watched with a certain reverence. Comedians like Myron Cohen specialized in Jew Jokes and pulled no punches when it came to who and what they were.

However, there was also another type of Jewish comedian far more prevalent at that time.

The Comics like Benny Kabalsky AKA Jack Benny or George Burns AKA Nathan Birnbaum who changed their names to assimilate into the times were highly successful.

Although they retained their Jewishness in many ways, on stage they attempted to fit into an American society that had a very strong hidden undercurrent of anti-semitism. What they used to call in the fifties a gentleman’s agreement, about never allowing Jewish people to frequent hotels, country clubs and restaurants reserved for only the WASPish Americans at that time.

Jewish comics like Alan King, Carl Reiner, Groucho Marx and George Burns both in Los Angeles and New York were forced to start their own country clubs where they could play golf and cards and socialize with their families.

The Alan Kings were obviously Jewish comedians despite the name change because their humor and mannerisms betrayed them, yet it was a way to bypass the rules of the time. Today modern comedians like Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David deliver Jewish sensibility humor in a more clandestine manner, and they always hit the mark in spades.

The Mel Brooks generation of comedians set a standard for comedy that to this day is tough to beat.

Their humor came from a place of pain and suffering in their DNA which is where the best comedy is born. It was nurtured by a young country that hadn’t accepted Jews, yet was willing to laugh and enjoy their brand of humor.

I have often been asked, why are so many comedians Jewish? I have written about this many times but the short answer is; because humor is the Jewish way to deal with pain. Laughter has sustained us throughout the centuries and also enables someone to diminish the power an enemy has over a person or a people.

Because so many Jewish comedians were forced to change their names in order to work years ago it is so interesting that now the best Jewish comedians have no intention of covering up their heritage or changing anything. In fact, they go out of their way to enhance their Judaism and are in your face about who and what they are.

Two examples of the “new” Jewish comedian today are Elon Gold and Modi Rosenfeld.

As a former stand-up comedian, I have seen and worked with many of the greats of our time. Therefore, when I say these two comics are not only hilarious, but fearless in their attitudes about being Jewish I speak from experience. As someone who myself was seen as too Jewish I am gratified to see this paradigm shift. Although as anyone who knows me is aware it would have been impossible for me to be perceived as anything but a Jewish woman.

The “new” gutsy out-there Jewish comedian talks about Jewish subjects, spouts Yiddish phrases and presents some of the most intelligent and well written comedy today.

There is certainly no surprise that a comedian is funny, but what is so unique is the fact that these two comedians, among others have chosen to display their Jewishness in a time that is the most anti-semitic in history.

To be so authentic in a time in America where Jews are hated, reviled and in constant danger not by only extremist groups, but by politicians in today’s Congress is incredibly brave and admirable. Anti-semitism is not only rampant today, but is overt and accepted.

So how are these comedians so popular and able to be so open about their religion?

In a short answer: I have no idea. It actually goes against what one would think was safe. Wouldn’t common sense dictate that one hide their religion in a time of oppression such as we’re seeing today?

So perhaps that’s the real point here. Have Jews been too afraid to stand up and stand out, and that has been the cause for much of our trouble?

I am a great proponent for humor as the universal language. People cannot be shooting one another when they are doubled over and laughing together.

Perhaps the fact these two comedians are openly Jewish about their wit and religion is exactly what we need right now.

Were we wrong to change our names and hide all those years ago instead of being authentic? Would Jewish people be further ahead in the world today if we’d stood up and fought to be our true selves?

I can’t say, but I must admit I have tons of respect and admiration for Elon and Modi and any others, black, Jewish or Muslim that aren’t afraid to be who and what they are in the face of prejudice.

Is there a lesson to be learned here? I imagine we’ll all have to wait and see if their honesty ultimately makes a dent in the level of hatred we are now experiencing.

Humor is a social language. One needs a funny person and a laugher to complete a humorous cycle. Throughout time, comedians have always served as social warriors and purveyors of truth. I imagine the court jesters must have leveled a few barbs at the king before they were beheaded.

Lenny Bruce AKA Leonard Schneider battled against censorship and comedians today benefit from his tormented career; although unfortunately it ultimately destroyed him.

For the sake of humanity, I sincerely hope this trend helps to eliminate hatred. Let’s face it, laughing about our foibles is in many ways a teachable moment. Self-deprecating humor has always served as a great leveler among audiences. Until we all accept one another for who and what we are these comedians not only deliver on the integrity, they deliver big laughs. In the end isn’t that all one can ask from a truly great comedian?

Heavy Handed Burger Review

I often try to include a recipe in my blog, however a friend quite rightly pointed out that many people who read my blog are past the time they enjoy cooking anymore. I’m not sure my readers have stopped cooking altogether, but if they have I imagine they have their favorite easy go to dining haunts and the days of experimenting with recipes might be in the rear-view mirror.

I thought it might be fun that since I enjoy so many of my meals outside my home, perhaps it would be fun to use my food judging skills from Baking It on NBC on restaurants. So from now on it’s Bubbe Norma’s reviews of the local and not so local places to dine.

I have to begin this review by saying as each birthday creeps upon me I eat far less meat. I’m not certain, but I believe many my age agree and have lightened their diets. Some not. But I have to say despite the whole less meat thing happening I still can’t resist a great burger. When I feel that Wimpy burger craving, I now go directly to Heavy Handed Burgers in Santa Monica or track down their food truck. I know it’s not what most people would imagine when they think about LA lifestyle food, but not everyone in LaLa Land lives on bean sprouts and kale, thank goodness!

Heavy Handed raises the burger bar to another level. The burgers are actually made of short ribs and they use beef tallow not only in the burgers but for their fries. The taste level is a ten plus and the burgers have a great mouth feel like a delicious steak from the first bite until the oh-my-gosh-it’s-gone moment. Cholesterol be damned this is a burger that shines from the addition of these ingredients. I’m very particular about the extras on my burgers and there is just the right kiss of cheese to compliment the meaty flavor explosion. The potato bun is sturdy enough to hold all the ingredients, but has a lightness that allows every flavor to truly shine. Their special sauce is just sweet enough and doesn’t overpower the rich flavors.  Some burgers are bogged down with additions and extra seasonings but Heavy Handed allows the beef to be the star with a perfect balance. The fries are tasty and crispy without feeling heavy or overly filling. When only a great burger will do, Heavy handed is definitely the place to turn for your burger fix. Their flagship location is at 2912 Main St.2912 Main St, Santa Monica, CA 90405.

Five Stars and two snaps up to Heavy Handed.

A Little Sunshine, a Lot of Rain Makes My Fig Tree Happy Again

Makes My Fig Tree Happy Again

I don’t know why but human beings need a lot. Sometimes when I’m ordering from Amazon for the fifth time in a day I think, why the hell do I need all this stuff to function?

But we do. Sad really that humans have put themselves into a position where we perpetually demand…stuff.

Stuff.

Lots and lots of stuff.

Toothpaste, soap, food, towels, cable television, air fryers, band aids the list is endless.

If you think I’m exaggerating try going to the drugstore sometime and walking out with only one thing.

Or check out Costco. Baskets filled with giant sizes of products that could feed a family for weeks.

Humans demand a great deal to function.

We not only need things, but we need emotional stuff too.

Love, caring, support, kindness and all the other bits and pieces that make us feel wanted and loved. It’s in our DNA.

Cut to my tree.

I have a fig tree outside my window. The gardeners have chopped him up numerous times with no mercy. I’ve been devastated at times when I look out and see what they’ve done to this poor little green leafy object trying to survive.

He’s looked sick for months and then something miraculous happens. Rain and sunshine and suddenly he’s standing strong again. He’s taller and fuller and his leaves are green and shapely.

His little figs return and he’s off to the races.

All because of some rain and sunshine.

How many people do you know who can survive on rain and sunshine?

How many people do you know who can survive without constant attention or a great car or Starbuck’s?

I don’t pretend to know why humans are created as we are, but I suspect long before there was an eight-dollar cup of coffee we were able to get through a day.

Think back to cave times when it was only about the basic needs?

Today no one could even survive on basic cable.

Humans needed food and shelter. There were no designer loin cloths and of course fur skins came cheap and they didn’t buy them at Dennis Basso.

So we actually survived without Netflix, toilet paper or organic kale. I guess everything was organic back then and they didn’t even have to pay Erewhon prices.

So evidently we don’t need as much to survive…or do we?

Is there any doubt we could never continue to live in this world without all the “things” we have?

So of course I realize we’re not plants and need more than water and sunshine to flourish, but actually we need both of those as well, yet plants are very content to make do with just that. When did we decide we couldn’t?

How did we evolve into a planet full of hoarders?

Even homeless people push shopping carts filled with their possessions from place to place. We all seem to need things.

What if we gave everything up and went back to living simply without streaming channels, cars, pressed juices, and uber?

Once we were happy with nothing, but it would be impossible for us to function as human beings in this world now without all our stuff.

We’d survive, but we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves.

How would we pass the time?

We could take long walks. Yes but we’d need good walking shoes on the concrete. After all our feet aren’t used to long walks without proper footwear.

Oh and we’d need clothes cause people get arrested for going around in public naked unless you’re in San Francisco.

There’s that word need again, did you notice?

What am I trying to say?

I guess I’m a little jealous of my Fig tree. To thrive and be so happy with just water and sunshine.

Those things make me happy too, well of course the water has to be filtered, and I’d need sunscreen.

It just seems to me we’re all so addicted to stuff now. The things we need to need to get through a day.

All these “articles” make life so much more complicated. Not for what they are, but for the fact we need money to buy them.

And there’s the rub as Hamlet said, money.

Trees don’t need money to be happy yet as humans we’ve set up a system where we can’t live without it.

And not just a little…a whole lotta money especially these days.

With each dollar we need we move farther and farther away from the basics of life.

Yes, I seem to be channeling my inner sixties mentality when fifteen people lived in a VW van painted with colorful flowers.

When communes were all the rage until people outgrew them and went out into the world to become millionaires.

Jerry Rubin one of the Chicago Seven went to work on Wall Street.

So is there any way we can actually live a quiet uncluttered life if we choose to?

Well the hippy in me would like to think so. But the Yuppy in me hears the voice of Gordon Gekko, don’t be stupid… “Greed is Good.”

I guess we can never go backwards now when we’ve all been acclimated to need and want.

Let’s face it, we enjoy our nice cars, our good restaurants, our organic foods, our pretty clothes and our cornucopia of Apple products that get us through each day.

I suppose it’s the grand design after all that we grow and prosper. Constantly moving like a shark in the water and never standing still.

It’s just that my fig tree looks so damn happy and content out there soaking up the sun and he doesn’t even need sun block. Maybe more time in the sun might do us all some good, I’m sure it couldn’t hurt. I just have to go on Amazon and order some new trainers and I still have the last season of Succession to finish. Oh well, I can always soak up some sun tomorrow.

Coconut Sunshine Chicken Tenders

1 cut up chicken. Use thighs, breasts or drummettes

1 cup coconut

½  cup almond flour

½ cup panko

½ cup flour

2 eggs beaten

canola oil deep enough to deep fry

salt and pepper

Cut chicken into pieces as desired may be strips or chunks

Combine dry ingredients

salt and pepper chicken and almond flour, panko and coconut breading mixture

Dip chicken into flour, then egg and finally into all three dry ingredients combined.

Drop gently away from you into the 350 degree oil.

Fry until chicken is cooked on both sides, approximately 5 minutes.

Drain and serve with pineapple sauce.

Pineapple sauce

1 cup crushed pineapple

1 tablespoon apricot preserves

1 teaspoon ketchup

Mix together in blender or food processor until combined but still chunkyish.

God is in the Oil of Olay

God is in the Oil of Olay

Shock and awe is a phrase often used to describe a moment when we can’t quite register what we are seeing. It’s usually reserved for those occasions that might render one speechless, like seeing an explosion in a building a few feet away or a smash and grab when you’re trying on clothes at Nordstrom.

So I’m not quite certain that what I’m about to describe would be considered shock and awe by some, but to me it was one of those moments and I have to say it was more shock than awe.

I recently attended an event where I ran into many of my friends. I was legitimately surprised at how many who I’d not seen since before the pandemic I actually didn’t even recognize.

It was as if some horrible time demon had waved his wand over everyone’s face and aged them a hundred years overnight. Oh that Satan can be tricky.

The friends I did recognize seemed so much older and their faces were sporting more lines than Costco the day before a holiday.

I was completely taken off guard since when I look in the mirror I see someone aging gracefully, and bearing an acute resemblance to the person I was twenty-five years ago. Am I being sprinkled with fairy dust at night I wondered? Everyone looked so old and yet I didn’t feel that I had aged that much.

I suddenly felt so bad for everyone and wondered if there were group rates on plastic surgery in Beverly Hills.

I mean if everyone my age looks so old, I must look that way too. So why is it when I look in that dreaded looking glass I don’t see old?

Although, and here’s the really scary part, I see my mother. I think that means something here, but I refuse to acknowledge what.

Are my eyes much worse than I know? Could it be that my brain is off and isn’t perceiving the world as it should be?

Everyone else is ancient and I don’t see myself that way. Should I grab my toothbrush and a cat and start picking out my mummy case?

Something weird is going on here and I’m determined to know what it is.

I check out a woman I know who had a total face lift years ago and her face is filled with lines; and I’m not talking about the lines in a soliloquy by the Bard. Must be the light. Is there some special light in this room that creates wrinkling on human flesh?

No way I think when I see another friend who has single handedly kept the Botox industry in business. Her eyes were sporting more wrinkles than an un-ironed 1000 thread count cotton sheet.

The men looked seriously older with tires around their waists and numerous lines around their eyes. Then there’s that thinning hair that seemed to be in a race to get to the back of their heads.

What the hell, I thought. Who are these old people and what have they done with my friends?

It was obvious looking around who had found the good plastic surgeons and availed themselves of their services, but did I look so old to everyone or was I Cleopatra in a state of denial?

I suppose it is true that you don’t see yourself as old until you look at your friends. Then suddenly reality kicks you in the butt like a goat you just stepped on and woke up from its nap. OUCH!

Ageing is painful and difficult to deal with without having it shoved down your throat…and speaking of my neck which sorry, I don’t even think I have the strength to do.

It seems no matter how much plastic surgery one endures, and I’m also talking about the pain of receiving the surgeon’s bill, Vicodin protects you from the other effects, the years are not kind to your face. No matter what, Father Time, that son of a bitch always gets the last laugh.

I know women who’ve had their neck done only to make their eyes look more wrinkled and hooded.

Then there are my jowls that make me want to go around saying… “So Buffalo Bob, who is on the show today?”

“Well, Howdy, we have a plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills with us. He’s going to fix those puppet lines on your face and give Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring a boob lift.”

I won’t even try on clothes in a store anymore. I can’t face the damn dressing room mirror. Those lights make me look like a chicken that was in the oven too damn long.

I search Google for testimonials by women who once looked a hundred and used a cream and woke up looking fifty. I can’t find a single one.

And yet there are ads all over with Oprah hyping gummy bears that allow you to lose fifty pounds in a week. So why can’t they invent a miracle gummy bear that removes wrinkles in a week?

We could kill two birds with one stone there; my craving for sugar and looking ancient.

Cleopatra killed herself with an asp to avoid being humiliated by Octavian. But did she really? Maybe she looked in the mirror and saw a wrinkle. Cleo figured  despite all those jewels around her neck the hanging would soon commence. Let’s face it the girl was a serious narcissist.  So instead of ageing she called the asp over and went to sleep. That’s one alternative to looking like an old crone. If you’ll notice there are no statues of Cleo as an old broad. Smart play, Girl.

I am certain that my friends don’t see themselves as old when they look in the mirror any more than I do. Oh sure we notice little things like those three additional chins and how our lipstick bleeds onto our nose. How can we not when we have to lift our neck to wash our chest?

But all in all, there is a certain sense of denial that comes with the years.

We actually see ourselves in two dimensions at the same time, where the young us and the old us combine, which puts us somewhere in the middle.

It’s a gift God gave women to make up for the whole Harvey Weinstein thing he knew would exist.

So there is really no way to see ourselves as we truly look because our brain inserts the youthful us into our eyes whenever we look into a mirror.

Sure, the Devil sneaks in sometimes and provides the magnifying mirror or overhead lights to cause some pain, but our brain always protects us from the harsh reality of youth’s loss.

Every woman would like to look as she did when she was thirty. Even if she was sporting her old nose and tiny boobs.

So because we can’t go back in time Benjamin Button style, we have to tell ourselves it’s okay. Thus we simply apply the make-up and creams with lots of hope and constant prayer. Isn’t it amazing how religious a woman can become when putting on her face?

My Howdy Doody Dumplings

I package of egg roll wrappers

canned salmon

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 8 oz cream cheese softened

1 cup of baby peas

¼ cup of crushed ritz crackers

¼ cup red pepper chopped finely

½ teaspoon of lemon juice

salt and pepper to taste

1 egg

water

Mix half the can of soup with softened cream cheese

break up salmon into small pieces and add I cup to the soup mixture

Add salt and pepper to taste and mix well into everything is incorporated.

Mix the egg with some water

Place a large tablespoon of the mixture onto the egg roll wrapper and brush the edges with egg mix and fold it in half and seal it well.

Brush the top with egg wash and place on a sheet pan with parchment paper that has been sprayed with oil.

You can either boil the dumplings or fry them in butter. I’ve never tried them in the air fryer, but I imagine they might work in there.

Use the leftover soup with a half cup of half and half and some salt and pepper as a sauce and serve with rice or mashed potatoes.

What Do You Do When There’s Nothing to Do?

What Do You Do

When There’s Nothing to Do?

“We are always the same age inside…” Gertrude Stein

There are way too many new realities to accept when you are talking about the laugh laugh golden years. One of these is that once you stop working and raising your children life changes.

So what do you do with all the extra time?

Despite claims otherwise ageism is the last and most accepted form of ism in America.

There doesn’t seem to be any downside to businesses or corporations that pass on hiring “older” people. No one would actually ever admit they weren’t hiring you for age reasons, but there are always red flags.

Years ago I interviewed for a newspaper job in Los Angeles with a business newspaper.

The editor was someone I had known and was very familiar with my work.

During the interview he asked, “would you feel out of place working among all young people?”

Hello, red flag warning and surprise of course I didn’t get that job.

I have a friend who is far past the retirement age for teachers. Due to tenure her job is secure and she can work up until the time she can no longer find her way to the school. I have no doubt that even after the state says she can no longer drive she will be Ubering to work every day.

I totally understand because she is absolutely someone who would be lost unless she had somewhere to go every day.  

However not everyone is a teacher with tenure, so what does a person who is perfectly capable of continuing to contribute to society do to keep functioning?

I always think about Iris Apfel who now in her nineties and still running a successful design business.

Let’s face it, it’s easier when you’re in the arts and a creative person to keep rolling on, but of course you needn’t be Picasso to enjoy taking art classes.

I’ve thought about ageing a great deal and have spoken about it many times so obviously it’s bugging me plenty. I guess I get extra whiny on this subject.

Here’s why. When I was a kid in Florida visiting my grandparents, I’d see older people sitting on the porches of the hotels across from the ocean, rocking and talking and I never thought that could happen to me, but maybe deep down I did. And I’m not judging. If someone is happy sitting and relaxing it’s all good.

Yet I must ask…what can you do when you have nothing to do?

If the pandemic taught us anything it’s that one can fill their days and let’s face it we were shoved into our homes to face and fill 24-hours.

Still we all found ways to be productive and even enjoy the down time away from the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Eventually we all figured out ways to POD with our families, work streaming TV and find places from which to order toilet paper.

I’m reminded of how much our lives became reminiscent of when our children were young and a snow or rainy day came along.

As parents we often had to round up our kids and find fun and interesting things to do to fill those hours.

So now suddenly at this age we have become our own parent and we are the kids with nothing to do.

I guess we could bring out the arts and crafts boxes and cut snowflakes.

Paint T-shirts maybe?

After the pandemic I can’t even look at another jigsaw puzzle.

Cooking? Oh right, my cardiologist would be thrilled that I was in the kitchen finding new ways to fill my face.

Exercise? If I hated it when I was young why would I want to do that now?

I have friends who play pickleball and God bless them for it, but my feet start bitching the moment I step out of bed in the morning.

Of course there’s the tried and true older person fall back fun stuff like Bridge, Maj Jong, Canasta and anything that involves sitting at a table and intermittently reaching for the nearby bowl of M&Ms or nuts.

In a new world one would think there are tons of new options available for golden yearers. Is all we can hope for the same old same old and videos of us dancing with our grandchildren on Instagram Reels?

Despite the fact a majority of seniors avail themselves of the new technology playing scrabble online can’t fill a day.

I am fortunate in that I play Roblox, whatever that is, with my grandsons online. I have no idea what I’m doing but as long as it’s with my boys I’m happy.

But what about the rest of the hours in a day?

Can we still find ways to feel relevant and in control?

Time to shift gears to optimistic here.

I say yes.

I truly believe there are more opportunities now than ever before.

I have been able to do things and achieve goals now I couldn’t before because of my age. So from a certain perspective there is definitely an upside to this aging thing.

I needn’t list the enormous variety of options available to fill our days, but a new one is definitely leaf peeping and yes that’s a real thing.

I guess the list is endless actually, but it does take a certain amount of commitment.

It’s great to have a group of friends who will inspire and force you to make plans and join in the fun.

I don’t pretend any ideas are new or revolutionary and haven’t been used for ages. It does seem though that there should be some new ones out there and that’s just it, there doesn’t seem to be any.

The options for filling our days are pretty much set in stone and in this exciting and scary new world, one would like to think there are new places to visit and new adventures to be had.

Space travel which I believed would be an option by now is unavailable, so I don’t think I’ll be joining Flash Gordon on Mars anytime soon.

Like most of us I thought it would be different this whole aging thing, but life is pretty much as expected.

Youth, careers, kids, grandkids, and arthritis.

Nothing much new there.

So is life actually predestined? If we reach a certain age can we hope for nothing more than our parents or grandparents were able to experience? Costco, walks in the mall, various activities and of course constant doctor visits. Even if you’re well.

What did I expect? I thought new and exciting times would exist for us, but nope, pretty much the same.

We do live longer and feel better now than our parents, so being able to fill our days with fun things to do should be easier.

When I look at life it’s pretty obvious we can be as busy or as idle as we choose and it’s up to us to decide.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but when once our problem was how to find any free time now it’s about finding ways to stay busy. Kinda upside down so maybe that’s why I feel discombobulated. I imagine the important take away is it doesn’t matter what we choose to do with our time, as long as we enjoy what we’re doing. But that’s really what it’s all about at any age, isn’t it?

Crunchy Apple Pork Chops in Cream Sauce

6 pork chop tenderloins or chops with bone in can also be used, but cooking time will increase.

2 apples (your choice) peeled, cored and sliced

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

2 cups heavy cream

1 cup flour seasoned with salt and pepper

1 ½ cups panko crumbs

1 ½ cups dried apple chips ground up well

1 tbsp butter

1 tablespoon of oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Season pork slices with salt and pepper and set aside

Put apple chips in the food processer and ground up well, but not too fine. Combine with panko crumbs. 

Melt butter and oil in frying pan and dip pork into flour and pat off excess. Dip chops into beaten egg then into panko/apple mixture.

Add to frying pan and sear until golden brown. Remove from pan and place in oven at 350 degrees until internal temperature of 150 degrees is reached.

Add apples and cider to frying pan and sauté apples until fork tender and then add cream. Heat over low heat until cream reduces by one third. Taste sauce and add salt and pepper if necessary.

Add back pork into frying pan and cover with cream sauce and heat through two more minutes until all is combined and warm.

Serve over any pasta or rice or with a mashed potato.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall Father Time You’ve Got Some Gall!

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Father Time You’ve Got Some Gall 

Who loves mirrors? Raise your hands if you think mirrors are your friends?

Funny I think we’re divided down age lines on that one.

When I was young during the American Revolution, I saw the mirror as a necessary evil. One needed to use it to make up, do your hair and ensure that mountainous blemish has succumbed to the clearasil.

As I aged I realized mirrors were slowly becoming a foe. So I was happy that my close up vision allowed for some degree of blurriness while putting on lipstick or eye make up and disguising a bit of the wrinkling that was attacking my skin.

However, as any woman knows it’s impossible to allow the blurry make up thing to continue unless you don’t mind looking like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Blvd. And no I was definitely not ready for my closeup. So we all must admit that sooner or later the old magnifying mirror must enter our life.

And there it stands on the bathroom counter, defying me and showing no mercy. Determined to bring home the reality of what’s going on around my eyes, the puppet lines that are suddenly giving me the appearance of Howdy Doody and a forehead that cries out for Botox.

I often wonder where and who was the first woman to look into a mirror. I did some checking and according to Google, or as I refer to it, my default brain, the earliest known manufactured mirrors, approximately 8000 years old were found in Anatolia in south central modern Turkey. They were made from obsidian (volcanic glass), had a convex surface and with remarkably good optical quality. Is that where the phrase turkey neck was coined?

The mirrors we use today are from Germany 200 years ago. Google says that in 1835, German chemist Justus von Liebig developed a process for applying a thin layer of metallic silver to one side of a pane of clear glass.

I will refrain from any obvious comments about the evil of Germany here. 

So is it the mirror’s fault that a close up of my face is showing more crags than the Rocky Mountains?

Shall I blame a magnifying mirror for the ravages of time?

Yes, I definitely feel that’s the way to go here.

I mean who can I blame, Father Time? Sure, if I could find the old coot I’d kick him in the ass for rushing the years and showing no mercy. But where is he? Where does he hide out? If anyone knows please let me know? In the meantime I feel perfectly comfortable blaming the damn magnifying mirror for my shortcomings.

I didn’t invent the ten times magnification. I could never be that cruel. To enhance a face and make every wrinkle look like the Grand Canyon, who could possibly think this was a good idea? I believe his name is Satan, although he goes by other names.

Ever since my childhood mirrors have gotten a bad rap.

After all everyone knows that the wicked queen used her trusty mirror to verify Snow White’s beauty and the mirror was her ally.

Oops, so the mirror was aligned with evil. Hmmm?

So from the time we are old enough to hear fairy tales we are taught that mirrors aren’t so up and up and can be used to evoke evil intentions.

Still we go through childhood believing they are there to ensure the lipstick falls between our lip line, our hair looks okay in the front and back and our eye make-up is actually placed around our eyes.

We use mirrors constantly, looking and primping and then suddenly the day comes when we are squinting to see. The mirror is suddenly blurry and we can no longer tell if our lipstick is on our lips or heading toward our ears leaving a pink highway along our cheek.

So we are faced with a dilemma. Should we ignore the obvious and simply begin looking like we got dressed in the dark? Or should we put on our big girl pants and go out and buy a magnifying mirror?

At first we start with low magnification like, four or six or seven times. But little by little we are forced to up the ante until we reach the dreaded ten times when suddenly there it all is. Right before our eyes in gigantic proportions.

Suddenly our face looks like a linen skirt we’ve been sitting on in ninety-degree weather for hours.

We tell ourselves it’s the mirror and it’s overblown. Our face doesn’t look like this. Where once my face looked like the Sea of Tranquility it now looks like a crater where a meteor landed. 

So suddenly mirrors present an existential crisis. Do we stop looking in mirrors altogether?

I guess one could live that way. Just make sure if you have spinach for dinner you make someone check your teeth afterward.

Or we could look into a regular mirror and risk putting our eyeshadow on our lips by accident.

Or we could bite the bullet and buy a magnifying mirror. I suppose, the size would depend on how big a masochist one is.

The ten would have to be for those who wish to truly punish themselves.

Maybe a four-times or so might work to at least ensure your make up actually lands on your face.

I have nothing against mirrors, well I kinda do, but it’s not their fault.

I need to go mano a mano with that creep Father Time. I have a feeling he’s hiding inside some women’s wrinkles who avoids mirrors on purpose.

Just wait, you old evil creep till I get my hands on you. I‘ll do such a job on your face, you’ll never be able to look into a mirror again. And then maybe you’ll know how we feel.

Easy Southwestern Salad

This is an easy salad to make and incredibly filling and tasty. It also makes enough to feed a family and most ingredients are already in your pantry or fridge. Enjoy!

I head of lettuce cut up or torn

I tomato cut up

2 fresh avocados 

4 strips of bacon cooked and then cut up

3 hard boiled eggs

1 cup of sweet corn

2 radishes sliced thin

1 heaping cup of shredded Mexican Cheese

tortilla chips or garlic croutons

taco seasoning

salt and pepper to taste

1 /2 cup of mayo

14/ cup of sour cream,

½ teaspoon of cilantro

one lime freshly squeezed or 1 teaspoon of lime juice

Lime Dressing

In a bowl add sour cream, mayo and lime juice with a ½ teaspoon of cilantro and a light sprinkling of salt. Mix until smooth and everything is incorporated. Refrigerate until salad is done.

Salad

Hard boil the eggs and peel and let cool then slice. Cook bacon until crispy and then cut up the lettuce and tomato. 

Place everything but the avocado and tortilla chips or garlic croutons into a large salad bowl and season to taste. Taste as you go as this should be a salad that highlights the fresh ingredients not the seasonings.

Toss lightly with salad dressing then peel and cut up avocados and add to salad. Add chips or croutons just before serving so they remain crispy. 

This salad can be adjusted to taste every easily. If you like salsa you can add it to the dressing it will taste great.  If you want to add shrimp or chicken or steak go for it!

California Does Biblical?

Can You Ever Be Happy in California?

Don’t worry, be happy. A popular song and supposedly the attitude of Californians, but is it really?

Californians are never happy. In a state that is constantly complaining about the lack of water and screaming draught every minute I have heard ad nauseum how evil it is to take a shower lasting more than two minutes. I almost killed myself once trying to rush out of the shower to meet the time limit. Getting the soap off me in the designated time has become one of life’s great challenges.

I’ve heard Los Angeles politicians are considering forming a committee to determine whether or not to create a water police force.

So now I have to worry about using too much water and getting a ticket or being thrown in jail. In California showering an extra minute is apparently a far worse crime than robbing, looting, stealing or killing. But I digress.

So today as I sit here happily listening to the pitter patter of little raindrops on my window screens I am elated.

Of course the state is in a panic because water dares to enter its borders, but why when all they talk about is the lack of it?

The fig tree outside my window that is usually forced to be happy with the buckets of water I provide its roots when I remember, is literally dancing in the raindrops like Gene Kelly holding his umbrella and wrapped around a pole.

Yes, it’s windy and yes, it’s wet outside, but I’m from Detroit and a little rain is the least of bad weather to my mind.

So what does it take to make these Californians happy?

They hate it when it’s dry. They complain and run for the bomb shelters when a few raindrops hit the earth so what does it take to satisfy them?

A friend of mine said the grocery stores yesterday were pre-pandemic. People throwing food and Cheetos in their carts and fighting over toilet paper like the world was ending. Hey, that’s my Charmin and keep your paws off my quilted Northern! Oh my heavens the ground is wet how will we cope?

So why does California suffer so much from water envy?

Here’s a thought…when it’s pouring rain like it is today and was this past winter why not store the water to use when the supply is low?

Hmmm, that’s a thought. Let’s see; capture the water before it flows into the drains and back into the ocean. Duh, what a concept.

Hollywood is the land of the tease. When I first moved here I quickly discovered the weathermen loved to bait people with startling reports of inclement weather. Hide and take shelter the rain is coming.

Then I’d wake up the next morning and somehow it was always sunny and gorgeous. I soon learned that being a weatherman in LA is a fun job if you like tormenting trees and flowers with visions of falling rain.

Hey, Palm tree, wanna be in the movies?

There are definitely many risks associated with living in LaLaLand.

Shaking earth is the biggie. Every time I feel the earth move my heart stops and I close my eyes and pray.

Next, mudslides. How’d you like to wake up with a ton of mud sleeping next to you? Well in LA it can happen.

Third is definitely fires. Oh boy, this is scary because one spark can set off an entire neighborhood. I think we’ve seen lately how horrible the consequences of a fire can be after Maui.

Oh and there is the danger of driving on the 405. If you don’t pass out waiting to move an inch forward in traffic, you could be killed by some guy speeding in and out of lanes while cars are literally at a standstill.

So today California went biblical. Of course I’m not downplaying the dangers that can be a factor of a rainstorm. Lightning, downed power lines, snakes, no cable or Internet, flash floods, that’s a big one, or having your house float away into the Pacific Ocean like the coastal residents have to fear.

So far since I began writing this blog, we’ve had an earthquake, mudslide, tropical storm, floods and snakes.

So yes rain can be a problem, but right now the sound of the raindrops outside my window are a welcome change from the constant sunshine we’re forced to live with. Boo Hoo.

Wait a minute that sounded a lot like complaining about all the nice weather, Norma.

Oh Lord, am I turning into one of them? No, no, no I love the rain, I love the sun, it’s all wonderful. Let it pour and may every tree and flower enjoy each raindrop.

Of course it’s a good thing that California and Nevada are over preparing for any dangerous event. As Jalaima, our housekeeper in my youth always preached, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

I hear Tropical Storm Hillary is leaving for Vegas tomorrow. That’s a gamble. Good luck at the tables, even a hurricane couldn’t win in that town.

So fellow Californians stay alert and please somebody collect the damn rain water so I don’t have to take those two-minute showers this winter. It’s really hard to scrub your feet with track shoes on. What the hell? Was that a locust flying by my window and was he hugging a frog. Hey sound effects, cue the hailstones!

Keto Philly Steak

2 Zero carb tortillas if small. Larger you’ll probably only need one

1 cup Ground Beef or Steak

½ cup Green, Yellow or Red Peppers

¼ cup mushrooms (optional)

¼ cup Onions,

Oil,

1 cup Provolone or Mozzarella Cheese or two thick slices

Saute onions, peppers until translucent

Remove and add beef and when browned add back peppers and onions. Cover with cheese and then cover and melt cheese on top of mixture.

Remove and place on pita and fold over. Enjoy!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago Or Else!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago

As you, my readers know I stay clear of politics. Probably because nausea sets in whenever I am forced to deal with the insanity that has now become normal in this country. However, sometimes I can’t resist making fun of the stupidity of politicians who are so pathetic and inept the comedy material simply writes itself. Every so often the comedian in me just can’t be held down.

On the news today I heard that in Chicago the city is asking gang members to limit their shooting and killing to certain hours. I believe the bullets can fly from 9 P.M. until 9 A.M. I assume this is because innocent little children are constantly getting caught in the crossfire.

Upon hearing this I immediately realized how vital it is for those who live in or visit Chicago to know the correct time.

I mean if your watch broke or is even off by one minute you could find yourself caught in a gang war in the midst of a hail of bullets.

I mean what if Gramps is sitting on his porch on a summer night and he’s a bit hard of hearing? His wife yells, “Grandpa, it’s one minute to nine. Come on in the house.”

“What’s that, Dear? I can’t hear you.”

“I said it’s almost time to come into the house, it’s almost nine.”

“Huh, I can’t hear you. Did you say…”

“Grandpa, Grandpa…?”

If Grandpa’s hearing aid were working he’d be here to celebrate Christmas this year.

So, I was thinking maybe the city of Chicago should open up hearing aid centers and watch repair shops on every corner. Like Kiosks in a mall you could even have them chasing people down the street.

“Hey would you like me to check your watch, Mister. I’ve got a beauty here on sale guaranteed to work to the second. Gunshot proof.” And here’s a free sample of hand cream.”

It could be a great way to bring businesses back to the areas of Chicago people are afraid to step foot into anymore. I can see the businesses cropping up all over. ABC hearing aids or Save-a-life watch repair. My goodness the opportunities are endless for out of work Chicagoans.

People could go door to door selling watches and hearing aids like aluminum siding. There is definitely money to be made here.

Gang members would have to clock in at nine P.M. and out at nine A.M. to ensure they were following the rules. That would mean setting up time clocks everywhere. If a gang member is killed someone else could punch his time card. More business for time clock manufacturers. This could be a windfall.

If Paul Revere had had to ride through Chicago yelling the “Gangs are Coming!” we’d still be under British rule today.

Of course, parents would have to teach children to tell time before they could walk. Instead of learning their ABCs they would need to learn how to read a watch. In the cribs they could have teddy bears that sing and teach time. Maybe to the tune of Allan Sherman’s camp song, Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh.

“Hello baby, it is nine now. Run like hell out of the ghetto. Get to safety and speed your rolls. Cause Chicago politicians are big assholes. So hightail it far away. If you want to live to see another birthday. Your parents voted for a loser. So until he’s gone we’ll pray that you see two, Sir.”

So what’s your solution, Norma you ask? Rightfully so and I do have one. I think the Mayor should be forced to walk alone through the crime-ridden neighborhoods every night without any weapons or body guards. Oh, and without a watch so he’ll know what little kids are dealing with.

Odds are they’d have to get a new mayor more often, but eventually maybe they’d actually elect one that believed murdering children was a bad thing. A refreshing change of pace for that city.

Being from Detroit I saw a city die and fifty-six years later just begin to become safe and livable again. I never thought it would happen to Chicago.

We used to visit the windy city a great deal when my kids were young. It was close by and easy to access by car. The hotels, shopping and food was always great.

Strangely enough it’s close enough to Motown for them to have seen firsthand what happened when crime overtook cars as Detroit’s biggest export.

I made light of the horrible circumstances of that toddling town as Sinatra called it, in this blog. But hearing about children dying as they walk to school, play in their houses or on their front porches is more than any human being can bear. I just couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Maybe one day the people of Chicago will wake up and elect politicians who care about the lives of young people, but until then asking gangs to kill each other at odd hours just doesn’t seem like a very good plan. At least without checking your watches. So ironic that a city that boasts its lake wind is the Hawk is actually too chicken to protect its own kids.

I guess all we can do is eat, so here is my keto Chicago Hot Dog recipe I enjoy greatly and is easy to make. If you live in Chi-town, you can definitely get it finished cooking before nine.

Chicago Style Hot Dog Keto Style

One all beef hot dog

Chopped tomato about ¼ cup or sliced tomato

a spear or two of dill pickle

a hot pepper cut up

celery salt

mustard

a keto friendly tortilla shell, keto bun or romaine. lettuce for a wrap.

Prepare all and enjoy!

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

It’s nice to be needed by our children. We are both saddened and a bit relieved when our kids say, “Mom we’re all grown up now, we can take care of ourselves.” Mixed feelings there, at least for me. Like watching a politician being led away in handcuffs, exhilarating to see, but sad.

You love your children to need you, but a sense of freedom is a welcome change from all the years of being at everyone’s beck and call.

Yet now I’ve been seeing a new phenom, a new job or should I say new need I never expected; babysitting with my grand dog.

And I’m not the only one.

I have many friends that have been tasked with the new moniker of caregiver for their children’s dogs. And the rules are strict. Helicopter pets must be fed at a certain time. They’re on a tight schedule. The only animal I’ve ever seen with a stop watch is the White Rabbit who was always late anyway. Today’s dog’s get a report card from their doggy hotels. They are judged on how well they play with others, eat their meals, brush their teeth, bathe, go to bed on time, socialize or isolate and the potential for developing a Ted Bundy personality. If the report card is substandard do the pets have their television privileges revoked? Is there on-call psychiatric care for dogs who have separation anxiety?

I have a friend who forgot and left one of her grand dogs outside for a couple of hours in the yard when she left her son’s house and is still on puppy-care probation.

So I must ask myself, why do dogs today need a baby sitter when their family leaves ?

We always had pets when I was growing up, dogs, cats, bunnies. Our dog Lamb Chop seemed fine when we left home.

In fact, I sometimes wondered if he was having friends over for a party. Not that I could read his mind, well sort of, it was as though he was saying, Hey guys hurry up and leave, I’ve got my buddies coming.

Our cat Pywacket would look over as we walked out the door, yawn and think, thank goodness they’re gone now so I can get some real shut eye.

Well, it seems those days are over now. I don’t know why or how it changed, but suddenly when I’m dog sitting, my grand dog Blu jumps up and begins howling if I even leave the room to use the bathroom.

And he’s not the only one. I’ve heard from other friends their grand dogs have taken to howling when left alone for even a short time.

I’ve never been good at life. At understanding the whys or wherefores of this contract we sign to enter this planet and become a part of its energy. So explaining the unexplainable is not my forte. So much craziness, especially lately, I am beyond understanding how this all works when so much is upside down.

So if you ask me why dogs suddenly need baby sitters when their owners leave the house for a few hours well you are barking up the wrong tree for an answer.

I have tried to think of reasons dogs may be afraid to stay home alone these days. Are there roving gangs of dogs doing smash and grabs in all the neighborhoods? Oops nope, that’s humans.

Wait are they afraid they’ll be kidnapped in the streets while on a walk? Sorry, forgot that’s just English Bull Dogs.

Are dogs breaking into houses and stealing kibble?

Oops, people too.

Wait, maybe it’s a fear of having to listen to the dreaded news channel when you’re alone? Sorry, that’s a human thing too.

I know, it’s because someone told them they have to go back into work one day a week. Yeah, sorry, that’s a people thing too.

So what could be plaguing dogs and creating such fear responses?

Could it be a paranoia they are absorbing from their human counterparts? Are owners so stressed they’ve become babbling idiots with all the insanity one must deal with today and pets have caught the crazy bug?

Or is it because during the pandemic owners never left the house and pets saw how good it was to have their human with them all the time?

After all dogs weren’t watching when Dr. Fauci declared COVID over.

Are our animals merely a reflection of the fact humans are staying home more now? That people don’t want to go back to work, out to a mall or wander far from their base unit any longer?

Perhaps the answer is not in our dogs, but in ourselves.

It’s no secret pets have taken their cues from their owners since time began so why should anyone be surprised at this new dependance?

Dog Sitting? I guess it’s like when my grandson asked me the other day, Grammy what was it like living with the dinosaurs? All I could say was, you had to be really careful not to stand behind them when you took them out to do their business.

Most humans love animals and animals respond in kind by being loving and protective. Why be surprised when in this crazy world pets need the same in return just a little more than they once did. After all, don’t we?  

Snoozle Puffs

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

½ cup peas fresh or frozen

1 cup ground beef or turkey

Add peas and beef or turkey to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheet

Roll over once and cut Roll over again and cut and repeat the process until all cut.

Place in well buttered muffin tins and brush with egg wash.

You can also bake them in mini muffin pan for an  hors d’oeuvre or appetizer

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked through. Check mini ones periodically as not to overcook.

Can the Rest of Your Life Be the Best of Your Life?

Can the Rest of Your Life

Be the Best of Your Life?

I have spoken many times about the limitations inherent in the whole getting-old thing. Few escape the fun surprises of old age and the many sad days remembering those who have left the party before you.

So what can one do to lift their spirits during this whole aging process?

Let’s face it, most aren’t capable of beginning to train for a marathon or mountain climbing. Still, many can. Of course, it’s possible to do numerous things as we age despite the fact there are some physical limits to what we can accomplish. Yet, and go with me here…the wisdom we’ve gleaned over so the years can help to achieve goals that may have been out of our reach in our youth.

Wisdom doesn’t require exercise. It doesn’t need a 20-year-old body.

As we age and our presence seems to diminish, we grow less and less relevant and our footprint grows lighter and smaller.

So what is the alternative to this inevitability?

Women have known for years we don’t need an invisibility cloak after the age of fifty. It used to be forty but Botox has added a few years to our presence.

Most women are aware that as the years pass so does their ability to attract attention and many have accepted this fate.

However, with the advent of social media, seniors have raised their profile and possess numerous ways to remain in the game.

Coolness is no longer predicated on age or sex. So many have found fun and lucrative ways to add years to their social lives by starting businesses, becoming politically active and checking off items from their bucket list.

So is it boring to just want to live the days quietly and unadventurously? Visiting grandchildren and walking through the park? Baking our children’s favorite recipes and delivering them? Meeting a friend for lunch and living a serene life? Should we feel guilty that we aren’t still out in the world making a difference or leaving our mark on humanity? Is it a sign of laziness to want to enjoy a bowl of popcorn and a Mel Brooks movie festival on a rainy day?

Are we entitled to choose our path and is it a shame to opt for the quiet one? Does the quality of our life depend on how much we do with it? How exciting we make every day? Does it seem like simply living is actually waiting to leave life? Well you sure ask a lot of questions for someone from Detroit, Norma.

So I’ve asked myself many times, what should I be doing with the rest of my life? Is this a time I could be using to live out old dreams, accomplish never-achieved goals or perhaps set a new agenda?

There is that old saw after all about Grandma Moses beginning to paint at 78 years old.

Colonel Harland Sanders was 65 when he started Kentucky Fried Chicken and Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65 when she began writing the highly successful Little House on the Prairie series.

I’m thinking that since 50 is the new 40 that 75 is the new 65. With that in mind is there any reason not to jump in and swim to the shore marked unfulfilled dreams?

The new wave in education toward home schooling has led to a new thing called PODS where parents form their own group and hire a teacher. Sort of home schooling on steroids.

Now a teacher can even continue teaching in a new and different way if they choose.

There are so many more opportunities today.

Online work and businesses, influencers, and of course the tried-and-true activities.

Classes in art, painting. sculpting, wine, cooking, Maj Jong or Bridge and so much more to fill the days.

That being said there is a fly in the ointment; COVID slowed us down. Instead of making us race into new endeavors, so many I know have discovered they are content to be at home and puttering about the house or garden just enjoying a quiet life.

Taking into account the options are numerous and more than ever before is there anything wrong with simply choosing to do nothing? Is any guilt attached to slowing your roll and taking life easy? Is carpe diem reserved for those who feel they must fill up every minute of each day with another activity?

After living a life of running here and there, caring for your children and out and about constantly isn’t it perfectly acceptable for one to feel content in solitude? Simply enjoying sitting and remembering or arranging flowers from your own garden in a beautiful vase?

Do we have to be writing a book or is reading one we’ve put off for years enough? For some yes, for others the answer is obviously a big no.

I believe that’s the beauty of growing older, the choices are endless and entirely up to you.

No one judges whether or not you used your laugh, laugh golden years to seek a cure for cancer or you merely took a walk on the beach or in the woods picking berries and baking them into a pie.

Enjoying the crisp air and the beautiful colors of autumn is a right one has earned by virtue of a life lived in fullness and now the choice is ours. Should we do one thing or perhaps both. Do unlived dreams have a right to be brought to fruition just because they lie on our hearts?

Should we be mindful of the ultimate responsibility to ourselves to live life to the fullest? Yet isn’t that degree of fullness up to us to determine?

I suppose I’m addressing my own guilt feeling remiss to achieve what hasn’t been done. Or are some dreams simply meant to be just that…dreams? Not every wish can come true nor should we feel less than for replacing old ambitions with new ones?

I haven’t quite figured it all out yet but I do know I enjoy the quiet days as much as the productive ones so maybe it’s possible to do both. If one feels a desire to do more, they easily can.

Maybe you feel the same or have managed to come to terms with how you choose to carpe diem your life. If you have, I hope every moment is proving to be a happy one.

Here is my recipe for an easy yummy Thanksgiving dessert albeit a bit early.

Pumpkin Blueberry Mousse

With Pumpkin Candy Crunch Topping

1 cup pumpkin

1 cup fresh blueberries

7 ounces of cream cheese

1 ½ cups whipped cream

1 cup powdered sugar

1/8/ tsp cloves

1/8 tsp ginger

1/8 tsp nutmeg

1 tsp cinnamon

Mix sugar and cream cheese until whipped nicely.

Add pumpkin and seasonings

Mix well. Set aside and hip cream until peaked.

Fold all but 1½ into pumpkin mixture. Set aside rest of whipped cream for topping.

Fold in blueberries and pour into parfait glasses or martini glasses. Top with whipped cream.

Place in fridge to set.

Pumpkin Seed Candy Crunch.

Place two tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons packed brown sugar in non-stick frying pan.

When melted and combined add ½ cup of pumpkin seeds (Not roasted or salted)

Saute on low heat (watch carefully so they don’t burn) for about five minutes until seeds are nicely coated.

Remove from burner and place in fridge to harden.

When set and butter is hardened remove crunch from pan and chop up into pieces. Not too small but small enough to fit on top of mousse.

Bring mousses back out and top crunchies.

Enjoy!!!

How I Stopped Hitting My Head Against Walls

Life is a trickster. The universe can fool us into thinking we are in a scene from The Wizard of Oz. The one where Dorothy reaches a fork in the road and Scarecrow pops up and says you could go that way or you could take that road or that one.

Confusion at the path to take seems to be one of life’s little jokes. And we humans seem to buy into the ploy very easily. Lately I’ve been thinking about how many brick walls I’ve confronted and how I’ve changed my attitude when they appear. How much time I’ve wasted being afraid, but thinking about that only wastes more time.

Sadly, when the road we’ve chosen seems blocked we’re tempted to halt, figure out a way to move or break it down and become frustrated.

I’ve learned after many headaches from hitting my head against these walls that roadblocks can actually be good things and prevent us from going the wrong way or taking a road fraught with danger.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t overcome the challenges life sends, but knowing when to walk around the brick wall in front of you instead of hitting your head on it proves the wisest course of action.

Most of us have a plan for our lives. One of life’s best tricks is allowing us to start down a chosen path with no potholes in the road.

We become complacent in our victory secure in the fact we’ve chosen wisely and created our own scenario.

That’s kind of when life says, “Sorry, time for my big surprise now.”

We of course disagree because most human beings like consistency. We’re creatures of habit and like knowing our routine is going smoothly. Disruptions create angst and frustrations, with which we’d rather not deal.

We’ve all been faced with life’s surprises.

The corporation you’ve worked for and planned to retire from downsizes and eliminates your job.

You don’t get into the college you’ve selected.

Your husband or wife meets someone else and wants to call an end to your marriage.

Your children decide they want to explore the world in lieu of college.

Someone gets sick and dies leaving you devastated.

Unexpected and tragic these setbacks disrupt our lives and change everything.

However, aside from death which one can argue is never an upside to life, the other circumstances or changes can also afford new positive opportunities to achieve goals. Despite bemoaning the fact that a plan didn’t go according to one’s specifics, perhaps we are meant to see change as an\ chance to write a new script for our lives using the knowledge we’ve acquired and didn’t possess when originally created.

We all see ourselves living a certain existence, achieving chosen goals, having things and going places selected by and for us.

It’s understandable that when our dreams don’t materialize, but instead are sabotaged by destiny we wonder how we could’ve been so off the mark.

Ah, but that’s the trickster at work. Perhaps we are actually right on target and inching toward our true destiny without realizing the path that lies ahead is better.

So does a shift in plans signal an end to all our previous dreams? Or does it actually allow us old dreams plus new ones we never even realized were in our hearts?

Sometimes in life we think too small. Now go with me here. We don’t dream big enough. We may believe that we’re restricted by the opinions and motives of those around us. To dream so far out of our comfort zone is a foolhardy venture.

If one is fortunate enough to have parents and loved ones that teach there are no limits to what one can achieve, then no one should be surprised when far more extraordinary opportunities present themselves. A sky’s the limit mentality is crucial for success.

Those with the attitude they can achieve anything find it easy to overcome barriers life erects to guide us onto another path.

However, many become stuck at the wall. Saddened and disillusioned and afraid to move for fear the other side will bring further loss. They don’t see the opportunity in change only the failure of a long-held dream.

So how does one move forward when we are mourning our old life?

If one sees change as a death, I guess the best way to deal with it would be the same as any other grief situation. It works for me.

Shock, denial, deal making, sadness, acceptance and all the other steps entailed in resolution. There doesn’t seem to be a certain time allotted to these stages and I’ve noticed through experience that one can often slip backward triggered by a memory or momentary setback. In the end embracing the inevitable is how to move forward despite feelings of loss.

Hanging on to dreams and realizing they are gone is not easy to reconcile. For me it’s totally understandable one feels a sense of loss at their passing; I have.

However, unlike death which is permanent and cannot be undone, new opportunities and goals can arise from the ashes like a phoenix and bring experiences far more glorious and unexpected than one ever dreamed.

The funny part for me is that that many times I’ve wound up living out old dreams on that new path. What’s in your heart isn’t erased by a simple change in direction, but can still play out in different ways.

At the end of the day life wins, because the force of destiny is powerful. Despite the kicking and screaming to resist, in the end my money is on fate.

Those who adjust and go happily seem to fare better than those who continue to hit their heads against the wall and bemoan their fate. I’ve done both.

Although some might disagree, I truly believe life delivers more for us than we are capable of getting for ourselves. Much like an Amazon delivery man dropping off an unexpected sofa. It may not fit into our arrangement, but it forces you to redecorate and the new room turns out spectacular.

I’ve learned after many wars with fate that in the end nothing in our heart is every lost or denied, but many things you didn’t even realize were there can be revealed in unexpected ways. Overthinking only delays the arrival of something positive.

I guess what I’ve learned is the next time life throws a curve not to cover my head and duck. Reach out, jump up and do whatever it takes to grab that ball because it could turn out to be the game-winning catch.

Easy Chicken With Artichoke and Spinach Dip

This easy recipe can be also easily be made in a casserole to save time. Your choice but the ingredients are all easy.

1 tub of artichoke and spinach dip. I like the brand at Costco as it’s beautifully blended and no one flavor stands out too much.

1 Chicken cut up

1 cup of milk

salt

pepper

garlic powder

Wash chicken and pat very dry. Season pieces with salt, pepper and garlic powder.

Use two tablespoons of dip and place under the skin.

Sear quickly in a frying pan to crisp skin

Place in oven covered at 350 and finish cooking chicken until it reaches proper internal temp. Take off cover last ten minutes of cooking to crisp skin. P.S. you can skip the searing part if you don’t care if it’s well browned and let it brown in the oven.

Remove from the oven and add 4 tablespoons of dip to 1 cup of milk.

Mix well and heat in microwave.

Plate chicken and pour extra sauce over the top. You can add the extra sauce to the dip that escaped in the pan first if you want.

To change this recipe to a casserole just eliminate the searing, add cut up chicken pieces and cook in the sauce. Add some shredded white cheese on top before baking. Serve family or as an appetizer for company.

Bucket List Schmucket List

Bucket List Schmucket List?

Okay, so when I was young a few ions ago it seemed like although many of us would choose to watch that new-fangled invention television in lieu of outdoor activities, we had choices.

It didn’t matter where you lived there always seemed to be lots of fun whatever the season and it didn’t take much to convince us to go outside and play.

Even in the coldest winters back in Michigan we donned our seventeen layers of clothing and went outside to sled, build a snowman or have a good old fashioned snowball fight.

In the summer despite heat and humidity we nagged our parents until they blew up the rubber pool and we raced to leap in and pretend swim. As we grew older the number of round rubber pool sides increased in height. A pool with four layers that you could actually lie down in full length was the ultimate.

There were also public pools if your mother had a car and could drive you there, but you were perfectly content to lie in your rubber paradise, toes perched on the rubber pool side, reclining in the sun catching those evil UV rays. What did we know or care about wrinkles? We only knew we loved to feel the heat on our faces as we luxuriated in our mini pretend ocean.

We loved the outdoors despite the mosquitoes, bees, wasps and various bugs, spiders not so much, we were forced to include in our summer world. We even had real grass.

At lunchtime you would grudgingly pull yourself out of the pool and eat the tuna or peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips and Kool Aid your mother placed on the picnic table. You hurriedly downed your lunch while the pool awaited your return and you didn’t even have to wait an hour.

We’d go to sleep at night exhausted without worrying whether or not we’d accomplished anything that day. We just knew we couldn’t wait to get up again the next morning and begin again. It was a time of innocence, appreciation for the small things in life and pure joy at just being a kid.

In Autumn you eagerly anticipated your father raking the leaves into piles so you could jump and crunch them under your feet before he burned them at the curb. That smell of smoking leaves was heaven to every kid who knew Halloween was imminent.

Life was easier, kinder and lacking in confusion. We knew as kids where our boundaries lie and if not, our parents would gladly remind us. We loved to hang out and read comic books, and getting a quarter from your Dad for the new Archie Annual was nirvana. Life was an Andy Hardy movie.

We ate sunflower seeds without realizing they were healthy and Jello molds laden with fresh fruit. We had no additives in our food and we spent so much time walking to school and playing outside we definitely didn’t need a Fitbit to tell us if we took enough steps each day.

There were double features at the movies on Saturdays and a box of Junior Mints or Dots. Popcorn and a drink were a popular option and we sat quietly throughout the show enjoying being on our own in an air-conditioned theatre.

Fast forward to today. I spend most of the morning deciding if it’s worth it to shower, dress and put on makeup to run a few errands. If I do more than four things in a day I need a nap and I can’t wait to strip off my clothes and jump into bed at night.

Why this huge shift in my world? Why the need to plan an agenda when all I have to do is exactly what I’d like?

After your kids are grown and out of the house and you have all the time in the world it seems you’re confronted with a problem…what do I do with all this time? I’m determined to fill my days with interesting activities, not just pass the time. Yet the time does pass, quite on its own without any consideration for you or your goals.

So I grab my bucket list, everyone should have one, and I start to check off items.

1. See Big Ben. Hmmm, this entails travel…have you seen those damn airports? And what if I’m stuck on a plane for hours in 104-degree heat like those people last week?

2. Learn pickleball. Right okay, I guess I’ll need to go shopping for a comfortable pair of, shoes. That’s a maybe so I’ll put a star there. Right  Norma, who are you kidding?

3. Clean out the drawers and get bags ready for charity. Okay I can do that. I’ll take a bag into the closet and leave it there to start filling. That’s easy so I’ll underline that one.

Wait what about last week when I did that stuff for the firemen but it wasn’t on my bucket list. I’ll just write that down and check it off. It’s only fair I get credit for finishing an activity.

4. Learn Spanish and Italian. Then figure out why I need to.

5. Okay now. let’s see, oh yes, send the book proposal out to another agent. Maybe this one will have a sense of humor and be able to read. Two qualities I’ve been having difficulty finding in an agent.

6. Wait, I have to call and plan a brunch with the girls. I’ll get on that today.

Oh, I just love being so busy.

7. Let’s see now. Machu Pichu…nope too much walking.

8. White Water Rafting…yeah right! Cross that sucker off.

9. Visit the rain forest…nah too humid.

10. Wait here’s one I actually did, see the Sistine Chapel. Goody, I love checking stuff off.

11. See the Northern lights. I guess that’s still doable.

12. Galapagos. Nope seasick.

13. Ride the Orient Express. Okay that’s a keeper.

14. Swim with the sharks. Nope that was pre-Jaws; why is that even still on here?

15. Mountain climbing. Good luck dragging my ass up a mountain.

16. Glamping. Damn I must have been high when I added that one.

17. Finish my proposal for the TV show. That’s a priority so I’ll get that done today. Or at least start it.

18. Just a second, I still want to try that new Keto recipe and see if it works. If it’s yummy I’ll add it to the blog. I better make up a shopping list.

19. I have to decide about the headboard for my bedroom redo. I should call the upholsterer.

20. Binge watch Succession. That’s an easy one.

Heavens there are so many things on this list I still have to get to. Go on a Safari, take up golf, let’s see that charity is a no go, the city didn’t like it Safari, and wait I can try to …oops wait a minute the phone is ringing.

Hey girlfriend, sure I have plenty of time to talk. What’s going on? No shit, tell me and don’t miss a detail. No, I’m not busy at all.

Lord, I miss that rubber pool.

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it?

“Grief is the price we pay for love…” Queen Elizabeth II

I have no earthly idea where I came up with the phrase you need to feel it to heal it but it’s stuck in my head. Like a flying shard of glass that catches you just behind the ear and you can’t see it to pull it out.

Anyway, so it got me to thinking about what this means in terms of how we come back from the bad places we’re forced to enter in life.

Lately I’ve watched while people close to me including myself have struggled to come back from a painful loss.

Begs the question, what is the best way to cope and is there really any foolproof way to deal with grief?

Does one magic bullet exist for everyone or does each person require a unique method of moving forward toward healing? It also made me wonder, what is healing? How do we know we’ve achieved it without the signs of a visible scar we can actually see?

I like to think I can cope with pain on my own and don’t require any medication to mask the effects.

I imagine myself strong, adept and able to cope without outside help. Then I’m reminded of that box of Godiva I keep reaching for at odd times during the day that seems to calm me with each bite. So, who am I kidding here? Because it doesn’t come in a bottle with a prescription attached is it any less medicinal?

Okay, I admit it, chocolate is my Zanax.

Others need an actual drug to quiet them enough to function. Without help masking the pain and its effects some are lethargic and unable to function in life.

I’ve witnessed this and it can be incredibly debilitating.

The question I’ve asked is how long is long enough to stay medicated until one can face life alone again?

How much Godiva will it take until I can get through a day and go through my normal routine without popping a few caramels and am I simply fueling my addiction to chocolate?

Is my need for sugar better than a Zanax or two to get through the day and isn’t it just as addictive?

Honestly, I don’t know. I like to think because eventually I’ll stop masking the pain with pralines it’s the better option. Yet whether it’s drugs or chocolate it’s still a crutch one uses to cope.

Returning to my original question, does one need to feel it to heal it?

Haven’t you heard people say that we must acknowledge and embrace our feelings to change them? That ignoring the pain merely adds time to its effects and we must go through the pain to get to the other side.

If we ignore pain can’t it burrow deeper into our soul until it’s almost impossible to find? Does it morph into a deep and festering wound that we are unaware exists and manifests itself in ways we don’t understand?

Is feeling and recognizing the hurt a way to battle it on our turf, like a home court advantage?

Know thy enemy is a phrase that never goes away and if we refuse to see what is attacking us can we rise to conquer an unseen enemy?

Sun Tzu said “Know the enemy and know yourself in a hundred battles you will never be in peril. When you are ignorant of the enemy but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal. If ignorant both of your enemy and of yourself, you are certain in every battle to be in peril.”

So we need to know the enemy and know ourselves as well to achieve victory.

What does this mean to someone battling to avoid the pain of loss?

I imagine we must know ourself what weapons will be successful fighting our individual war.

We know sorrow, but how well do we know what it takes to defeat it?

Is it as many believe that time heals all wounds and we need merely to wait it out?

Is it simply medicating ourself and hoping the effects of the drugs will delay the enemy until we are armed and ready to face it again?

Does waiting actually weaken our resolve and the masking create less will and ability to deal with and defeat our aggressor?

Or does time, no matter what we do step in to do battle for us and eventually close the wound naturally?

Can it be a combination of all these; or perhaps none?

Do certain wounds never heal but remain to be opened and felt again, like a battlefield where there is no resolution?

Do some wars never truly end and exist in a state of semi-peaceful coexistence?

I truly believe that grief is fluid. We may go through times when we are coping well and then suddenly a memory attacks from behind and you are caught off guard.

Many spiritual leaders believe feeling the hurt and acknowledging a broken heart is the path to true awakening. To function in the midst of chaos without panic is the right path.

Looking forward to future nicer times can for the moment give you a sense that there can be happiness ahead. This is one way to restore hope life will eventually reach some new normal state.

Does staying connected to loved ones through pictures, memories, birthdays and so many other reminders help and deflect from the loss.

Maybe there is no one way to feel the pain and get past it that works for everyone. If needed some should reach out for help as part of their journey back to wellness.

In the end we all fight our own war, grieve our own way and slay the monster with the weapons we find most useful.

Hearts break and time heals to some extent, or so they say. Just how much it heals is not universal and differs within us all and we know wounds can reopen.

So if you need to feel it to heal it and get past it, arm yourself for battle and slay that dragon. And if you need to call in your army of loved ones and friends to help you do battle, that may be a huge help as well.  

UFO They Told Us So!

UFO They Told Us So!

“I would not spend one further moment on the subject of UFOs if I didn’t seriously feel that the UFO phenomenon is real and that efforts to investigate and understand it, and eventually to solve it, could have a profound effect‑perhaps even be the springboard to mankind’s outlook on the universe.”

J. Allen Hynek, UFO investigator Project Bluebook.

I have no fireplace. This seems truly unimportant since so many homeowners I know have opted to cover or hide theirs. This is something I’ve always had trouble understanding.

As I sit here writing I have on what I call my faux fireplace which is actually a video of a roaring fire on my television screen. I wonder that I’m so satisfied with believing I have a fireplace and willing to settle for a pretend one.

Okay, so it’s not ideal but it gives me the illusion. And speaking of illusion and perhaps delusion…

Watching the Congressional hearings on UFOs the other day I had numerous mixed emotions, delusion being one I might mention.

I believe my reactions began with What a shock, the government has been lying to us, for a change. It quickly moved on to, I’ve always had a feeling the millions who’d seen UFOs weren’t crazy, especially since they weren’t all from California. I might have had more suspicions had more of them been from the you-should-excuse-the-expression, golden state.

Then came the wow, there really was a Roswell and area 51 and somehow my emotions ended with, wait a minute why are they telling us this now? What are they up to?

I apologize but I haven’t trusted a thing the government says since Watergate. But I digress.

I remember in 1961 Betty and Barney Hill of New Hampshire had claimed to have been abducted by aliens. They blacked out while driving home from their honeymoon and woke up in their car somewhere farther down the road. After being plagued by nightmares they went under hypnosis and corroborated one another’s stories.

It is understandable that in an era when airplanes were still a new commodity that most were skeptical flying saucers were visiting earth, but the incident is still a popular search item to this day.

Now of course these new revelations lend far more credibility to the Hill’s story, but it also initiates many more questions.

I have often wondered with all the sightings documented across the world how many sighters chose to keep their personal experience secret.

After all who could blame someone for not wanting to be called crazy when they may have risked a prestigious job or place in the community?

So what will happen now? Will many who have been afraid to tell, now recant their own close encounter?

One must wonder why the government chose to keep the truth from us. Still, it’s obvious that human beings are not able to deal with their brethren on earth let alone aliens from worlds light years away.

On Halloween October 30, 1938 Orson Welles War of the Worlds was broadcast on radio depicting the H.G. Wells story of an alien invasion.

Since Welles portrayed it as a newscast many listeners were convinced what they were hearing was real and some became terrified and hysterical. Of course, was before Rod Serling and ET.

Odd that fast forward 85 years later and when Congress is briefed about the USA hiding alien ships and their little green men, who are probably robots, the world barely took notice.

This can only mean one of two things; either no one believed these experts because no one trusts anything anyone in government says anymore or perhaps the world simply yawned and said, “What else is new? Pass the Reese’s Pieces, please.”

I’m not quite certain which is scarier, the fact that Washington has zero credibility or that humans are so jaded even testimony that verifies alien visitors is ho hummed.

By the way, I’m not recanting my own what-the-hell-is-that encounter moment here out of fear no one will ever read my blog again; and my children will rush me into a nursing home.

Assuming aliens are here I must ask why? If they have been watching us all these years, shouldn’t they be high tailing it out of Dodge?

Honestly anyone who has observed human behavior in the last few years has to be convinced there is something off here in the gray cell department.

So why would the Greys want to be here on earth with a bunch of crazies?

Is it as someone has laughingly opined, they are here to make sure we can’t get off this planet and do damage somewhere else?

Let’s face it, humans are a scary bunch.

I can’t even count the ways I shake my head constantly at the insanity I witness from what now passes as civilized members of the species. Believing in little grey or green or whatever color men is the least of our worries on Planet Earth.

I am certain that the creatures are far advanced than us by virtue of the fact they have traveled light years to get here. And although those who deny the existence of life on other planets are incredibly egocentric thinking that out of billions of stars we were somehow chosen to be “The One,” facing our own vulnerability is indeed frightening. Yet one wonders if the Greys have ever watched The Avengers movies and that has helped keep them at bay. A few of the people at the theatre for End Game didn’t look so human to me.

If it’s all true than we’ve had company for many years who’ve chosen to remain on the down low.

I can however happily report this visitation confirmation does answer many questions with which I’ve wrestled.

Like the success of the Kardashians, where were they actually born?

Kanye West, so that’s what it is.

Gavin Newsom’s hair.

Madonna’s new face. Or is it really her…?

Prince Harry wanting to interview the Pope about fatherhood. Aha, now it all makes sense.

Donald Trump’s approval numbers and Joe Biden’s actual visits to another planet in the middle of his sentences.

I’m beginning to see more clearly now so I suppose it’s true that as Shakespeare writes in Julius Caesar “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” 

Or actually perhaps from somewhere among the stars.

Hey, what the hell is that spaceship doing on Rodeo Drive? Maybe they’re actually mystery shoppers. Wait, you can’t park there!

Can Being Nice to You Be a Bad Thing?

Can Being Nice to You be a Bad Thing?

Getting old has certain perks upon which we can all agree. One that I especially embrace is the freedom to say and do the things I want and not give a damn. Others attitudes toward us seem to matter less now and we can feel confident in our ability to choose our own lifestyle and opinions.

Another good thing about being older is now at this age I can actually focus more on myself. Aside from spending much of my time worrying about my children and grandchildren, I realize that it’s actually possible to be nice to myself and at times feel less guilt about being “all about me.” To do the things I’ve always wanted to do, go where I want and just cross off items on my proverbial bucket list.

Each day and especially since the pandemic I try to do something that will make me happy. I really began this practice during COVID when we all were locked down and became best friends with Netflix and our refrigerator.

I discovered that certain activities would lift me up and shift my focus to something good while forgetting the insanity around me. I honed it into a skill and now I live each day knowing that even the smallest thing can bring joy into my life. Yes, Hershey kisses are small but they pack a lot of punch!

But isn’t this the way we’re supposed to feel at every age and stage of life? Should we feel guilty about caring about ourselves and trying to do the things that will make us happy?

Aren’t the words for that instinct self-absorbed?

I’ve always believed we must put others first. 

How many books have been written about placing others first and that one who refuses to accept this philosophy deeply harms those around him?

Narcissism is a word that connotes selfishness and manipulation and carries a negative connotation.

But have we perhaps lost the ability to balance the instinct to be nice to oneself and the deep desire to protect and give to those we love?

Where does that balance lie and how can we possibly know if we are leaning too far on one side or another? Can we give too much?

So how nice is nice enough to ourselves and how much sacrifice is necessary to fulfill our promise to love unconditionally? And is self-sacrifice an inherent part of love?

As a mother I would of course say there is no line or balance when it comes to my children and. grandchildren. That no amount of sacrifice could ever be too much and I have never even questioned this belief. But is there a point when one can indulge others too much until it becomes harmful? Ignoring what we need to be happy isn’t serving any positive purpose for anyone.

So an obvious question would be what does this sacrifice entail? And isn’t it different for every person?

Protecting those you love with your very life need go unsaid and isn’t any mother prepared to give up everything for her children and grandchildren? To starve if there isn’t enough food to go around, and to put her needs last so they can have what’s necessary to keep them well and safe?

Do many parents go too far in sacrificing and in doing so actually go to extremes? Do only rich parents indulge their children or are the poor just as or more guilty of providing too much of the wrong kind of love?

After food and shelter and the basic needs of existence is depriving oneself actually love or merely an ego driven attempt to over indulge and spoil children?

Does a closet full of expensive clothes, toys and electronics in a child’s room signify love or merely indulgence?

How much is too much to and how can one establish a line? Do too many believe material things can equate with happiness?

If one lives in an affluent area doesn’t a parent often find it necessary to indulge their children to keep up with friends and fellow students. Many parents want their children to have the things that can equate them to their peers.

But is that really what it means to sacrifice? Are the “things” you offer your children depleting from your joy and sending harmful messages?

What is happiness in life really and can it come from buying more or having as much? And is it possible to live without expensive material goods like technology in today’s world?

When are you being good to yourself and when bad? When are you nice enough to you and avoiding narcissism? And do the material things in life bring joy? Can buying something compare with enjoying a picnic on a summer’s afternoon. Or jumping through a pile of leaves on a crisp, autumn day? Or calling an old friend and spending hours catching up?

I imagine each person must look inside and determine what makes them happy.

Is it nicer clothes or a bigger house and do “things” in any way make anyone happier at the end of the day?

So, what do I mean when I ask, are you being nice to yourself? Treating “you” right is doing what makes you happy, healthy and successful. Taking time for you and your needs can’t be a bad thing; or is it?

What brings you joy?

For a parent I think it is knowing your children are receiving what they need. This isn’t merely done materially but with love, guidance and providing self-esteem.

Isn’t seeing your children achieve a great source of happiness?

Isn’t ensuring they receive the best care as well?

Is spending quality time with loved ones a rich gift to impart since your time is the greatest gift you can actually give?

Making someone you love happy is true happiness.

There is an expression, “You can only be as happy as your unhappiest child.”

Yet taking care of yourself, doing things to fulfill your needs is also important, because if one is unhappy can they effectively spread happiness to others?

I guess the balance is actually treating everyone well, including you, as a key to ensuring the best for others.

Caring about the well-being of your family must begin with your own care and nurturing.  After that whatever moments you share can be filled with joy and creating wonderful memories to last a lifetime and beyond.

Contented people can make others happy; misery loves company, as they say.

In the words of Jimmy Durante, “make someone happy, just one someone happy and you will be happy too.” And don’t forget about you.

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

Life is always nothing if not confusing, but when quotes from the Bible begin to make you wonder which way to go and what to do, it really makes me ponder the meaning of so many things.

For instance, we have often heard the quote, “God helps those who help themselves.” Okay, so I always took that to mean we must do for ourselves and then God will reach out and help us cross the finish line.

Seemed reasonable to me. I always tried very hard when seeking to accomplish any goal so that God would appreciate my efforts and drag me across the finish line to success.

Fast forward to many years of living and many life lessons when my best efforts didn’t achieve the desired results and the phrase “Let Go and Let God” became my new mantra.

Perhaps I tried too hard and God saw my efforts as arrogance, so as many say we must trust in the fact God knows what’s in your heart. If he looks inside it now he will see I’m totally confused.

So, what to do? Should I try harder or should I give up and let go and let God? I could be in trouble either way. Or is there a middle ground where there is a certain amount of effort required before the let go can happen? But how do I know how much is enough either way?

Does the effort depend on the power of the dream? How many dreams do we get and what about the ones that we didn’t dream but happen on their own?

Now you see why I’m so confused.

We all know that opportunities may come out of nowhere without any recognizable work on our part. It’s also true that many times previous work done on another dream can land us in a place never on our radar. It isn’t always or perhaps ever possible to know what leads us somewhere or what we might do to open a door we never anticipated might even be there.

Should we feel guilty when something just happens that we didn’t work for or is that the perfect example of the “Let Go and Let God” mentality? Something that happens in our life that we didn’t seek or fight for but shows up and surprises us.

If that is the case then we shouldn’t be disappointed when a plan doesn’t come to fruition even after we’ve fought hard to achieve the goal. That very energy may have gone toward a plan that we never dreamed but exceeds our expectations.

I’m still confused.

Begs the question, is effort ever wasted. And can something hard-fought for many years result in a goal achieved years later on another path?

In the end maybe that’s a part of the solution. Hard work and luck meeting down the line to achieve a dream you may never have known you possessed.

But what about the ones you do know? How much work is involved before one can throw up their hands and say, I’m done trying?  

Is the fact we didn’t continue fighting long enough the reason a dream fails, or did we work too hard and too long and should have given that dream up to fate earlier?

I have no idea and there is where my confusion lies.

I realize now that many dreams may not see the light of day because they are not meant to, but is relying on destiny and blaming fate for failures just a cop out?

How hard do we fight? How much do we sacrifice before it is enough to make a goal happen?

Should we feel badly or resign ourself to the fact perhaps we don’t have as much control as we believed. That sometimes we must just throw our hands heavenward and rely on the fates to move us forward to wherever we’re meant to be.

Do we all wind up exactly where we think and if not perhaps somewhere better?

Is it a simple matter of some knowing instinctively where they should be headed when others jump on the wrong road and must be guided onto a different one.

No one can disregard the outside forces that may affect one’s chances for success. Society may say you’re too old or not enough of this or that or in the wrong place to achieve your dreams, but that cannot stop destiny from granting you success. So, what is the answer? If true energy attracts energy working toward your goal or any goal will increase the chances for achievement, even if not where you might expect.

So perhaps trying is the key and a bit of faith can’t hurt as well. If combined one’s dreams have a chance of seeing the light of day no matter how the outcome may surprise us in the end. And from personal experience those unexpected outcomes are usually much more than we ever dreamed.

How Many People Am I?

How Many People Am I?

So many times in life we will hear someone mentioned and there is little agreement about their character.

Begs the question can someone be more than one person and how can one’s personality change so much from one relationship to another?

The older I become the more I realize how complex we humans can be.

I have always believed I am myself, and behave with everyone in the same manner.

But do we? And if not why not?

I imagine with all the craziness humans have been subjected to in the past few years, self-examination hasn’t been terribly high on the priority list. Yet if that’s the case why are so many people depressed and out of sorts?

Perhaps it’s because we’ve spent so much time with ourselves alone that we have been forced to meet sides of us we never knew existed, bad and good.

I am certain the obvious has occurred to us all.

You will meet someone who is divorced from part of a couple you know and they have quite a diverse opinion about one of those people than you have observed. Is it possible they could be talking about the same man you’ve observed to be a fabulous mate to your best friend when his ex paints a picture of pure evil?

So why do we react so differently with some people than others?

What is it about some people that brings out the better parts of our nature and others the worst?

We would all like to think we are good people and do our best to be good with everyone, but is that possible? What forces in the universe are at play that determine our behavior?

I have always found it puzzling that certain people can rub you the wrong way within seconds of meeting them. Although I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, that first encounter seems to be the lasting impression and plays out as time goes by.

So how can we be so intuitive about someone we’ve barely met? Doesn’t it take time to know and establish who and what one is as an individual?

It’s true there are some people you like instantly. They just seem to have a great vibe around them and you are instantly attracted and usually remain so. Others can radiate a negative aura from across a room before you’re even within five feet of them.

There must be some reason we respond differently, but why?

We all know people who may be a friend of a friend and we find them repugnant and yet our friend thinks the world of them? Can we be seeing another person entirely? Why are they nasty with us and so kind to our friend?  What is there in the human personality that makes us change around certain people.

Why do some bring out the best in us while others know exactly what buttons to push to elicit our hidden demons?

I have always felt that if I have a negative response to someone it is my duty to right the relationship. I seem to absorb blame like a sponge and go out of my way to prove myself wrong about someone, no matter how awful they may come across to me.

Of course this stems from my own issues and our insecurities are forged in fire when we’re young. It took me almost a lifetime to understand other people’s behavior bad or good is not my fault and jerks exist in the world not because of or for me.

Yet it is still a fact that some bring out the best in us and some not.

There could be numerous reasons for this phenomenon.

Let’s start with reincarnation. If it’s true as many religions believe we come back in many lives, it would make sense we may have encountered a soul in another existence that did us harm or vice versa. Therefore our meeting in this life is predetermined to be uncomfortable at best.

Or perhaps it’s just as simple as someone seems to possess a characteristic you are missing and they fill that need.

But let’s say that is not the case. Perhaps the instant dislike or negative behavior stems from this life. From growing up with your parents, and relatives that have positively and negatively impacted your existence. A certain person may remind you of past unhappiness and if you meet someone that reminds you of an aunt that was always mean and cranky wouldn’t it make sense you’d have a negative response?

Ah, so then that would of course mean it is your fault for casting past bad energy onto someone who may not deserve such a fate.

And there goes that blame thing again.

No, let’s assume people sometimes just don’t mesh. If everyone has an aura then auras can clash and no one is really at fault.

I am certain some would disagree with me when I say life changes us all. For the better or for the worst. Some people age and grow in more positive ways. They become more accepting, less judgmental and far more patient with the foibles of themselves and others.

And then there are others that grow bitter and angry. That find fault with their stars and anyone who enters their sphere.

Our personality becomes more formed and mature the older we become. When younger we are often surprised by the way relationships develop and turn out in the end. And many do end.

So are we one person or can others truly change us in unexpected ways. Do some bring out characteristics we hadn’t known we possess good or bad? And if we are aware of this effect can we control the outcome?

I suppose it’s a matter of the wisdom that comes with passing time. The ability to instantly know whether someone will play a good or bad part in our lives. If they will enhance or diminish our existence and if we should open the gates to our souls and allow them inside?

Time becomes very limited as we age and we have less ability to offer precious moments to those who clearly don’t deserve a seat at our table.

So if someone comes into my life that doesn’t seem a good fit, I don’t try to push that square peg into my roundness. I accept there are many people on this earth and it’s just a fact not all of them are meant to be a part of me. I’ve realized that by accepting the wrong people into my life I’m closing the space for good people to enter.  With time growing more limited I choose to surround myself with only those who bring good and kindness in their wake. I pray I glean the wisdom to recognize the difference.

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

Life seems to be filled with questions. When we’re young we ask our parents, why is the sky blue, how do cows make chocolate milk and do I have to eat my spinach?

As we age the questions multiply, how many calories are in this chocolate cake, why do bad things happen to good people and will I ever get into those size six pants I’ve had hanging in my closet for two years now?

It’s true as we get older we also come to terms with the fact most of our questions pertaining to the important things in life will never be answered. We are doomed to wander ahead toward the inevitable knowing far less than we did when we were young. Probably because when we’re young we actually think we know all the answers, and well you know the rest of that statement.

I could make a list of questions every day that I am certain will never be sufficiently answered, but why bother? Certain things in life are best unknown and probably one of our greatest gifts is not knowing much pertaining to our existence.

However, I am especially annoyed when I seek the answer to a simple question. One that should be easy. Not world shattering like is my next-door neighbor a space alien or will there ever be an honest politician or where the hell did that thing on my arm come from?

No, I’m simply asking about energy, strength, endurance and where did mine go? My get up and go got up and left without a clue or a forwarding address.

I would have chased it when it stormed out shouting, “I’m done you’re on your own I’m moving on,” but I didn’t have the strength to run after it and beg it to stay. Look, it’s no secret my body and I have been at odds for years, but as long as I had some vigor I could do battle.

I could fight the wrinkles and the weight gain and those weird things showing up on my body but without energy body wins and suddenly before you’re even aware of what happened, there you are. Sitting in a pile of what-the-hell-happened-to-me without so much as an ounce of stamina to put on the boxing gloves and go a couple more rounds with Father Time. 

I have no idea which direction it went so I have no clue what area to look in. 

Not even Colombo or Sherlock Holmes can solve this mystery. 

Yes, I watch those news stories too. The ones about the 85-year-old grandmother who ran the Boston Marathon. Or the grandfather who took up jogging at the age of ninety. Or how Ali Baba opened the cave door by just chanting Open sesame.

Clap if you believe in fairies.

There are many people that reach an older age in great shape. They can walk an entire golf course without losing a stroke, or having one, and many climb mountains or still keep up with their grandchildren. So yes, it’s possible, but what makes the difference?

Is it because they have always been fitness oriented, is it genetic or is it those nature’s pills they sell on tv with veggies in them?

I have no idea, but I assume it’s a bit of both combined with gigantic amounts of luck.

My mother slept most of the day and spent most of her life in a nightgown. Yet, my Dad, despite aches and pains golfed and still enjoyed going into work into his nineties.

Aging like most things in life is predicated on how you’ve taken care of your body; or is it?

I know many who lived healthy lifestyles and suddenly were afflicted with a fall or an illness that changed it all for them. That robbed them of their ability to run, move about and enjoy life as they once had. So, is it really providence, as so much in life is that determines how we age?

I refuse to listen to those who say there is no luck and you make your good fortune. Really, then tell that to anyone who was born a Rockefeller or Prince William.

I imagine the search for my strength will come to naught since I don’t even know where to look, so I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be running a marathon, or climbing mountains. I will however be incredibly happy keeping up with my grandsons or a few hours of retail cardio at the mall. Although tempted to sit more, I fight the urge and force myself to move. When my body screams, “what the hell sit your tush back down,” I rather impolitely tell it to shut the F up.

Getting older is a mixed bag for sure. We want to age, but we want to do it on our own terms, or feeling the way we did when young.

I guess it doesn’t always work that way. 

A friend of mine who was a doctor used to say, “If you wake up over the age of forty and you don’t hurt somewhere, you’re dead.”

Perhaps today it might be fifty, but the older I become the more I realize the key words in that sentence are “wake up.”

No matter where my get up and go got up and went, I hope it’s happy there. As for me I will continue to schlep myself out of bed every morning, moaning and bitching, and ignoring my aches and pains. And to whomever has my energy, I’ve upped the return reward to 500 dollars no questions asked. Hope springs eternal.

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

I seem to spend a great deal of time since my brother died focusing on the past. 

Constantly seeking to return to places and experiences that were happy and fun, I dwell in the land of memories.

So, what does this say about me? What does this constant need to go backwards toward places that remind me of better times mean to my present life?

Yet this need to ride the reminiscence train is not a new phenomenon for those who have reached the so-called golden years, yet I find more and more it’s become an accepted and even organized practice.

There are entire pages on Facebook now dedicated to the past. Websites one can visit to look up old haunts and old friends and the desire to share childhood experiences with friends that lived within your world.

As the world gets smaller one may feel overwhelmed with the crowding of our lives. Where once we could imagine vast spaces in which to travel and explore, now one only need turn on the computer to walk through the streets of London or Paris and experience the sites.

We’ve become accustomed to a different type of satisfaction that comes with going from the exciting and unknown to the I saw it on tv the other day.

The world has lost its mystery and now the familiar no longer seems to appeal as much.

That may be one reason we choose to travel backward and reexplore the adventures of our youth that brought us so much joy and wonder.

A need to recapture wonder is a byproduct of the familiarity of this world now fraught with negativity and danger. So why wouldn’t we want to trade it for one where we looked at the stars and saw a Milky Way instead of a potential war zone between rival nations?

When we see pictures of our hometown and the streets and stores we once populated it brings back feelings we can never get from watching cities now burning and overrun with crime.

Is it any wonder we choose to climb aboard the DeLorean with Doc Brown?

I know not everyone is frozen in time, but as an age group we all enjoy sharing stories about childhood as if these tales will transform us back to simpler times and also back with loved ones now gone.

It seems very reasonable we’d be tempted to spend time in the past, enjoying nostalgia and embracing old memories. It feels calming and comfortable. A sentiment it’s almost impossible to capture in today’s world.

So I, as most of my contemporaries find myself time traveling more and more, like a drug that begs addiction.

Yet, for some reason today I suddenly realized this need is really a way of giving up on life. Saying to oneself that all the good memories are in the past and the future holds nothing for me any longer. This desire to return to past places that hold happy memories for me is it a positive or negative move?

I saw a study today that said most Americans actually believe the best times for our country are behind us so is it surprising I feel this way?

I get it, I understand very well the temptation to dwell in the past. To talk to friends and family about the wonderful times we shared. About how the best years of our lives were spent raising our children instead of watching the news and wanting to dig a tunnel and hide from the negativity and evil surrounding us.

So, I guess we have a choice, past or present which is it?

If I continue down this path am I actually saying, I give up, there is nothing to look forward to so I must look only backward for joy?

Am I selecting a future for myself that is laden with old memories instead of creating new ones?

Do I feel that it’s too late to make happy times count for anything and the past is my only option?

Should I not appreciate a new Indiana Jones movie because Harrison is no longer young and agile? Or should I be happy that one of my favorite movie franchises continues to delight and provide great entertainment?

Are the moments I’m creating really for me now? Or are they actually for my children and grandchildren to enjoy when I no longer can?

Isn’t it selfish to avoid new quests and give up on the excitement of what lies ahead?

There is no doubt the world we knew was safer and more inspiring than the world we now inhabit, but this is where we are.

Yes, it may be a bit more difficult to capture the excitement and mystery we once felt when embarking on new experiences, but more than ever we must try.

We are all becoming too complacent in our avoidance of living due not only to our age, but the pandemic that held us captors far distant from the world.

As life flies by we need to explore more aggressively new chapters and travels that will fill our days with the seeds of new recollections and use our time to best advantage.

Only by living can we fully fill our lives with happy hours.

It’s a battle Baby Boomers must fight and ultimately win to fulfill our destiny as the generation that touted peace, love and rock ‘n’ roll. Have we forgotten the immortal words of Jiminy Cricket when he sang “When you wish upon a star…your dreams come true?”

As the great philosopher Jerry Seinfeld once said, “To me, if life boils down to one thing, it’s movement. To live is to keep moving.”

Okay now I’m going to try and stand up from the couch. Moving? Right!  Now where is that damn heating pad?

Rising From the Dead in Beverly Hills

           Rising from the Dead in Beverly Hills

“Life Moves Pretty Fast. If You Don’t Stop And Look Around Once In A While, You Could Miss It.” Ferris Bueller.

The pandemic was strange times for the human species. Suddenly our ability to enjoy human contact, to schmooze and to just get up, get out of bed and join the world disappeared.

And because we are adaptable beings we soon grew used to being alone and devoid of socialization.

The first time I left the house during the pandemic after being inside for three months, I armed myself with mask, sanitizers and rubber gloves to brave the outside world and go to the Burger King drive thru. 

I recall how odd it felt to be in daylight and driving around the empty streets of Los Angeles. Quite foreign as though I’d landed in a some new land conjured up by Aldus Huxley.

We were all compliant and also frightened that one misstep could lead us into the land of COVID and most terrified of that outcome. Being creatures of habit we adjusted to our new normal.

So we stayed in with our families, partners, kids or alone and contented ourselves to binge watch Netflix and other streaming channels, cook, eat and embrace new hobbies until it became life during COVID.

We learned a new meaning for the word Zoom and despite many who continued to exhibit a healthy lifestyle, most became rather lazy and stagnant. Yes, I was among those who became a couch potato including the frozen French fries I now crunched up in the air fryer.

They were strange times that became quite familiar and coming back was a slow, unsteady process.

COVID never simply ended. No bell rang to announce shutdown was over or life was back to normal. We crept inch-by-inch back into a world that was now transformed.

We ventured out but were met with masked strangers. The smiles we had once enjoyed from passers by were now hidden beneath a sea of cloth as we rushed through our day, trying desperately to avoid that thing still hovering in the air waiting to destroy our health.

COVID was and remained a thing to this day.

I caught it this year after battling successfully against its chaos. Many others I know also caught it the end of last year and beginning of 2023.

Some had bad cases, some light, some had the strain that lingers and refuses to leave its host.

It has also left us with the fear of what else might be in those labs waiting to escape and attack, perhaps far more aggressively this time.

It’s a far cry from the things we once feared: LA traffic, our cholesterol levels, politicians or gaining weight and not getting into our outfit for the reunion.

It was a scary reminder of what the evildoers can accomplish if they wish and not since 9/11 had the world been in such a fragile state.

I as many others wondered if life would ever feel the same. If we’d be able to just go to parties, events or theaters and relax without that ominous feeling a cloud hovers above.

The other night I received my answer when for the first time since the lockdown the City of Beverly Hills held its Backdraft Ball to honor our firefighters.

In the previous few years it had been reduced to an online auction, but this year we all ventured back to the Beverly Hilton once more to eat, spend money and enjoy an evening with so many people we’d been physically estranged from for years.

It felt weird to be getting dressed up again and donning jewelry and clothing that had been dormant so long.

I wondered how it would feel to see everyone and how’d they’d changed. Let’s face it at this age we’d all aged, period.

I am well aware we live in a different world now on so many levels. I was quite aware how odd it felt to be back in socialization mode and even a bit apprehensive. 

Seeing everyone turned out to be a fantastic feeling. People were upbeat and genuinely happy to be back in their world. Although I noticed the years had weathered us all a bit, people’s smiles were sincere and luminescent and there was no doubt everyone was feeling a giant adrenalin rush at the schmooze fest.

As with all social groupings despite how many were there and the number was well over 400, one does tend to notice who wasn’t; causing a tinge of sadness to creep into the proceedings.

Some dear friends were conspicuously absent and it felt bittersweet despite the upbeat tone in the room.

Yes, it was a relief to be among the living once more, but it was also a reminder that despite how much we choose to move forward, we can never erase the last few years and the toll it took on our psyches. 

Because we’re human we will strive to forget, to be optimistic about the future and pretend it was a bad dream, but that will not be entirely possible. It has changed us all. The world is a different place because the worst actually happened and we are all aware it did, it can and very well may again someday.

It must be similar to the way the Japanese felt after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, when the unthinkable became thinkable.

We all move on, go on living, loving, breathing and coping. It’s what humans do to survive. 

But no amount of gatherings, workdays or Superball parties can erase the memory of a time no one believed could come or the knowledge we’re not invincible, but actually quite human with all the good and bad that entails. It also reminded us to take Ferris Bueller’s words to heart and continue living our lives to the fullest each day. It’s what we have been taught to do to survive and the lesson resonates with us now more than ever. 

World War Me

World War Me

The other day I watched a movie entitled War World Z  with Brad Pitt. The Zombies ran rampant across the earth biting into their victims with an excitement I’ve not seen since the annual shoe sale at Saks.

So as I became engaged in Pitt’s battle to save humanity, I wondered why there was no hero to come and rescue me and other women from the war we fight daily with our own bodies.

I know there has been much written about what it’s like to be a woman and those sneaky, evil little hormones that rule us like Kim Jong Un over North Korea, but not much is mentioned about the war we fight with our metabolisms.

Yes, I said it and anyone with XX chromosomes understands me.

Nothing is more frustrating to a woman than to be on a diet for weeks and shed a pound or two at most.

Then upset and defeated we visit the doctor who takes the usual tests and announces there are no unusual suspects.

In other words your metabolism is normal.

Normal for what, an elephant?

I have a friend who has the most honest doctor on the planet and I know this because he actually told her that her metabolism is now merely a corpse.

If it’s true God created woman to correct the mistakes he made on men, could he have not improved and sped up our metabolisms?

How many times have we heard that men lose weight faster than women?

Hello, wasn’t it enough God gave us labor pains. Did he have to give them faster weight loss too?

I’m not speaking as a feminist here; I’m speaking as a pissed-off female who is sick of getting on the scale and hearing my midriff laughing inside of me?

No scale has ever been kind to women, it is misogamy personified. It teases, ridicules and upsets you to no end and then we have to be content with that old lie, you didn’t gain weight it’s just water.

Hah!

I’ve carried around enough water to fill the northern Atlantic and I’m sick of homeless fish looking at me like they’re ready to pitch a tent in one of my boobs.

Hello! Weight is weight and no matter how anyone spins it water weight makes your clothes just as tight as fat weight.

Have you ever dieted until you’re blue in the face and crossed over a plateau into a lower number? Then the next day you’re back up again and we’re supposed to be happy it’s just water weight? What am I the female version of a Gladiator?

Who invented this cruel game Pontus Pilate?

The sad thing is usually wars end, but not the war on weight.

Once the fat cells invade your body they stay forever. They build condominiums in your thighs and love to swing inside the flab on your upper arms. Oh sure occasionally they go into hiding, waiting in the brush like little gorilla fighters for that water weight to creep up again. Then they fill themselves up and grow to a new glorious size until your jeans are digging into your waist like a monkey into a cupcake.

The diet war cannot be won, only perhaps an occasional battle.

I love those ads you see on your phone, lose forty pounds in two weeks and all you need to do is eat a gummy bear before you go to bed. I’ve eaten lots of gummy bears and I can testify that doesn’t work.

Not even a dead person can lose that much weight in so short a time and if you do better call a damn ambulance.

The easiest mark in the world is a fat person. There have been more diets and diet schemes perpetrated on this planet than cocaine at a Hollywood party.

So what can someone who loves food do, although it’s their worst enemy, like a woman who stays with a man who abusers her?

It’s not chocolate’s fault it’s mine. I’m the one who instigated the binge don’t blame the chocolate eggs. The Cadbury bunny made me do it.

If you’re expecting some great secret or never before unveiled piece of diet wisdom from this soldier it ain’t gonna happen.

I’ve climbed the ranks to become a general in the war against fat in my own body and I haven’t earned a single medal. Lord knows I have the chest to pin one on.

No one goes on one diet, loses weight and stays thin forever. If that person exists I’d like to meet and sic a pack of rabid dogs on them.

Every soldier in the battle of the bulge has been on every diet. 

And as sure as the sun comes up in the morning it will bring with it a new diet craze.

I’ve taken pills, drank drinks, eaten only three small puddings a day, counted calories, carbs, fats until I counted myself going nuts.

There are fasts, fen fen, now some new one that’s actually for diabetes but has a secondary effect of weight loss, which of course ends when you stop the pill.

I’ve saladed, starved and Mediterranean dieted until I couldn’t look at another teaspoon of olive oil. I’ve Atkins, ketoed and stuffed myself with laxatives because I couldn’t handle the idea of bulimia.

If exercise was really the key to weight loss I’d be thin from jumping on and off the scale fifty times a day.

I imagine I’m a bad general and not just because I have to keep letting out my uniform.

Sun Tzu said, “If your enemy is secure at all points be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him.” I am convinced Sun Tzu could not win a battle against my fat cells.

I can’t beat them because they are tougher than the line of bull that emanates from a politician’s mouth and I certainly can’t evade them since they are bulging over my belt.

So what’s a female general to do to win this war?

Many have said to make peace with your body. In other words just accept that you’ll never be thin and be grateful fat is “in” right now. As Ben Franklin said, “there is no such thing as a good war or a bad peace.”

So Ben since peace is good, please pass me that piece of chocolate cake. 

How a Sorting Hat Could Manage Painful Memories

How a Sorting Hat Could Manage Painful Memories 

The other day a friend was amazed by my memory. She couldn’t get over how I remembered so many things from so many years ago. I realized long ago my mind was merely a clearinghouse for trivia and useless information, but I’ve found a way to appreciate having a sense of recall, although at a much slower pace now. As I like to say my computer takes longer to reboot.

However more and more of late I’ve questioned whether or not a good memory is a positive or negative feature. Is it good to be able to remember so many facts and figures and replay old memories at a moment’s notice? Especially when lately I can’t remember what I walked in the room to get from one second to another?

I think any Harry Potter fan is aware of that magical wonder called the sorting hat. It was used when one enters Hogwarts to determine in which house the student will reside. So if the sorting hat is so smart maybe it can help me with my memories.

When someone reaches the “golden years,” (that phrase always cracks me up) there are certainly far too many memories to recall. Some we try to call upon and others seem to flash into our minds with no warning, like a bird into an airplane engine. With I’m afraid the same unfortunate result.

I need the sorting hat to ensure the unwanted memories don’t slip through the cracks and attack what was otherwise a pleasant day. 

With the help of the sorting hat the remembrances we would not elect to keep could be sent off to a special part of our brain to remain stored away.

Lately I’ve become acquainted with a new term, grief dreams. They are the strange dreams we have after a loss of someone close. I thought I was losing my mind when I awakened every morning thinking what was that about until I learned a close friend who’s recently also lost her sibling was also experiencing them.

We have no control over what we dream so while sleeping and faced with vivid dreams about our loved ones we cannot stop any painful results. Yet when we’re awake I’d hope we’d be able to restrain our thoughts. But as usual when believing I have some power over my life, I was wrong.

Wasn’t it Hamlet who famously said, “for in that sleep of death what dreams may come must give us pause.”

Well I’d like to pause these recollections from invading my space.

Anyone who has ever known me will tell you I’ve always believed humor was a cure for all ills. Now at this age I see how wrong I was. There are some circumstances where a laugh is not up to the task and loss is one of these times. 

Memories have a mind of their own. They must populate a place in our brain where there are no fences or door with locks. This makes them capable of rushing out to play whenever they wish. 

A sorting hat would put a lid on their freedom. A childhood memory of my brother and I with my grandfather could not simply attack me while I’m driving in the car and singing along with my favorite song. Or when I’m in the shower rinsing the shampoo from my hair and suddenly there’s a memory coming at me full force and I’m sobbing instead of making my grocery list.

I believe it’s difficult when one loses your parents and becomes no one’s child any longer. 
Now I have lost the moniker of sister. Yes, I still have one brother, but it doesn’t seem the same. I was a sister to two and now… Why should these labels matter at all actually, especially when we’re older and yet… Does time heal all wounds or is that a fantasy we embrace to pretend the pain will eventually stop?

I know these memories I seem to be castigating are actually a necessary part of our lives and we need them those who are gone nearby. So as painful as it is, I know in the end remembering is a good thing. To recall happy moments is vital even though when a wound is fresh the happy may actually seem painful. 

Friends who have experienced loss say it gets easier with time and eventually thoughts that are now causing pain will bring a smile. I wouldn’t doubt that is true, but right now a sorting hat seems like a very good idea. Perhaps it could choose to let through the ones that might cause the least hurt and save the other memories for when I’m a bit stronger and able to handle them.

Some recollections will always cause a pang of pain.

Whether a cruel remark from a classmate, a break up or even a disappointment the marks of these experiences seem to leave scars. In time we learn to form some type of defense against them, but loss that’s a tough one.

The finality of losing a loved becomes more real as time goes by. And each memory opens the scar again. 

Memories keep someone alive and that’s what we want. It just seems sorrow is a high price to pay.

But would we rather forget? I think not. For in the end we are all well aware of the fact no sorting hat, no forgetfulness can hide the truth…we need to keep the people we love close to us and reminiscences accomplish that. And no hurt or tears could ever be too high a price to pay.