Author: normazagercom

Award-winning journalist and star Judge of Baking It on NBC with Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph and Andy Sandburg Norma Zager combines her years of stand-up comedy with her writing skills, to create an offbeat, hilarious take on Baby Boomer life and growing older in today's world that touches the chocolate-coated soul of everyone. One of the stars of the Food Network’s Clash of the Grandmas, Zager had returned to journalism after a 14-year stint as a stand up comic, playing Vegas regularly and opening for the biggest names in laughter. She created Norma’s 14 Karat Cookies after moving to Los Angeles and was the first comedian to have her own comedy/cooking show in Las Vegas. Her numerous television and radio appearances including Home and Family and appearances on the Food Network made her a favorite with audiences. Her cooking show on Beverly Hills Cable Network can also be seen on Youtube. In 1999, Zager returned to her journalistic roots when she accepted a reporter position at the Beverly Hills Courier newspaper and became editor after nationally scooping all other media and breaking the story about Laura Schlessinger’s mother’s death. When Erin Brockovich sued the city of Beverly Hills alleging an oil well on on high school grounds was the cause of numerous cancers in former students, Zager’s coverage garnered national attention. In 2003 she was named Los Angeles Journalist of the Year and Best Investigative Reporter by the Los Angeles Press Club. The Wall Street Journal and The Columbia Journalism Review both featured articles about her work on the Brockovich story. Zager’s book about the Brockovich/Beverly Hills lawsuit entitled Erin Brockovich and the Beverly Hills Greenscam, is currently available on Amazon and bookstores everywhere. Lila Luminosity and the Lipstick Murders and Lila Luminosity and the Planet Christmas Murders combine her love of comedy, cooking and reporting to create a crazy, zany, fun-filled ride through the universe armed with chocolate, shoes and every woman’s perfect boyfriend. They are also available on Amazon. Zager and her family reside in Los Angeles, where she is a journalist, radio show host, author, speaker and part-time journalism professor at California State University.

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 Better Set Your Watch in Chicago or Else

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago Or Else!

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.

My Closet Myself Hot Pants No Chance


My Closet Myself, Hot Pants No Chance

Most women I know have a problem throwing away clothes they may just perhaps maybe wear again some time in the future. Women who have reached a certain aged understand that what was old is always at some point new again. Oh sure the names may change, but the style usually returns in some form or another.

So, just in case…

In a failed effort to empty my closet recently I came upon the reality that almost half of my clothes are now “In waiting,” in case the styles come back or I fit into them again or I have an occasion ten year from now to wear them.

It was then I realized that I need a psychic to tell me the future of all those unworn clothes.

Could it be any easier?

The psychic could walk through and predict if I’ll wear that leather skirt from 22 years ago I never even had on my body because I gained weight and it became too tight. So it has hung “in waiting” for me to slide it on once more. However my body has changed considerably over the years. What women forget is that as we get older, unless we are at the gym a whole lot, our bodies become less muscular and more flabbyish. 

Not always in a bad way, I’m not saying we get fat, I’m saying that as we lose muscle mass we loosen up. So we can weigh the same as we did twenty years ago but our bodies look and act far differently.

I’m not trying to depress anyone here, but excuse me I need a Hershey kiss before I can continue.

Okay, that’s better. 

So therefore although a skirt or blouse or anything that might have fit at the same weight twenty years ago is now a challenge to fasten.

So that’s where the psychic comes in. They could tell us if we’ll ever wear that skirt again or if it will ever fit us the same. What are the odds? Vegas would love them. Into the charity bag it goes.

A simple and easy way to organize the clothes we may wear again someday but probably won’t.

Although is that always the case?

I’ve noticed to my chagrin that even when a style is repeated years later it is never done quite the same.

There is always that subtle and sometimes not so subtle change that makes it just a bit askew of the latest trend.

Is that on purpose? Do the fashion mavens know that we save our clothes for the future; I think yes.

Like everything else mass produced there is a component of planned obsolescence. Being from Detroit I am well aware every car had a shelf life to ensure repeat customers. So it is also with the fashion industry. Even worse perhaps because they know no woman wants to be seen in outdated shoes, a dress or heaven forbid a skirt the wrong length and style.

Am I saying women are slaves to fashion?

Yes, when you’re young. At my age, who cares?
Now it’s all about comfort. My friends and I have seen the wisdom in a tunic top, elastic waists and oh my Lord, low heeled shoes. Add a big floppy hat and that’s Baby Boomer couture.

My feet hurt just thinking of trying to fit my sore aching arches into Christian Louboutins. OUCH!

Sure we still know how to look stylish for our age, but it’s the “for our age” thing isn’t it?

Would I like to be in my twenties again wearing hot pants? You bet.

Will hot pants ever happen on my body again? Sure, as soon as Bill Clinton stops chasing woman.

So you see no chance at all here.

Women of a certain age, and the only thing certain about the certain age thing is that it certainly means you’re old, understand that we can still look good without the need to be wrapped up like a sausage or pinching our feet like a vice.

So why save all those clothes?

Well, let me tell you why. It’s because I myself and I can’t speak for everyone else, don’t want to believe those hot pants-mini skirted days are really over.

As long as I look into the closet and see my youthful fashions I can still believe I will wear them again one day. I live with the hope my thighs will once again be firm and my flabby arms won’t lift me off the earth in flight when a wind comes along and my fingers will once again show no signs of arthritis.

That the glow of youth will return permanently to my cheeks without the need for a serious dermabrasion treatment.

I am fully aware we can all stave off the ravages of time these days more than ever before. There are skin treatments, plastic surgeries, Botox, creams and lotions that help a great deal. However unless I am willing to go to the gym, lift weights, and spend a lot of time doing something I detest, which is exercise, the hot pants wearing body is gone with the wind.

We can look good at any age, but is trying to squeeze into our old clothes with a new body really a good look?

I’ve tried it and I’m here to tell you no, no, no.

Stuff leaks out over the edges or that waistline seems to be an inch or two shorter than it was and there is nothing fashionable about looking like an Oscar Meyer wiener bursting out of its casing.

I think it would be better if a neutral party came in and went through my closet because these clothes and I have a real history. Clothes carry memories sewn into the fabric and some we never want to forget. Okay some we do, but it doesn’t matter. What we wore when is a part of our memory storage bin and although at this age it’s overflowing, the happy ones aren’t easy to eliminate. Maybe I should take pictures of the special ones as it does take up less room.

It’s like breaking up with a boyfriend you can’t stand to be around, but you just might need a date for a wedding in a year or two from now so you stay in the relationship.

As Journalist and humorist Helen Rowland wrote, 

“A man never knows how to say goodbye; a woman never knows when to say it.”

So to all the now donated clothes in my closet I’ve loved before, goodbye, goodbye parting is such sweet sorrow and I can’t wait to go shopping tomorrow.

Chocolate Pasta With Hot Fudge Sauce

Chocolate Pasta recipe

1 pound of 00 flour

2 cups cocoa powder I’d use 60%

Water as needed

Whisk together water and cocoa flour. Slowly add water to create pasta consistency. You can really cut any pasta shape for this recipe.

Hot Fudge Topping

½ cup whole milk

1 pound of caramels

½ pound of good chocolate

½ pint vanilla ice cream

1-teaspoon vanilla

Add milk and caramels in a double boiler over medium heat. Stir constantly until caramels and milk are incorporated.

Mix in ice cream and vanilla until all combined. Serve over ice cream over the pasta. 

Is this the Rabbit Hole or CNN

Is this the Rabbit Hole or CNN?

“I am Not Crazy; My Reality is Just Different From Yours…” Alice in Wonderland 

To say the world is getting curiouser and curiouser is an understatement of gargantuan proportions.

As a child I was obsessed with certain stories. Oh sure the usuals come to mind, Cinderella, (yep, I bought into that absurdity too) Snow White, Treasure Island, etc. etc. However, none seemed to monopolize my attention like two favorites, The Wizard of Oz and especially Alice in Wonderland.

I dreamed of entering the Emerald City and watching the horses of a different color parade by and skipping through a field of poppies with the magnificent Emerald City in the distance, but there was always something about Alice. 

She caught my attention most and when young I thought it was perhaps because of the Cheshire Cat, the epitome of coolness or the Mad Hatter always hurrying to get somewhere, but always late. We never did find out where he was going of course or why he couldn’t find a way to be on time.

Now that I’m older I realize the reason for my obsession with Alice…the psychic in me knew that someday I would live in her world. And now I do.

Or as Alice says, “When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one.”

So many credit Jules Verne or H.G. Wells for their amazing insights and of course they were amazing futurists, but Lewis Carroll never received such accolades.

Carroll not only satirized the absurdity of life, he actually predicted how incredibly far it would go in the future.

And as an American I can only say that the Cheshire Cat’s words hound me constantly…”We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad. You must be or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Talk about calling it like it is!

As I look around at the total absurdity of this country and what is allowed and condoned in the upside down reality our politicians have created, I wonder why it feels so much more Wonderlandesque here in the United States? 

After all isn’t Europe also mad as well? I won’t even go into the Middle East or China except to point out we have surpassed them by miles.

So why does it feel like I am living deep inside of that proverbial rabbit hole and can’t find a way out?

It seems every time I check in on the outside world I am tempted to quote an Alice character and there is one that always suits the moment. Like when Alice said to the mad hatter, I don’t think” and he interrupted her saying, “then you shouldn’t talk.” I wonder why this wisdom is so seldom acted upon today. And why politicians don’t adhere to this sage advice.

According to Alice, “it would be so nice if something made sense for a change.” No duh, I think that every minute lately. But I digress. I was asking why the insanity seems so much greater here in America.

I believe it’s simply because so much more was expected of us.

We always knew China was, well China and madness seemed to suit them. The Middle East has always been chaos personified, but the U.S. we were supposed to be the beacon. We were the guys in the white hats that rode in to save the town, and yes I know I use too many cowboy references but my late brother loved westerns so I must to keep his memory alive.

Now it seems that we have not only caught up with the insanity of the world, we have far surpassed it. I’m a believer in American Exceptionalism, but this is really going too far.

To be great at being crazy is nothing to hang your hat on. We led the world in innovation, invention and let’s not forget the development of the Oreo Cookie. Belgium may make the best chocolate, but America has a theme park with Hershey Kisses for lampposts.

Talk about something of which to be proud.

America fancied itself a place with no limitations, a place where imagination ruled and was supported and admired. Now newscasters publically malign women and spout their stupid and egregious opinions. 

Are we now supposed to support crazy because it’s mainstream? News people, remember the “I don’t think” quote before you speak, please. 

What turned us into Wonderland? 

It’s just too easy to understand the whole Queen of Hearts comparison with Congress, but is that even enough of an excuse for the unending madness of our you-should-excuse-the-expression leaders?

Is the planet now a gigantic rabbit hole we’ve all fallen through?

Did COVID actually create some sort of mass hypnotic state and we don’t even realize we’re in an upside-down world?

In this red, white and blue wonderland, children carry guns and use them, teenage mobs take over the streets attacking innocent passersby, criminals beat and kill victims and receive slaps on the wrist, our enemies run wild with no deterrents and on and on it goes as we fall further and further down the hole at a dizzying pace.

“For if one drinks much from a bottle marked poison, it’s almost certain to disagree with one sooner or later.” Wise words from Alice, yet no one seems to be listening.

I keep waiting for someone to echo the Queen of Hearts and yell “Someone’s head will role for this.” It’s as though Lewis Carroll were writing about today. And yes of course when you’re living in a world in any given time one wonders if it’s all madness. However in these days one need not wonder. It is all madness.

Or is it merely as the Cheshire Cat says, “ I am not crazy; my reality is just different from yours.” Or is it as he tells Alice, “If you don’t know where you are going any road can take you there.”

As I look around at the craziness I must wonder, what road are we truly taking and where is it taking us?

It truly amazes me that Lewis Carroll writing so many years ago has hit the nail on the head here when he writes about the current reality in which we all exist.

I think the only way to sum up my life is with a quote from the Cheshire Cat, “how queer everything is today! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning?”

For as the little furry guy also says, “Never let anyone drive you crazy; it is nearby anyway and the walk is good for you.”

Easy Peasey Seafood Pasta Slaw 

1 package Shredded cabbage (may use the pre-shredded packages in grocery store) 

2 cups Rotini pasta cooked  (colored or plain, but I use the colored)

2 cups cooked cut in half Shrimp

2 cups either real or fake crabmeat

Salt and pepper

Add all together and toss with mayo dressing

My mother-in-law’s Mayonnaise dressing

1 cup of mayo

2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1 heaping tablespoon of sugar (artificial sweeteners may be used here instead, but will have to be sweetened to your particular tastes)

Mix together all and toss into slaw mixture. If you like it with more dressing just double the recipe. You may use any protein you have available.

Add soup or fruit or both and it’s a great meal.

If there are any questions about the recipe or cooking in general I can answer for you, please contact me at my blog at normazager.com. Happy Eating!

How to Lose Your Mind: Just Watch the News



  Hot Off The Can You Believe This One News Service               

If Baby Boomers think the world has gone crazy I’m guessing there’s a good reason. The news today is so out there I found it difficult to top the actual regular occurrences one sees in and on the news nowadays.

But I tried so if I’m not that far off from reality it’s because my imagination isn’t even as crazy as our planet anymore. And that’s really saying something!

After watching the news today and learning that Budweiser Beer is now being marketed by a transwoman, I just knew it would be impossible to top that one.

Have the heads of Budweiser been drinking beer laced with LSD? Hello, who do the fools there think is drinking that swill?  Guess what, it’s working guys who watch football, construction workers who yell “hey chicky chicky” to passing women and WWE fans, that’s who. Not the Ru Paul’s Drag Race crowd. And yes I do love that show.

I believe the news also reported guys were pouring their Buds down the toilets and shooting guns at cans of beer. You know they must be mad when they waste a brew. This isn’t about transgender or woke folks; it’s about knowing your customer. Somebody hired the wrong marketing person and it’s going to be wild when Budweiser wakes up and sees the money they’ve lost, and sadly their shareholders as well.

If Budweiser ‘s competition is smart they’ll drag Clint Eastwood out of retirement to hawk their brew. Too bad they can’t dig up John Wayne.

Aside from corporate blunders and shall I even mention the new Coke debacle, I began thinking about all the crazy things you hear on the news and how people must react to them and I tried to top what I heard with my own breaking newswire.

It wasn’t easy, but I love a challenge.

Here’s a breaking news story from the Norma Zager news of the insane news service…

Cows Ask: Where is the Real Stench Coming From?

Elsie and Elmer Borden, America’s spokes cows gave an exclusive interview today in Dairyland Magazine and stated their profound shock at the new Green Deal proposal.

“Mitigate my farts and burps,” Elmer cried. “I have been flatulating and burping in these fields for fifty years and no one is going to tell me when I can pass gas. This is a free country and gas mitigation is outlawed in our constitution.

Wife Elsie was less adamant the controversial proposal would be unwelcome.

“It might be nice to smell some fresh air for a change,” she said. “I just wish Elmer could see his way to mitigate on a voluntary basis. I am not in favor of passing laws to govern bodily functions.”

The Cows Against Insanity or CAI released a statement in reaction to the proposal. “We have always believed a cow’s bodily functions are their own business and cannot abide this new initiative. We will take it to the Supreme Court if we must to protect the integrity of a cow’s right to expel their methane.”

Members of CAI organized a stink in on the grounds of the state’s largest dairy farm, but cameramen had trouble getting close enough to photograph or interview anyone because of the noxious odor and methane gases.

A CAI spokesman in a gas mask read a prepared statement vowing to never back down or allow cows to get backed up from such a legislative effort and said they have already raised enough to battle this in court for years.

The ninth circuit court in California heard an urgent flatulence ban request from the Green Movement seeking an immediate injunction against the cows and CAI. The court issued a decision against gas emitting rights stating, “Cow flatulence is not a right noted in the U.S. constitution and the good of the Green Movement trumps a cow’s colon expulsions.”

CAI immediately issued an appeal and threatened a strike against McDonalds, Burger King and White Castle.

Cluck USA, the chicken’s union has offered to march in support of the cows and will begin with a sit-in in front of all the Chick-Fil-A restaurants in Manhattan.

“What’s next?” Chicken Little president of Cluck USA asked. “Telling us when we can lay or not lay? We have to stop this oppression now.” She also called on other farm animal groups to join in the strike.

However, Turkey Lurkey III was hesitant to enlist the turkey union’s support.

“We have tried in vain to get CAI and Cluck USA to march with us before Thanksgiving to stop turkey oppression, now the fart is on the other foot. We cannot in good conscience ask our members to support their cause.”

Chicken Little called Turkey Lurkey a crybaby claiming chickens are on the menu every day of the year.

“Too bad for turkeys who find themselves in hot gravy once a year. This is bigger than our petty differences. This goes to the heart of an animal’s right to pass gas, to burp and to live as they wish and be responsible for their own digestive systems. We are taking this very seriously and no plucking way will we back down.”

Numerous sit-ins and gas-ins are planned over the next few weeks as an appeal is filed with the Supreme Court.

McDonalds and Burger King could not be reached for comment, but a Chick-Fil-A spokesman issued a short statement of support.

“All God’s creatures have rights and a cow’s expulsions are no one else’s business. A cow’s flatulence is between him and his God.”

Elmer the Cow was more heated in his response. “I dare the members of Congress that concocted this craziness to come down here themselves and actually smell how much this proposal stinks. Our gasses can’t compare with the stench coming from Congress, and I say, deodorize your own house first, lawmakers. Americans have endured the stink from your bull crap for far too many years.”

Congress was unavailable for comment while their offices were being fumigated from their own noxious stenches.

Another breaking news story from Norma’s can you believe this one newswire…

President Joe Biden to miss King Charles III Coronation.

Joe Biden will sit out the King of England’s coronation choosing instead to attend the opening of a new 31 Flavors ice cream shop in the nation’s capital. Biden who has been asked to throw out the first scoop explained his decision to a passing child.

“Hey Man, nothing comes between me and my Calvins or is that chocolate chips. Jill where’s Jill? Which way is the ice cream?”

Buckingham Palace could not be reached for comment.

        And finally hot off the presses this week…

Angry Baby Boomers March on Washington

Baby Boomers marched on Washington this week sporting Dick Clark masks chanting, “Give us back our country and our sanity.” Speakers called for an end to social influencers, Cancel Culture and Gluten-free bread while others burned their Spanx in front of the capital building.

The march was in response to a Baby Boomer at the DMV responding to the question of her sex with a resounding, I’m a woman. She was pounced upon by an angry crowd who shouted insults and called her binary phobic.

Recent studies have shown that anger levels of Baby Boomers about the country’s craziness are climbing to dangerous levels and one man was dragged away screaming, “I don’t want to be woke, I’m retired and can sleep in now. I never had to lock my door; who ever knew from it? Clarabelle for President! If Elmer the Cow can’t even fart now they’ll for sure put smelly old Uncle Sol in jail.”

Marchers wore t-shirts emblazoned with the slogan, “Old Farts Lives Matter” and Bob Dylan led the crowd in a heartfelt rendition of The Times they are a-Changin’.

Protesters carried signs reading, “Give us back our Howdy Doody,” and played Elvis Presley and Motown music over a loud speaker.

The group spokesman said a bigger turnout was planned, but many couldn’t remember the location. He said another rally is planned for next week, if they don’t forget.

Snoozles

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

1 ½ cups peas fresh or frozen

2-cups ground beef

Sauté beef and season with salt and pepper.

Add peas and beef to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheets

Roll sheet over fully once seal it and cut slices. Then roll over again and cut and repeat until all cut.

Place in well-buttered muffin tins and brush with egg wash.

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked or according to puff pastry box instructions and your oven. It makes a lot of snoozles.

How to Avoid Failure

Should We Ever Be Afraid to Fail?

I’ve often been asked how I’ve managed to leap into so many interesting adventures?

Of course crazy does come to mind and strangely enough there is also that archaic belief floating about that opines, “Jack of all Trades Master of None.” Perhaps when one’s lifespan was thirty years old that may have been the case, but I must disagree human beings are only capable of excelling in one profession, skill or area of their lives.

About to embark on that tenuous journey into the land of pitching a new book to publishers, I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to rejection and its impact on our lives and careers.

Always aware of my desire to become a writer I penned my first short story at around the age of eight. A science fiction tome about space travel, which makes sense since Flash Gordon was a particular passion. Many years later my first book was a science fiction-fantasy-comedy-murder mystery (is that even a thing?) that convinced all my friends I was indeed far crazier than they’d even imagined.

My sanity aside, the point is this, how can one be a writer without living, experiencing and failing?

Oh, of course the old adage write what you know is still very relevant, however this may work for some writers, but for many varied life experience contributes volumes of information to their skills.

I didn’t set out in life to be so ADD in my professional choices, so how did I end up going from journalist to comedy writer to stand-up comic to bakery owner to newspaper editor to cooking show host to radio talk show host to college professor, NBC’s Baking It cooking show judge and back to writer?

I can only sum it up in one word…risk. And how do I count these adventures as successes or failures?

Was I afraid to fail at any of these or other endeavors? Yes and No actually is all I can answer. 

Many expound the theory failure is not an option when speaking about how to achieve success, and mindset is indeed a critical component. Yet is it the only one that propels us forward?

I truly believe that failure is an option and it’s not to be feared, but embraced as a life lesson necessary for many to achieve success.

We learn far more from our failures than our successes. This is universally agreed upon and yet so many fear failure and employ it as a valid excuse for failing to try.

Perhaps it is the path I have chosen that leads me to such conclusions. Any career in the arts is fraught with rejection. 

What constitutes a magnificent painting, a funny joke, great writing, or an incredible opus?

Are there those who would balk at George Gershwin, stand aloof before a Picasso or sit dumbfounded and silent watching Robin Williams perform?

Of course there would be, which explains why so many great artists are maligned and ignored during their own lifetimes.

Taste is relative to life experience and since we all share different histories our penchant for art, music or literature will naturally vary.

However there are certain universal truths. What makes Picasso stand out from other artists who have been passed over despite obvious talents?

What makes a Scott Fitzgerald or Lady GaGa a star?

Man has sought the formula for success since art became a commodity to be bought and sold like pashminas in an Indian street market. 

How many sales constitute gifted? Did our ancestors drawing on cave walls consider themselves the Picassos of the prehistoric world?

Should art be measured by volume of sales or prices and be discounted if it boasts only ten fans? 

Doesn’t the mere appreciation of any creation by even one person signify its success as a vehicle to inspire?

Does an artist ever fail when the very action of realization is in itself success?

For then we must ask ourselves at what point does an artist achieve greatness? Is it when one critic gives thumbs up to a symphony? When a gallery displays a new sculpture or when a publisher buys a book?

Failure encompasses all areas of life so why do we fear it so much we fail to achieve what gifts we possess?

The stigma of failure is debilitating to so many yet the act of creation is joyous. There seems to be a paradox afoot.

I can’t be certain why some fall short while others with lesser talents succeed, no one can.

Is it persistence, luck, karma, talent, no one seems to know for sure although many will claim they have the absolute answer to that question.

I suggest that there is no failure and the act of doing is successful despite the outcome.

If a lesson was learned, or a feeling of achievement seeps inside one’s soul, or the sheer joy or accomplishment of a goal or dream, there can be no failure.

Many believe that the only failure lies in not trying at all and I must concur.

Success is no guarantee of happiness and yet if missing the mark brings us closer to achieving our goals, it remains a positive outcome.

I say try and try and try again until you have achieved what you seek to create and enjoy the moments spent in the effort.

Life speeds by and the only way to get where we want to go is to keep moving so jump on that train and ride it until the end. 

No one is ever a failure that has attempted to succeed and no one has the right to nullify anyone’s efforts, no matter the outcome. Doing something you love is a blessing and a joy. To avoid those moments in a lifetime because of a fear of being judged by others would be truly the greatest failure.

Easy Keto Style Chicken Magenta

Four chicken thighs 

4 Thick slices of Swiss Cheese

2 Cups of Heavy Whipping Cream

2 cups chopped mushrooms

1 egg with ¼ cup of water added

2 cups of Almond Flour

2 tablespoons oil

2 tablespoons butter

¼ teaspoon of nutmeg

Salt and pepper to taste

1 tsp chopped parsley for garnish is optional

Season the almond flour with salt and pepper. Pound thighs flatter then dip in almond flour, pat well to get excess off and dip in egg mixture then back in almond flour. Add butter and oil to frying pan and heat. Add chicken pieces and fry until cooked on both sides. Remove chicken and add mushrooms and sauté, then add cream and season with a little salt and pepper and nutmeg. Cook down cream until it thickens. Add chicken back in and cook until done in cream sauce. When the chicken is done add a slice of cheese to the top of each piece and place pan under the broiler until cheese is browning and bubbling.

Serve and enjoy.

Hello, Where Did the Fun Go?



Hello, where did the fun go?

Has anyone seen the fun lately?

Whatever radar allowed me to seek and discover fun is now gone or may I say sorely lacking.

I can’t speak for anyone but myself but I’ve noticed more and more that parties, get-togethers and all around good times seem to have disappeared from the planet.

Oh some might say it’s the fault of that evil COVID monster and I’m certain that played a large part, but people seem so conditioned now to just staying at home and well, just being.

Are we all a bunch of Ghandis now? Meditating over what to watch on Netflix? You can’t have a conversation anymore without a friend asking if you’ve seen this or that movie or series on a streaming channel.

Ohm, British Baking Show…Namaste

I can’t believe how many friends have told me in the last few weeks they are very content never leaving the house.

Eerily, it seems it’s all come to pass.

Many years ago Trend Queen, Faith Popcorn who publishes the Popcorn Report focusing on future trends predicted all this.

How did she know?

She wrote that in the future, and that was over twenty-five years ago, people would adopt cocooning as a lifestyle.

Choosing to stay at home and building home media centers and larger kitchens and be more into eating at home. How did she know?

So if she predicted this so long ago is she psychic? Did she know a pandemic was on the horizon?

Was she in the Chinese lab or something?

I doubt that since she’s still alive, but she called it nevertheless.

It seems that no matter where I look, everyone is in a hurry to rush home and cocoon. I know staying in lockdown has changed the human dynamic a great deal, but have we all forgotten what it felt like to just see and interact with others?

During the pandemic most people had their own POD. Family members or friends they felt safe interacting with they saw regularly to keep from completely losing their minds, but now that everyone can go, the get up seems to have gone.

I can’t speak of course for young people who started the decline into oblivion pre-COVID when they chose social media interactions over human ones.

If you want to interact with a young person today you better know how to text.

Even I’ve noticed the preferred way to communicate now is by texting. So many of my friends now text to ask a question, where once it would have been a reason to initiate pleasant phone conversation.

It seems lock down has led to lock jaw.

I understand that sometimes it’s time efficient to text a question to someone, but you can’t gage the tone of a friend’s voice from a text. And no, emojis don’t work the same.

Most people my age can instantly discern from the first hello of a friend whether or not something is going on, bad or good.

Many times hearing a friend’s voice can lead one to probe a bit further and suddenly there is a conversation that was desperately needed to help out with a problem or issue. How can friends be there for one another if they don’t have a clue about the situation?

Perhaps someone should create emojis that hone in on any issue.

Like hands sticking a knife in a heart to signify, “hey I’m on the verge of a collapse here.”

Or perhaps someone tearing one’s hair out to connote a divorce is imminent.

I definitely think there should be one with a crying refrigerator designating difficulty staying on one’s diet.

And of course the hangman’s noose to say, “help, I want to kill my husband.”

A fat belly with a happy face to connote your having a new grandchild or flowers on a grave that says, “call me, I visited a loved one at the cemetery today and I’m a mess.”

Or a woman swallowing an ocean that screams loud and clear, “I’m too bloated to live.”

These are all things we once said to a friend over the phone and talking about it helped the pain or multiplied the joy or whatever someone needed at that moment. Now suddenly we have all retreated into ourselves and a phone conversation seems like too much work.

Sadly, many times we don’t even realize how desperately we need that conversation until we actually hear a friend’s voice.

Emojis can’t talk. They can’t sympathize, empathize or boost someone, or help a friend sort through what is bringing them down so you can lift them up.

Birds stay in their nests, but they sing to communicate and the song is beautiful.

I fully understand that in some strange way the lockdown showed us we can do well on our own, with help of course from Amazon. Yet I’m not certain that silence is all that golden and may be a bit overrated.

Humans need one another or God wouldn’t have given us voices. Oh sure at times the sound of a voice is the last thing you want to hear, but it’s truly what keeps the lines of communication alive and creates a closeness a text could never achieve.

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here when I say when we leave this party called life we will hear silence for a very long time.

I’m not so sure I care to rush the situation.

Sure it’s fun to watch a good movie and down some popcorn with your feet up in front of your own giant flat screen, but it’s also fun to go out to dinner, lunch, or shop with friends. Parties can be fun and sharing a concert or a play together is great even if it’s not so good. At least you have someone to bitch about it with on the way home.

The lock down is over but are we still prisoners of its consequences? Do we need to remember what life was like when we actually talked and socialized with one another? Netflix is no substitute for the smile or voice of a friend so call someone you haven’t talked to in a while and reestablish the lines of communication in the way they were designed. Otherwise Alexander Graham Bell wasted his life and that would be a shame.

Rustic Onion Galette

6 medium onions sliced

¼ cup of sliced leeks

1½ cups of heavy cream

1 small package (4 oz.) cream cheese

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper

½ tea thyme

Pastry large enough for a tart shell puff or regular

½ stick of butter

Olive oil

Add olive oil and butter to frying pan and heat

Add onions, leeks and seasonings and sauté on medium heat until onions are just turning brown and beginning to caramelize. Add cream cheese and cream and continue cooking until cream reduces a little and cream cheese melts through well. Taste and add seasoning if necessary. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in microwave and add 1 tablespoon of flour. Mix together and add to cream mixture until thickened.

When done place on pastry and fold sides up leaving a small opening at the top. There is no wrong way to fold a galette just as long as all the sides are folded around the filling. It’s a perfect recipe to be creative. Place it in a 350-degree oven for 30 minutes or until pastry is cooked.

You may also use this recipe for tiny tarts for hors d’oeuvres or add mushrooms to onion sauté and extra half and half or milk and make a delicious soup. Also great with some goat cheese or Gruyere sprinkled on top when warm.

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

 My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

Ford Motor Company has always bragged, “We build our cars, Ford tough.”

Although I’d like to think that’s the case I must ponder the phrase Ford tough’s true meaning. Sure if you’re a truck or SUV, but what if you need body work of another kind?

I’ve suddenly turned into an old Ford needing increased maintenance and new parts every time I turn around.

Where one might think it economical to drive an older car, especially with car prices today, replacing every part has become quite a hassle and quite expensive.

It seems every time I fix something on my body, something else breaks.

Don’t even start me on the whole look of the paint job. Even Earl Scheib couldn’t replace the showroom new shine on my face.

You replace a flat tire and bang the brakes go. You put in a new transmission and boom the ignition breaks.

No different with this old tired body here.

You replace a knee and bang the hip goes.

You inject the Botox and boom the neck falls four feet.

The maintenance is constant.

I wonder if there’s enough duct tape to hold up all the parts of my body that have just thrown up their hands and said, “screw it, gravity you win.”

Aging is no fun and although most of us admit we still feel young inside, an old Ford can never look as good as a new Mustang leaving the showroom.

There are those that love to restore old cars. In Detroit there is a yearly ritual called the Woodward Dream Cruise.

Every summer those who have restored the amazing old cars from the fifties and sixties and perhaps older, including the muscle cars, like the GTO and Chevelle, Corvettes and others that looked new and shiny parade them down Woodward Avenue. Amazing what some spare parts can do.

Over one million attend the one-day happening on the third Saturday of August and it is the largest automotive event in the country.

So obviously there is a penchant to restore the old?

Well if that’s the case why not make it easier for us oldies to get replacement parts?

Auto parts stores are everywhere and you can even get the hard to find old pieces in junkyards and places that carry just that sort of thing?

But an old broad like me must search high and low to restore this face and body.

I would like to open a special warehouse for replacement parts for baby boomers.

Need a new knee, aisle three. New hips on special, two for one on aisle six and the Botox drive through is open as you exit the parking lot.

Duct tape for butt and boob lifts two for one on four and laser lifts just past the organic groceries and vitamins near the cash registers.

Blue light special on aisle one for wigs and toupees and Spanx 50% off sale in the rear.

Wow what a time saver this would be. One stop shopping for all your body needs. 

A regular Costco with samples and demos to teach you how to walk without pain, pick out the perfect arch supports and don’t forget the all important tooth whitener for your implants. Oh and implants on aisle eight where all the painful screaming is coming from.

Yep, after a trip to the body parts store you’ll come out shiny as new with your hood ornament gleaming.

Now if Detroit could come up with this and build all the parts Ford tough, I’m all in.

Sadly, it takes more than duct tape to lift your butt or your boobs. Baby boomers are definitely in a conundrum because we all feel so young inside but the outside despite creams and lotions and a healthier lifestyle than our parents can only do so much.

Laser treatments and Botox are not terribly invasive options, but costly just the same.

Plastic surgery prices have gone through the roof and despite how much we’d like to remain uncut, it’s hard not to envy that shiny new wrinkle free neck on your sister on law.

Especially when your chin is now resting on your boobs.

In the end when we pass a mirror we want to match the person we are inside, 21 years old. It’s not so much about vanity as it is about wanting all of our parts to be in sync.

I don’t care how great an attitude you possess about aging, it’s hard for one’s spirits not to sag a bit when there are ten-pound Hefty bags under your eyes and you hardly recognize yourself. Wow, I really look a lot about my grandmother now!

I truly don’t believe it’s about wanting to look ridiculously young, but about wanting to see us as your our self; vibrant and youthful, not old and decrepit.

Hard to get happy when the number of wrinkles is almost equal to your blood pressure reading.

So we must trudge forward because if we’re lucky we’ll get older and continue to be part of the world. To enjoy our family, travel, work, indulge our hobbies and interests and socialize with others of like minds.

So I’m signing up for that new spare parts membership warehouse and filling my basket with all new fun stuff at big-box prices.

And remember; if you can’t fix it, duct it!

Lox and Bagel Bites

2 cucumbers

1 tub pareve cream cheese, whipped or regular

1 tablespoon finely chopped sweet onion

4 ounces approximately of nova lox cut up

Bagel chips

1 hardboiled egg optional

Fresh dill

Caviar

Cut cucumbers in inch thick circles

Hollow out seeds and pat dry and set aside

Mix together lox onions and cream cheese and lightly salt and pepper. Remember lox can be salty so go slow with the seasoning

With a teaspoon or a pastry bag fill cucumber rounds with cream cheese mixture.

Garnish with pieces of bagel chips and a sprig of fresh dill, and if so desired grate some hardboiled egg on top. Add a ¼ teaspoon of caviar for an extra zing.

Is it me or Has Everyone on Planet Earth Lost Their Mind?

Is it me or Has Everyone on Planet Earth Lost Their Mind?

It’s pretty well accepted we are born into one world and leave another.

Although this has always been the case, I believe Baby Boomers are leaving the strangest world yet.

It’s truly amazing that anyone born shortly after World War II spends a great deal of time talking about how different life was back then and it’s been my experience my generation is quite confused by the insanity which we have suddenly found ourselves a part.

This planet is bats..t crazy.

After the war America was suddenly in a new world position. We were the cowboys in the white hats that had swept in and saved the planet from the bad guys. We were Gary Cooper and John Wayne combined and had cleaned up Dodge City.

The evil axis had been destroyed and now life was moving forward with a whole new attitude except…

Yep, even as a child I remember there were problems to deal with.

Russia and China. Okay, sounds familiar right?

I guess some things never change. We took cover in the school basements to protect from atom bombs. Heard tests of air raid sirens and watched as neighbors dug holes in their back yards to build fallout shelters.

To say I was terrified of Red China would be an understatement. But I’m twice as scared now.

Politics aside and that’s where they should stay, childhood was an amazing time in America.

The fifties were filled with exciting new inventions like television and telephones in every home, and all kinds of new gadgets.

I remember my first HiFi. Wow, and even those little red record center fillers for 45s seemed high tech to us.

We thought the world was a really cool place. Between the Mickey Mouse Club and American Bandstand we felt such a part of everything.

We played outside until the streetlights came on, walked to the corner to purchase penny candy like licorice records and wax lips and the latest comic books; my friends and I just lived for those Archie Annuals. Then we would carry our treasured comics home in a bag with our sunflower seeds and candy to read and share the rest of the day.

Life was so simple and so amazing. Of course we were kids so there was no real awareness of problems that plagued our parents; and that’s the point isn’t it. Our parents tried to keep us unaware of the difficult issues of the times. Unaware that polio was sweeping the nation even as we happened to pass the TV and see a picture of a scary iron lung that might have given us nightmares.

We didn’t pay any attention to politics, which is why we grew up healthy and normal.

When politics finally entered the picture so did protests, drugs, death and confusion.

We played games like jump rope, hopscotch, monopoly and Mr. Potato Head, and of course Operation.

My friends and I cut movie star pictures out of magazines like Photoplay and Modern Screen and then traded them like baseball cards.

We chewed the bubble gum and saved the baseball cards and boy do I wish I still had some of those cards today.

We rode our bikes everywhere and after school the neighborhood kids played baseball or football in the street. We spent the day roller-skating up and down the block with our skate key around our neck on a ribbon. Then happily ran inside to get our money when we heard the Good Humor truck ring its bell.

We knew our neighbors and we acted respectfully toward everyone.

In the winter we put on our snowsuits, boots, scarves and gloves and braved the walk to school, then home again for lunch, then back again, then finally home to sit in front of the TV watching the few channels playing our favorite shows. We were terrified of our teachers and being sent to the principal’s office was tantamount to as bad as it gets.

We walked to the movie theatre on Saturdays to watch a double feature or a matinee of fun flicks like The Blob, I was a Teenage Werewolf or Gidget.

We ate Oreos for an after school snack with a large glass of cold milk and at dinnertime we all sat together at the kitchen table, eating and discussing the day.

Bedtime was bedtime and we couldn’t stay up except on Tuesday night when I got to stay up later to watch Milton Berle, probably the first drag queen before we ever knew what a drag queen was. Most nights I would listen to my cool, new clock radio until I fell asleep.

Our fathers pushed the lawn mower around the grass on Sundays after a brunch filled with favorite foods.

To shop on Saturdays we hopped on a bus and went downtown to big department stores. We felt so grown up when we got to eat lunch in the dining room where stores like Hudson’s featured kids meals.

We could hang out at the record store for hours, then go home and play a new favorite singing and dancing around the living room practicing the newest steps.

We knew the names of everyone on Bandstand, what Soupy Sales was having for lunch the next day and that Hi Yo Silver meant a guy in a black mask and his faithful companion Tonto would soon be riding in to clean up the town. We watched Sky King and Fury on Saturdays and never noticed that the scenery on Star Trek was made up of Christmas lights.

We were incredibly innocent and Lord do I wish I still were.

I feel badly that children today are being subjected to politics and brainwashing and sadly losing their youth to political agendas.

There is a lot to be said for being protected from the hardships of life unless and until one is forced to face them.

It was different times and Baby Boomers shared a bond those programs provided. To this day “Yo Rinty” is a call to which every one our age responds.

Sure, some might say I’m coloring the past with an overly optimistic brush. Perhaps, but from the reaction of my friends when I wax nostalgic and they jump in with their own fond memories, I think not.

I look around this strange, insane world and am reminded someone once said ignorance is bliss; I choose to believe it’s actually a blessing.

Is Mainstreaming Obesity Positive for Young People?



Is Mainstreaming Obesity

Positive for Young People?

Why does everyone want the rose on the cake? For me it was all about eating pretty food. Would we eat cake without a rose? You bet, but there was something special about the rose.

It’s no secret we eat with our eyes as well, but don’t we risk being conned into eating something pretty that tastes awful? Is our standard for beauty changing and perhaps not in a good way? Is beauty subjective or is it foisted upon us by the mores of the times?

We are conditioned since childhood to choose pretty, to select the most appealing to the eyes, whether it is food, cars, clothes or people. Pretty is better and society always defined pretty for us. In the fifties it was clear Marilyn Monroe was the epitome of female beauty. So what’s an average girl to do? Isn’t beauty supposed to be in the eye of the beholder?

I suppose one could fight against convention and display an ardent ego boasting about one’s own attributes. I have always heard this works and that if you love yourself others will love you. That what you think about yourself is how others think of you. However that only works to a point.

Let’s face it and get real here…not every woman is born to be a supermodel. Nor is every man destined to be handsome. Yet, there is charm in being less than.

Supermodel Lauren Hutton has a huge gap between her two front teeth and yet was one of the most highly paid and sought after models of her time.

Yet the standard for beauty dictates one must rush to the dentist to fix every imperfection that would interfere with a perfect smile. Funny isn’t it that the defects of some make them more alluring and interesting than those traditionally considered perfect?

So what’s it all about Alfie?

In this new society we are being taught that looks and body size are no detriment to beauty and that women who are obese can be beautiful and desirable to men.

Oy, and I had to deal with Twiggy when I was young!

As someone who has battled the scale my entire life I would never advocate body shaming or making anyone feel bad about themself. 

Yet I must say and I understand my words will be disputed and even perhaps believed offensive by some of my readers, I cannot advocate obesity nor find it an enhancement to any woman or man.

Mainstreaming an unhealthy body doesn’t seem the way to equalize the standard for beauty.

I understand the Rubenesque quality of women in the 1800s, but how are we to know how these womanly curves affected their health and lifespan?  

Someone over one hundred pounds overweight is risking a lifetime of problems that can shorten and destroy the quality of their existence.

Once fat cells populate your body they never leave. It’s like trying to impose term limits on Congress, they will be there forever. 

Who decided to tell young girls it’s okay to be one hundred pounds overweight and proudly wear spandex to show off every ounce of fat?

What happened to those Presidential fitness programs I used to scoff at that promoted good health?

Obesity is an issue that shouldn’t be advocated as inclusive.

Having a good body image is of course important for young people and old as well, but for those of us who were not born looking like Heidi Klum there is always Revlon and Spanx.

A truly beautiful woman is one that does the best to enhance her good features.

Make up, good hairstyles, flattering wardrobes can do wonders for every woman.

How many times have you seen someone walk into a room and thought, gee they are not really good looking but there’s something about him or her?

There is an enormous difference between being chubby and being obese. Mainstreaming bad health can in no way be a good thing for young people.

I’m glad there are clothes that can allow those overweight to dress attractively and modern. I remember as a child having to wear my mother’s clothes because nothing fit me. I couldn’t shop in the regular stores or find fun clothes so that is a very positive occurrence today.

And yes, we must all love ourselves, but we must also realize part of that love is inherent on doing the best for oneself.

Eating right, exercising or just moving, and focusing on inner beauty is always a positive way to proceed forward in life.

Stuffing one’s face with gigantic amounts of calories, fats and sweets without moderation can only lead to diabetes, heart issues, fatty liver and other diseases no one wants to add to their health charts.

Long ago the medical profession discovered the link between diet and mortality. Yet by mainstreaming obesity all caution has been tossed out the window.

I am absolutely not saying, and I want to make this clear, that it’s easy for some to be their optimum weight. It’s almost impossible actually. I cannot foresee a day when someone will ever say to me, you’re too thin. Although in my dreams I’ve heard that said, but only there. It’s not possible for me unless I stop eating altogether.

My metabolism is now a corpse and just hangs around my body rent-free because it has nowhere else to go. It stopped working in 2001 and I’ve been on my own here ever since.

Some are born with a predisposition to weight issues they must fight their entire life to keep under control. I well understand the fact that many days I am not willing to fight and watch my weight creep up despite the fact I’m just eating normally. So I have a great deal of compassion for those who suffer with this plight.

Yet, at the end of the day, there must come a point where I say, okay no more, it’s time to get the few pounds I gained off now before it gets out of control.

In the end, it is about control.

And that’s hard and no one should discount how difficult, especially as we age.

Yet giving young people a pass to be fat and unhealthy is a tragedy that has become far too acceptable in our society.

We need to make our kids understand that a healthy life is a precursor to living your dreams. Once they have started down the path to illness, it will be very difficult to reverse.

Being a few pounds overweight may be normal for many, obesity is not.

Society saying it is okay to add two hundred extra pounds to a frame only equipped to handle two hundred less is a prescription for a dangerous future.

I know some feel it is good that popular entertainers today brandish obesity as a positive lifestyle choice. I can’t imagine they feel good about all the young people they are influencing who will suffer greatly and may even die at the hands of this mantra.

Finding one’s own beauty and enhancing it is definitely a positive, copying the bad eating habits of an influencer who is courting health dangers is not.

The need for moderation needs to be made clear at some point. I am only hoping someone with influence will eventually show the courage to do just that.

Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation



Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation

So I am finally going to address a big part of my youth I have too often been remiss in mentioning, a house on Grand Blvd. in Detroit, Michigan with a sign reading Hitsville USA.

In case you think for a minute that the Motown sound is now only part of music history I would suggest you watch a replay of the Grammys and notice at what point the place went crazy, rose to their feet danced and sang along with the music. 

Nope it wasn’t Lizzo, it was when Stevie Wonder started playing, Smokey sang and the audience young and old knew every word and moved every part of their body.

That house on Grand Blvd. was far more than just a place where some of the greatest rock and roll music was created and sung, it was a symbol of the sixties and that something great was happening.

Let it be known this is not a political piece and forgive me if I sound preachy; it is merely a reminder of what Motown gave the world. It is a recap of how far we came and are now slipping back from.

My generation grew up in the fifties and sixties. We were guided through these decades by the advent of television and its huge impact on our lives. 

For the first time we could actually watch history occurring in front of us as when Lee Harvey Oswald was murdered in a Dallas police station after he shot the president; which we also saw first hand. In a way it sensitized us to certain aspects of life. Yet it also gave us a front row seat to our own destiny.

I ate breakfast in front of a tiny black and white television, but despite its size it didn’t preclude me from watching enormous historical events that shaped our lives.

I observed a black girl in Mississippi escorted into school by the National Guard. Of course I was young and didn’t understand why anyone would go to such lengths to attend school when I would have welcomed a day off. To this day I can see the scene in my mind’s eye for that day brought an awareness of a world of which we were all now a part.

The sixties were turbulent times. Viet Nam divided the country but united a generation. Blacks and whites marched together in unison to stop a war.

The Civil Rights marches in the south, especially in Selma with Martin Luther King saw blacks and whites bonding for a cause. And the soundtrack to this upheaval was born in a white house in Detroit, Michigan. 

To my generation especially Detroiters, there was a sense of pride in our contribution. We felt we were a part of something much greater and while we spent our days in school actually learning math and civics, we also rushed home to listen to the music of The Temptations, The Four Tops, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Supremes, Stevie Wonder, Martha and the Vandellas and so many more.

Motown artists like the Temptations recorded songs like Ball of Confusion, Edwin Starr’s Warand  Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On? Each made a political statement and sent a strong message with their lyrics. 

And the message resonated from that white house in Detroit to the entire country that transformation needed to come.

Our generation took up the mantel of change and wore it proudly; Peace love and Rock‘n’Roll. We were the hippies, the love generation and although many later turned yuppie their values for their fellow man never shifted.

Now I’m not saying there weren’t still problems and issues that needed to be solved. Of course I’m aware that those who hate can’t be legislated out of existence. That is a problem that will exist as long as man is the primitive creature he remains. Yet, so much was accomplished and the future looked so much brighter then.

When I hear how bad race relations are in America, I wonder what generation dropped the ball. I know it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t the Baby Boomers who still listen to Motown with a sense of pride and affirmation and have kept its message alive and well.

I believe for the first time music truly defined a generation, and of course although it always had in many ways, to the Baby Boomers it was the mantra of peace, solidarity and renewal. It was Abraham, Martin and John and carrying their torch into the future. 

Motown signaled acceptance and coexistence between all races and the dancing and marching, and what the hell happened?

Which generation started hating again? Which lost Martin’s message and tossed away all the principals and pacifism we had embedded in society?

Motown brought us together through music and a realization blacks and whites are not separate and can embrace unity. My generation listened, learned and discovered a way to make it all work.

Somewhere along the way others stole the message and corrupted and reinvented it into hatred and marginalization.

I won’t go into how political leaders from both parties were most guilty of this bastardization, but I can tell you it wasn’t the Baby Boomers.

The bond between our generation and Motown was and still is as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. That was quite evident the other night at the Grammys when everyone stood and danced to the music, just as mesmerized by the sounds and lyrics as ever.

I hear too many groups espouse the theory today that blacks and whites are incapable of peaceful coexistence, of accomplishing great things together and ending racial hatred. That the malice and anger was below the surface and festering all these years.

I must wonder where all this is coming from? 

Who dredged it up from its burial plot and resurrected all this resentment? I know it wasn’t Baby Boomers because we are still very much in tune with our message.

Motown was no fluke that simply arrived on the music scene to create eternal music; it was much more. It was proof positive that race is no barrier to understanding and unity, that all people can stand together, dance together and sing together in unison. 

Perhaps the generation that now declares this coexistence is impossible needs a lesson or two in history. While they are learning they need a soundtrack of Motown to validate it is possible and Baby Boomers were the ones to give peace a chance. Maybe they should drive by that Hitsville, USA house and see for themselves how it’s done. And if I sound like I’m baking pie in the sky here, check out the lyrics to Gladys Knight and the Pips’ Friendship Train and hop the hell on.

The Tao of the Baby Boomer

The Tao of the Baby Boomer

Yes it’s true I write a great deal about getting older. Usually I try to include humor in my tirades just to ease the pain a bit, but lately I find myself at a loss about how to stem the tide of gray hair, muscles morphing into fat and turning up the television sound at regular intervals.

Oh sure we all share the same trials and tribulations about the passing years and I’ve often thought that the Baby Boomer generation, who I believe, and more so every day was one of the smartest groups to populate the earth, should have some answers. 

However, as I meditate on the past and the idols we all shared I’m coming up a bit empty on the whole self-help front. What exactly should we have learned from the childhood icons we spent our time watching and adoring?

I’m starting with Clarabell. Don’t mock yet, for in thinking about this silent clown who preferred to communicate though a horn I have discovered so much wisdom my mind truly boggles.

First and foremost to my knowledge no one ever told us why he honked instead of talking like regular people.

So was it to promote silence? Nope, don’t think so since that damn horn was noisy and annoying. I’d rather he spout Shakespeare than keep violating my ears with that racket, so what did we learn here? Or perhaps should have learned?

Perhaps Clarabell was trying to teach us that sometimes we can communicate without the need for words. A smile, a beep, a wink or a hand gesture, and I think we all know that a hand gesture can indeed speak volumes, can suffice when communicating our thoughts.

Did he also want us to learn that we need to look behind the mask and make up human beings may use to cover up their feelings at times and see the real person? That digging deeper is sometimes a true act of charity when someone needs our help. So was the message wasted? How many of us have sought to determine whether or not someone is truly hurting when they portray a mask of unkindness to the world? Have we reached out and learned Clarabell’s lesson or merely walked away when we could have helped?

Of course most importantly is the lesson of silence. How many times have we spoken and regretted our words? How many times have we kept silent and made a greater impact? Many I assume. I know I have.

I could never speak of idols without including the great Bugs Bunny. Oh the lessons here were too numerous to mention, but one of my very favorites was wearing a mask to achieve our ends in life? No, I haven’t lost it altogether, although I admit I’m pretty close after watching the news this morning. If you will reach back into your memory banks and visualize Bugs in red lipstick and a bear trap in his mouth seductively stopping the Tasmanian Devil in his steps, you will agree that sometimes make up can do wonders. No, I don’t mean in the sense we can stop a mugger by applying lipstick, but that when we face the world both friends and adversaries, oftentimes it is necessary to wear a different face in diverse situations. We must morph into that which will achieve our ultimate goal and secure what we are seeking. In other words knowing our opponent is a special power that one might even call a super power if, we are Marvel fans.

Whether it is to close a multi-million dollar deal or simply convince a salesperson to return a sweater that pilled too quickly, our superpower is in knowing how to handle others. Thank you, Bugs. Of course it is also obvious that a little lipstick and great haircut will do wonders for seducing the opposite sex, and we probably have the Bugmeister to thank for that lesson. If he can stop the Tasmanian Devil, we can secure a second date.

American Bandstand’s lesson is an easy one, you can actually dance your troubles away and Dick Clark had found the Fountain of Youth. Although the dancing part gets a bit sketchy when you’re recovering from that knee replacement.

No list of learning would be complete without the Mickey Mouse Club. So what did we learn from the people with the mouse ears? So much. For example did you know Wednesday is anything-can-happen day? Every week I couldn’t wait for Wednesday and although I watched diligently the other four days, it was the excitement of not knowing what might happen that kept me glued to the old black and white TV set. 

This was a truly important lesson that I have carried with me my entire life. For if we’ve learned nothing from our stay on this planet it is that there is no knowing, no magic power that can prepare us for what is to come. This is the yin and yang that truly defines life. For it is the thrill of the unknown paired with the fear of tomorrow that makes life so seductive. Will tomorrow be a better day or bring more problems?Will I laugh or cry when the sun rises and am I the one who ultimately determines which that will be?

Perhaps a bit of both I say.

How many people have visited a psychic and the first thing they say is, “don’t tell me anything bad.” Ah, so there are conditions on us knowing the future after all. 

So anything can happen day is a double-edged sword. Of course on the Mickey Mouse Club it was always something fun, but in real life we’ve learned perhaps not so much all the time.

Of course there are many more examples of the Tao of the Baby Boomer or as the Mandalore put it, “This is the Way.” I shall continue to write about them from time to time and I’d love to hear from readers as well about, so please write.

In the end growing old is nothing to joke about, or is it? Is this what we have learned from all the upbeat icons of the past after all? Is it our responsibility to take the knowledge of the past and find some comfort and often much humor in what has come before?

What lessons can we embrace each day to better our lives?

First, don’t watch the news. Call a friend each day and laugh together. Count five things we are grateful for and damnit, I don’t care what anyone says, eat chocolate! I sometimes go on YouTube and pull up the acts of my favorite comedians and just sit and laugh. It does actually help and if you have some chocolate while you’re laughing, well I believe they call that achieving nirvana.

I truly believe there is no magic bullet for aging despite all those who profess to know the answers, but I do know that sharing the creaking bones, anemic metabolism and every new wrinkle with friends helps. And when you’re having a really bad day just remember what Clarabell always said…

Seriously, Does it Cost This Much to be Me?



Seriously, Does it Cost This Much to be Me?

When Aliens land they better have a lot of money if they’re planning to stay on this planet for any length of time.

I’ve noticed the cost of keeping myself going is rising exponentially to years spent here. There is so much more entailed in just getting up and getting going now I wonder that it’s worth “the getting” at all.

Perhaps that’s why so many of my age group discovered during COVID it really wasn’t so bad staying at home.

Now I find myself among those who with just the slightest provocation are content to stay in sweats or comfy jammies in front of the flat screen in lieu of preparing this tired old body so it is presentable enough to go outside.

What once was a quick dab of this or that has suddenly become a truckload of all things necessary to get ready to face the world.

Let’s face it, youthful skin glows without the extra products necessary, young hair shines, young eyes are unencumbered with bags and young bodies are firm and toned without Spanx.

The Lord in his mercy designed our close up vision to worsen as we age to avoid seeing those wrinkles and lo and behold the Devil creates the ten-times magnifying mirror. Kudos, Satan, that was truly one of your greatest accomplishments and actually, your most evil since politicians.

I spend way too much of my time shopping for face creams, hair products, vitamins, medications, comfortable shoes that won’t leave me unable to walk for days after wearing them, and all the other products and services it takes to support me in my laugh laugh golden years.

I have come to the conclusion that although it’s much easier to downsize when older it doesn’t include bathroom drawers and storage closets.

Although my wardrobe may be smaller, my supply of facemasks, creams, body lotions, and hair shiners is large enough to fill the hole left by the world trade towers.

It’s crazy how much time one must spend preparing for the day. Sure hats help to disguise a bad hair day and Lord knows I make good use of them, but even wearing a mask to avoid lipstick cannot hide the giant Hefty bags under one’s eyes and having to buy concealer by the barrel.

Sure, you say, just wear sunglasses but you can’t wear them indoors without looking like a wanna be movie star and although spandex added to jeans is a discovery that should have been awarded the Nobel Prize years ago, one still needs Spanx.

I even find myself actually watching supplement commercials and senior exercise videos on YouTube. I didn’t say I actually performed the exercises, but I have deluded myself into believing just viewing them will somehow help me maintain a hard body. Huh! There hasn’t been anything hard on my body since 1979, except for the metal knee implant.

So why do we even bother to try and recapture youth? What makes us so aggressive about seeing ourselves as we were and not as we are becoming?

Well let’s be honest, aging ain’t no fun.

Oh sure I know the mantra about how grateful we should be to be here at all. Yes, I subscribe to that idea and am grateful, but it’s hard to deny living our lives older takes preparation and lots more money.

Getting out of bed in the morning is accompanied by moans and groans, aches and pains in places I didn’t know I had places, and that first glance in the mirror, well all I can say is OY!

One must ask oneself is it harder now because we notice things we had no time to notice when young, or have our bodies truly changed so much it’s impossible to ignore the obvious?

When we’re chasing our kids around, cleaning the house, dragging our tired bodies to bed at the end of a long day who ever had time to think about how many vitamins we’d taken?

Now suddenly it’s all about us and even if one chooses to ignore what’s changing, our bodies have become the Glenn Close of our existence. Did you know they make anti crepe cream for your arms? Who the hell paid attention to that crap years ago?

I can’t believe the money I spend on all the stuff I apply, drink, swallow and rub on my joints.

And it always seems like no matter how much of everything I buy at Costco to store away, I’m always running out of stuff.

My car automatically drives itself to CVS now and instead of planning fun trips to Las Vegas to gamble I am supporting Proctor and Gamble.

Of course we should make the effort to have great joint health, fewer wrinkles, thick hair, white teeth, regular check ups and try our damnest to ignore the scary warnings on all those new miracle drugs on television. I saw one recently that claimed it could help my arthritis, but it might be at the expense of a liver. Check please I’ll keep my arthritis thank you.

Once I never noticed the TV commercials for nursing homes for Mom, now I shake and cringe each time one comes on.

I am one high maintenance and expensive broad, but not because I’m traveling first class to every exciting European capital or wearing diamonds from Cartier, but because meds cost money.

Staying alive is damn costly and of course necessary but wow, whodda thought?

So is there a solution to this constant outpouring of money to keep us alive, functioning and looking good?

Is staying home and streaming the answer? Nope. For as long as we’re living we must keep living. We really need to get up, get dressed and get out to get on with our lives. Despite how much we’d rather not that day.

What’s the use of being alive if you retreat from life?

So I guess I’ll keep creaming, supplementing and Spanxing to go out and face the world. Even if the world doesn’t appreciate I’m saving them from the scary experience of seeing me au natural, the mirrors I pass by will.

So I’ll shop till I drop even if it’s not for the fun stuff I once bought. Hey I just got a fifty-cent coupon online for Oil of Olay. Great, now I’ll have enough for that trip to Versailles.

To All The Words I’ve Loved Before

To All the Words I’ve Loved Before

“To all the girls I’ve loved before. Who’ve traveled in and out my door…”  Willie Nelson

Years ago Willie Nelson wrote a song dedicated to all the girls he’d loved before. Thinking about the words conjured up memories of all the books I’ve written before. Of course the fact I have been cleaning out my file cabinet and come across many an unfinished tome might have had something to do with those thoughts.

So as I perused the unfinished manuscripts about old movie star houses in Beverly Hills, girls wanting to be eaten by a shark, the Viet Nam war and draft dodgers in Toronto, an escape with friends to distant places and even our cat solving a neighborhood mystery along with a few others I wondered what might have happened had they been published or more to the point had I ever finished them.

Looking back at the novel about draft dodgers living in Toronto I can see some obvious problems there. Like perhaps how do you write a book you know nothing about. Okay, so I know youth makes us stupid but why would I think that visiting Toronto on so many occasions would make me an expert on the Viet Nam war or living in hiding? Or even being drafted?  Not quite up my alley and of course there is no way I could have ever finished that book. Oh sure I could have interviewed people who lived that life, and many authors have done well using that formula, I am not one of them however. I myself have always subscribed to the old adage…”write about what you know” and in my experience I understand why.

I must always feel passionate about what I write. And although at the time I am feeling excited about a book’s possibilities my energy level begins to subside when I realize how little I know about my character’s experiences.

So what does this have to do with anything actually? I’m sure there are many writers that have begun many books only to discard them when their passion waned, so why am I feeling particularly sad about these long forgotten tomes? And why am I certain the way I feel probably has nothing whatsoever to do with Viet Nam, sharks or even Cary Grant’s old home in Beverly Hills.

These unfinished books are merely another reminder of the passage of time and dreams never fulfilled.

Not to become too maudlin about the subject there are many sad things about aging aside from the obvious…aches, pains, loss, the hate you begin to feel for mirrors or any reflective objects.

I truly believe the excitement of new possibilities is one of the best things about being young. Those times when you were over the moon about a new project or adventure looming in the distance ahead. When you jumped out of bed in the morning filled with the joy of entering a new world of discovery and unlimited choices only you could make happen.

And now the only chance I have of leaping out of bed at breakneck speed is if someone nearby yells fire or an earthquake shakes me out.

Perhaps it’s that feeling I miss most. The high of a new day fraught with new chapters to be written, new lives to be led and new places to see. I mean of course besides the orthopedist office or dermatologist to find out what that new thing growing on your body is and what the hell?

About now you might be feeling as depressed as someone who can’t find a drug store open when they are pmsing for a Hershey bar at midnight. And no I’m not trying to be a downer here, but perhaps just nostalgic for the old days when I felt that anticipation of the leap into a new dimension, a new planet of the possible. Is there really a damn Multi-verse and how do I get there?

I am fighting the it’s-too-late blues daily but I’m beginning to get the I’m-moving syndrome. You know that place you find yourself in when you are moving out of your home and you need to replace a rosebush but you won’t buy one because you won’t be around to see it grow so you are in limbo and can’t move forward. You’re stuck in the mire of why do it if I’m going to move land? I hate that place. I hate not being able to embrace the new. 

My parents refused to buy new windows. Oh sure their house was fifty years old and desperately needed them, but they were in their eighties and felt like why bother in a few years we’ll sell the house or be dead anyway. Hmm, maybe that’s where I got it.

Yep we all know someone like that. The why redecorate people or the why do I need a new dress people or the why travel in this scary new world folks.

As bad as it was before it’s worse now after the pandemic. I actually have friends who don’t like to leave the house anymore. So now even more are spending their life getting all their kicks from the new movie on Netflix or reruns on Hulu or heaven help us all the real housewives. Talk about an oxymoron, there’s nothing real about those chicks.

So why have I brought you down this sad Willie Nelson inspired path? Is it to remind us all how limited life becomes as we age or perhaps something very different? Stay with me here it gets better, I promise.

When I pulled out the books I realized something else after the depression lifted; each book is a new possibility; a new chapter to be written and something challenging ahead.

I can buy a new rose bush now or fix the windows or finish that great American novel because there is a huge difference at this age. This age. That’s right, although many unwanted things come with getting older the accumulation of wisdom is not one of them. When I was in my thirties writing about draft dodging I had no life experience to add to the discussion. How did shopping give me insight into the fear of going to war? What did I know about leaving home and starting over in a new place. Well I sure as hell do now.

Every book I began needed to congeal and coalesce and become its best self. Or perhaps I did.

What is the point of obtaining wisdom if we don’t use it to our advantage?

So what I’m actually trying to say here is that the dreams, plans and possibilities of youth are more exciting and closer to you now. Whatever you wished for fifty years ago you can accomplish more easily now, despite age and slowing down a bit.

You can paint that masterpiece, learn to play piano, write that self help book, tap dance, refurbish that cabinet, open that boutique or even take that cruise around the world. An old friend of mine just wrote a book about his experiences in the music business fifty years ago.

The best part is seeing it through the eyes of life experience and not the naïveté of youth.

One of the benefits of aging is the ability to see things clearly. Hindsight is indeed twenty twenty and maybe that’s why we remember forty years ago so well, but not last week. Seeing life though the lens of a lifetime of moments lived, lessons learned and loves given and returned or spurned is a beautiful approach to anything you wish to accomplish. 

So now I’m settling in to reread that Viet Nam book while you all start that long ago abandoned project. I’m sure the next Jane Austin or Rembrandt is among my readers. Of course you are. Good luck and let me know how it’s all coming along. 

Shoes at Least

                                 Shoes at Least

 ‘The time has come, ‘the walrus said, ‘to talk of many things: of shoes and ships-and sealing wax-of cabbages and kings.’ Lewis Carroll

Shoes are ironic. Oh I know no one actually would say that or perhaps even think as I do about the true meaning of shoes, but women understand shoes are not simply pieces of leather sewn together, but a religious experience. Women worship at the Temple of Manolo. And I must agree with Marilyn Monroe when she famously said, “Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world.” From Louboutin to Nine West, women can work a heel.

But I should get back to the ironic part. When I was young I adored shoes and wore Capezios all the time. Every new pair and new color that was produced found its way into my closet. 

My father used to ask, “What do you need more shoes for?” 

Poor guy never got it. Dad, women don’t need shoes, we crave them like chocolate when we’re PMSing. Helps fill in the other 20 days a month and keep us on an even keel.

So the irony here, despite my father’s constant puzzlement about my addiction, is that when you’re older and have the money to finally give in to your habit. When your children are all out of the house, when you have enough money too keep your grandchildren in Lego sets, when it’s all about you and your shoeboxes, and you don’t need those running shoes anymore, the unthinkable happens.

Your damn feet start aching.  

“Why do they hurt,” you ask. 

Usually from wearing all those fabulous heels when you were younger and now you have hammertoes and planters fasciitis or heel spurs, flatfeet, corns, bunyans and all kinds of evil gremlins that keep you from sliding your foot into the gorgeous Manolo with the four-inch heel.

Ouch. 

Of course you panic. Why wouldn’t you? Your closet is filled to the brim with fabulous footwear. Magnificent specimens of foot coverings that make your friends drool and your feet ache undamnbelieveably.

So it’s off to the podiatrist we go. 

“Doc my arch is killing me and I can’t seem to stand in these heels anymore.”

He examines the shoe you hold up for him to see and a smirk crosses his face. 

Aha he thinks, the moment of bliss for him is the moment of sorrow for you. You are at odds. For now your feet belong to him and not to those fabulous Jimmy Choos you are trying to avoid wetting with your tears.

Okay, so aren’t there worse things in life than simply not being able to wear high heels anymore?

Well of course there are, but that’s the point. Shoes are a metaphor for life. In a nutshell they are the perfect example for where it all leads, the meaning of life, the ultimate screw you from the universe.

Just when you think you have it all, the universe steps in and laughs. “Kidding” it says and takes it all away.

Oh I’m not talking about the Monolos I’m talking about life.

I use shoes because it is easy for my female readers to relate to the joy of slipping into a pair of four-inch heels and admiring the turn of a calf. Or the way you feel glamorous and fabulous and ready to face the world armed and dangerous in those open-toed spikes.

For men I must use a different metaphor. It’s when you retire and can play golf all day and you tear your rotator cuff.

But life can be a cruel master as we’ve all seen far too many times.

The ability to rationalize is the most important and underappreciated human talent.

I myself am a gold medal winner in the sport and I know many of my friends compete with me on a daily basis.

Why is rationalization the key to a happy life?

So often we hear the phrase we must live our lives in gratitude. We must count our blessings and accept happily what we have been given.

And I’m not saying that’s bad advice. 

Heavens no. It’s important to exist in a state of gratitude. But can we truly achieve that end without the use of copious amounts of rationalization?

Oh well you wore stunning shoes all those years and all good things must end. At least they make so many adorable flats now. It doesn’t matter be grateful you had so many years with Jimmy Choo. What about girls who started with flat feet and could you show some gratitude here?

And we must. Because that is how we cover the disappointments we face, the losses we must accept and the pain of mistreatment by others.

My favorite is; it’s not your fault, people like that don’t know better, they’re pitiful, at least you’re not like them so pray they eventually realize what awful people they are. (But of course they never do.) 

Okay, sure, you’re right, they are awful and I should feel sorry for them, but when you’re someone’s victim isn’t it okay to feel bad for yourself?

I understand we need to rationalize. It’s the best way to get through it all.

My brother died recently. He had just sold his business, bought a home on a golf course and was finally at last able to succumb to his addiction for hitting that little ball across a fairway and have lots of time to play with his grandchildren.

But life had other plans. Life said screw you, I don’t think so.

And so we were forced to rationalize once more. At least he had so many years; he lived so well, yata yata yata.

It’s what we do to survive, to try and make sense of it all. The irony that life uses as its own little private parlor game.

Oh so you think you’ll retire and enjoy life, guess again.

Oh so you think you’ll be dancing in those shoes after you hike up Machu Pichu, au contraire, but check out these new old lady shoes, hot huh?

So you think that after struggling for years to achieve your goals and make it in business you got this covered.

Guess again, your new factory just burned to the ground before the insurance kicked in. Too bad but at least you weren’t inside the building right?

The sore toes are a foreshadowing of what life truly is. It’s an ironic series of disappointments, missteps and tragic moments we are forced to justify by rationalizing using the words at least. 

Someone once said the most powerful word in the English dictionary is “if”.

I would like to propose the two most powerful and important words are at least. For all rationalizations begin with those two little words.

At least we have humor to help get us through bad times, at least we have wonderful memories, at least he didn’t suffer, at least we can stay away from people who hurt us and at least we’re not them and the list is endless.

But so far no one has been able to use the words at least to stop the pain of losing those we love.

I guess we’ll have to do our best to keep going and rationalizing our way through life.

I’d love to continue this conversation but these new shoes are killing me and I have to go put on my slippers. At least they are comfortable.

May life be good for you and may you have few occasions to use the words at least.

And the Winner for Worst Grandson of all Time Goes to Prince Harry, of Course

And the Winner for Worst Grandson of all Time

Goes to Prince Harry, of Course.

It’s difficult for any thinking person to avoid wanting to retch when hearing Prince Harry’s stories of his so-called tragic life as a prince of England. I imagine and Lord knows I’m not speaking from experience here, it must be awful to just be a prince instead of being the prince who will someday be king. My sympathies.

Poor Harry, his plight is unequalled in the sad stories that man shall repeat throughout time and history. Just think what comfort it is to those poor children around the world who are hungry and sick to know Harry shares their pain because he is merely a Prince who lived a royal life and not the heir apparent? Just a moment while I wipe the tears from my eyes and fight to control my sobs so I can continue typing.

Okay, that’s better now I’m back.

We can only be grateful that a third-rate American actress showed up looking for attention on her way to bit parts in Hallmark Channel movies to point out how horrible his life has been as a member of British royalty.

Speaking as one of the common folk and a grandmother to two amazing human beings I am indeed surprised, despite the focus on the tripe Harry wrote in his, excuse the expression book, that no one has pointed out the obvious…Harry assumed his grandmother the Queen would still be alive when his book was published and was well aware of the untold harm and pain it would bring to her.

And the winner is…worst grandson of all time Prince Harry.

I’ve watched the Crown like everyone else so I’m aware that the Queen is often portrayed as somewhat of a cold fish toward her children, choosing duty and country before hugs and snuggles. No one ever accused her of being warm and fuzzy except her grandchildren.

Anyone who has grandchildren understands well the concept that there is a very special bond. The lack of responsibility toward their upbringing frees one to simply reap the benefits of all the love and attention one can foist on these marvelous little miracles.

Your grandchildren are easy to love, accept and unconditionally forgive anything. They are the ultimate reward for surviving your own teenagers, for the fact your boobs have dropped like two rocks in a stream, that getting out of bed takes a whole lot longer than it once did and that now with so many more TV channels to watch working the remote control is damn difficult due to carpel tunnel.

You don’t have to clean their fingerprints off walls, but instead you leave them there as artwork, you needn’t care if they stay up later than usual because you love spending more time with them and they are willing to listen to the stories of your childhood and look at you like you are imparting the wisdom of the sages.

You don’t have to worry your ignorance about parenting will screw them up for life for they have their own parents to do that. You are Grandma, giver of hugs and lover of all things they do and say.

They are your best buds, great supporters and simply the loves of your life.

As a grandmother I have no doubt whatsoever Queen Elizabeth felt no different about her offspring. I’m certain she was the president of all their fan clubs and judging from what I’ve heard from her grandchildren she was devoted to them. I’m sure she went out of her way to be especially mindful of the fact Harry and William had suffered a great loss early in their lives and she in her way paid even closer attention to their needs.

Whether or not one agrees or disagrees with Harry’s pathetic whining and diatribe about his sad life as a prince is not really my concern. I’ve been around enough narcissists in my life to understand the harm they do to those around them and their constant craving for attention and disregard for other’s feelings. This is not the point I wish to make.

I am simply taking issue with the fact Harry had so little love for his grandmother he would write such a mean and spiteful book and trash the people and institution she so loved. What kind of grandson has so little regard for his grandmother’s feelings?

I’m certain he was well aware of the damage it would do to her when the book was published and he and his wife taped the television special complaining and trashing everyone. Yet he didn’t care. He was oblivious to his grandmother’s potential pain and suffering from these remarks and turned a blind eye and deaf ear to what would have been devastating for Queen Elizabeth to hear and read. Would be to any grandmother in that situation and in her last years of life no less.

If there is one thing I’ve learned in this crazy life it’s that there are three sides to every story: yours, mine and the truth.

Harry and Meghan’s constantly whining about their “truth” when they are fully aware no one on the other side can respond is shameful and over the top self- absorbed behavior, even for these two.

I feel sad as a grandmother that the last years of the Queen’s life were so colored with negativity and anger leveled by two such shallow people. That after a lifetime of service to her country, her people and her family she had to suffer the slings and arrows leveled at her by an ungrateful grandson. This I find truly sad.

No grandparent should have to be treated in such a fashion, especially one who obviously loved and cared for her grandchildren.

In case you are wondering I am not writing this rant because I am some kind of over-the-top royal lover or super fan of the Queen. As a matter of fact I’m still working on being okay with the fact she never visited Israel during her entire reign, so please do not think this is colored by my opinion of Her Majesty. I am also sympathetic to the fact Harry has serious issues that need addressing, but lashing out at his grandmother and those she loves won’t cure his ills.

It is simply colored by the revulsion I feel as one grandmother watching a grandson displaying total and complete callousness toward his own grandmother.

As a Grammy and proud to be I feel I must speak up for us all. Grandparents are a very unique person in someone’s life. I know my grandfather was very special to my brother Marty and I and we always felt blessed to have had him in our lives. I would never have ever knowingly hurt him or tried to destroy the things he held dear.

I’d like to think all grandchildren feel as we did.

Despite watching what I can only call the most ungrateful grandson of all time I still believe the relationship between grandparent and grandchild is sacrosanct and extraordinary.

There is an expression, “how sharper than a serpent’s tooth the sting of an ungrateful child.”

Well sting away, Harry, you can’t do her harm anymore.

Finding Something to Laugh at

Finding Something to Laugh At
“A day without laughter is a day wasted…” Charlie Chaplain
As a graduate of the Lenny Bruce School of humor I have never found any lack of people or situations to laugh at during my stay on this planet. I have always reasoned that if Mel Brooks can make the Spanish Inquisition and the Nazis funny what isn’t fair game? So now when I find myself laughing less I must ask, “where the hell has humor gone?”
Of course I’m not advocating using humor to hurt people, and no one should be the butt of anyone’s jokes. There is no place for cruelty or meanness in humor and we all should respect the line and not cross over. Yet all people, all sexes and everyone that breathes on planet earth has some craziness in common and if we begin to exclude anyone from the party it would be akin to locking them out of the shared joke.
We all need to be let in and have an opportunity to laugh together. Laughter is a great bonding agent that unites and creates shared joy. Meanness destroys the very purpose of humor, which is to bring joy to everyone.
Yet according to some it seems I must now censor myself depending on who and what friends or family in whose company I find myself depending on their degree of something called “wokeness.” I fully understand and empathize with the pain of those who may be struggling in their life with a new and unforeseen circumstance. However, the greater the challenge, the more important it is to laugh and knock it down to size.
For example: A giant bully runs the playground with a tone of severity and evil that makes everyone that crosses his path quake with fear. One day a new student finds himself on the playground still a bit hesitant to step in and watches from the sidelines. While observing the dynamics of playground politics he notices the bully is constantly checking his cap to ensure its fit over his ears. The student becomes convinced he is hiding something. Seeing the

bully terrorize the other students for half the play period, he decides to be bold. Just as the bully leans over a small boy to grab his bat, the new kid jumps up and pulls the cap from the bully’s head.
The bully is stunned and unable to move as he realizes his hat is missing and his gigantic ears are exposed. Every student moves in closer for a better look as a loud roar of laughter engulfs the schoolyard as the bully’s huge, protruding ears are on display. He runs away horrified and diminished as finally the students are freed from their captor. Nothing and no one could have stopped him from asserting his wrongful power over them except one simple thing, laughter. Now begs the question, should the other students continue to taunt the bully over his ears? That would be a misuse of humor but hopefully the bully would learn his lesson and stop his evil ways. Okay, so maybe in a perfect world.
There you have it ladies and gentlemen, the key to Jewish humor. Laughter is the best way to cut a bully down to size. It’s worked for centuries and always will. Yet now when we are all fighting to survive a world full of bullies we have cast our greatest weapon.
I can’t imagine anyone hasn’t heard a story from a comedian who says he recognized the power of funny when picked on as a kid he resorted to humor to avoid ridicule. They can’t beat you if they’re doubled up laughing at your jokes. If it ain’t broke etc…
So am I wrong in assuming that at a time in my life and so many of my friends’ lives when we desperately need laughter we are being shut down by those who have set themselves up as judges of what should be our funny?
According to the Mayo Clinic, laughter simulates many organs and enhances the intake of air, releases endorphins, activates and relieves your stress response and soothes tension. This leads to lowered blood pressure and better circulation and beats the hell out of downing a handful of meds every day.
All Baby Boomers have suddenly found themselves in a battle with Father Time. And because we know in the end he will win, we fight valiantly each day to make life as easy and rewarding as possible. Many days we are accompanied by pain, fatigue, trying

to remember where we put our keys or what the hell we were calling a friend to tell them as we are plagued by senior moments. Where once we were excited to see a friend’s number pop up on our phone, now a small part of us wonders if they are calling with more bad news about someone who became sick or died.
We all know how it has become necessary to cheer ourselves up when life comes crashing around us and reminding us of our own mortality.
Yet the very coping mechanism that once served to relieve us in times of difficulty is being stripped away and has become a political tool for those that would tell us how to think, feel, act and what is or is not funny.
Dude Perfect is a group of guys on YouTube that my grandsons turned me onto. They exploit people’s stereotypes and their video about the pandemic quarantine points out so clearly how alike we all truly are. I can’t imagine anyone could watch that video, see them hoarding toilet paper and not be doubled up in laughter. The very fact that an old broad like myself and my young grandsons can both laugh at the same craziness proves the universality of Dude Perfect’s humor.
One thing I have never had any problem with is grasping what is humorous. The Lord may not have provided me with Heidi Klum’s looks or body, but he did give me an innate sense of funny. Yet despite the fact I believe certain jokes or comics are funny I understand fully that not everyone has the same sense of humor or point of reference. I think what bothers me most is the fact there are others that deign to tell me my sense of humor is inappropriate and judge what I should find funny.
Milton Berle dressed as a woman; funny, Nazis in black boots dancing and singing Springtime for Hitler; funny! Monty Python Life of Brian; funny!
Despite the fact we all may not share the same cultures or life experiences certain things affect humans in the same ways. Finding and sharing love, fear, death, getting old and mothers-in-laws all seem to be universal. The things we strive for and care about are

shared. Our families, our children and finding a place for ourselves on this crowded planet bonds us all.
Once it seemed no one was off limits. When Chevy Chase fell down every Saturday night to point out President Gerald Ford’s clumsiness I laughed, not because I disliked Ford, but because it was damn funny! In fact it made Gerald Ford more endearing. And unfortunately gave Chevy a bad back. Yes, it’s true sometimes we suffer for our art.
Now we have politicians that are ridiculous and hilarious and we dare not even point out how gigantic the caps are covering their ears. And the fact they actually take themselves seriously, well that’s enough comedy material for a lifetime. Congress…Blazing Saddles, it’s a toss up which is funnier.
I have written before about why so many have tried to understand the roots of Jewish humor and why we are a people that have so embraced the funny. It’s quite simple really, instead of accepting ourselves as victims we choose humor as the coping mechanism to lighten our circumstances. A close second is chocolate and that explains the Jewish food thing.
Laughter cuts the enemy down to size, allows us to laugh at that which scares us and unites us in the best of ways. It helps release the pain inside and exorcises our demons.
If you will notice, Fascist governments have no sense of humor and allow none in their victims. They know the benefits of a society that can share a laugh and the power it ignites. That is why it is so important to stop people from laughing together because it keeps them separate and easier to control.
If everyone can laugh at their leaders it unites them in a way that scares a totalitarian more than any weapon.
Of course too many today fail to understand the intense importance of accepting ourselves as human beings with flaws and failures and laughter’s immense power of healing. In a non-simplistic way to “laugh it off” and how humor helps do that. And if one chooses not to laugh, please don’t tell others they have no right to their chuckles. No one should castigate those who need a good Yuk to

get through the day and where to find one. In a free society we can all change the channel, so to speak.
I recently came cross Abbott and Costello on the old people’s network where they replay “retro” shows. They were doing their “Who’s on First?” routine. I sat in amazement as I laughed as hard as I had so many hundreds of times before. Funny is funny and we all need funny to get through life.
The French have a wise expression, (Yes, I know hard to believe right?) “Vive la Difference!” In other words embrace the differences in others and celebrate them.
We all don’t have to be the same, think the same and act the same. Robots and people under totalitarian regimes must do that. Case in point; Iran.
Being lucky enough to grow up in a free society I long ago discovered the best way to keep it free was to share a laugh. I’m white, but I’ll bet I laugh louder than anyone when Tyler Perry puts on that costume and turns into Madea. Not because of the character’s blackness, but because he’s satirizing all strong, not- taking-any-crap women in a brilliant and hilarious way. Madea is every woman.
When my husband and I were first married Cheech and Chong’s Firesign Theatre album had us rolling on the floor crying and laughing. Humor crosses all color and religious lines. Our struggles no matter how individual affect us all in the same ways. Laughter is one of the greatest gifts we can give each other as a species. Laughing feels good, it releases endorphins that raise us up and spark happiness while uniting us in powerful ways.
No audience laughing together can deny how it bonds us and paves the way for friendship and camaraderie. It amplifies our sameness and minimizes our differences. It is the great equalizer.
If we didn’t need a sense of humor, God wouldn’t have given us one.
Making someone laugh is giving a present, a gift that makes a moment happier and is a beautiful experience to share. It creates the positive energy we need to survive.

Growing old is not for sissies nor is growing up and we all benefit from laughter no matter the age, race, religion or sexual orientation. Inside we are all just people struggling to get through the craziness that is life on Planet Earth. And in case you haven’t noticed it’s getting pretty crazy out there. So call a friend and share a laugh. Then have a piece of chocolate cake, look in the mirror naked and laugh your ass off. Oh, if it were only that easy? Gee maybe it really is!

Veggie Chicken with Grapes and Wine

Four chicken thighs cut up

½ package of frozen veggie mix of corn carrots and peas

½ cup White wine

1 ½ cups of Red or green seedless grapes cut in half or whole if small.

2 cups of Yukon Gold potatoes cut up 

Butter and oil for sautéing

2 cups whipping cream

Salt to taste

Saute cut up chicken thighs in mixture of butter and oil.

When almost done add potatoes, veggies and cream and continue cooking until veggies are done. 

Add ½ cup of white wine (I use Sherry) and grapes then salt to taste.

Let cook until cream thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. 

May serve over rice or noodles or with a sheet of baked puff pastry over top 

Why Didn’t Samantha Divorce Darrin? What Was She Thinking?



Darrin Stephens was the worst husband ever! Sadder even was Samantha’s complete acquiescence to his demanding and irrational behavior toward who and what she was.

Sadly, when I was a child I failed to grasp the subtle messages inherent in the Bewitched series, one of the more popular television shows of its era. Television was our social media and our influencers were the characters on our favorite shows each week. No wonder we bought the hype of the times and in the end paid a price.

Oh sure Darrin came off as a long suffering mortal with a witch of a mother-in-law, but who was really the villain in this scenario? And didn’t Endora have good reason to despise her misogynistic son-in-law?

Samantha’s desire to live within the rules set by her tyrant of a husband still leave me speechless.

In one episode she is cleaning the oven when Endora enters the kitchen and is quite perturbed to see her daughter doing housework.

Endora’s disgust is totally understandable, but Samantha’s contentment with her housewifely duties is also quite shocking.

If one sees her behavior as a lark and enjoying living the life of a mortal woman, well okay, I imagine we can all understand that mindset. We can also understand that any woman in her right mind would be thrilled to twitch her nose and a second later witness a sparkling house with no effort. Now I don’t know about you, but if I could zap my stove clean, scrub the floors or have the dirty laundry show up clean and folded in the drawers, I’d opt for that solution in a New York minute.

However, the fact the real theme of Bewitched is not that Darrin Stephens married a witch, but that he was constantly and angrily forcing her to abandon her nature and behave as a mortal, is what frosts my cookies. His constant reminders that he is the “King” of his castle are enough to make a modern woman puke and cast him as one of the most reprehensible characters in television history.

Unless of course her magic suits his purposes and then it is welcomed. Can you say hypocrite?

The message here goes much deeper than simply Samantha choosing to live a mortal life.

It is a man dominating a woman and forbidding her to be who she is. Simply perpetrating the myth that women are subservient to men.

Sounds like the fifties to me.

Darrin’s constant rants about being the head of the household and demanding she stop using witchcraft, becomes more egregious when his daughter is born a witch and he outlaws her nature as well. Sadly, it is hard to watch for it takes me back to a time when women were expected to do the bidding of their husbands. To always act as society deemed a proper wife should, cleaning, cooking and childcare. 

I am absolutely not saying those are not wonderfully virtuous aspects of a woman’s life, but it should be her choice. No one should diminish any option a woman makes that will fulfill and make her happy.

Samantha was a witch, and as such she was privy to powers and abilities far greater than ordinary women could imagine.

Yet Darrin insisted over and over, in a rather screeching tone by the way, she not use her powers or simply put, just be who she is.

At this point I must stress that I am well aware it was a comedy and make believe, and no I don’t believe in witches, but of course Tinkerbell is another issue.

Yet the egregious theme of the show, is simply husband against wife or witch, his power over her powers and her inability to be herself. She’s forced to sneak around just to be her true self, another reason women of the fifties were brainwashed into such behavior. Of course there is always Lucy who wants to be in Ricky’s show and need I say more?

This is not comedy to women who were raised in a time when their opportunities were limited to what society and their father’s felt was appropriate. Raised in a home where women were expected to be no more than wives and mothers. Where a daughter’s duty was to get her MRS degree and provide her parents with grandchildren and a successful husband. Yes, I can speak firsthand of the damage these attitudes can inflict.

A man demanding we be something other than what we are, denying our visions or dreams and having to bow to the male order, caused too many women not to live up to their potential and achieve their dreams.

Watching reruns of this show I wince at his very vocal demands that Samantha bend to his will.

Perhaps even sadder is the fact Samantha continues to use her powers behind Darrin’s back. That he hates his mother-in-law because she simply wants her daughter to be who she truly is. To have the life she was raised to enjoy is selfish and petty of caveman Darrin.

Samantha’s desire to live mortally feels hollow. She continues to use her powers and thus has not truly committed to a life without witchcraft. Is a good marriage one that has both partners hiding and sneaking around to do the things they enjoy, but the other forbids? 

Using her abilities proves she is comfortable with her own self and is only bowing to his demands to please him. This is even sadder that a woman would deny herself to appease a man.

During the fifties and early sixties women in sitcoms were powerless and had to resort to sneaky tactics to achieve their will. I believe “Father Knows Best” says it all.

This lesson was never lost on young girls watching and believing the husband rules and women must be clever and hide their desires to achieve.

It was the Darrin Stephens of the world that set the women’s movement back by years. Watching a woman as attractive as Elizabeth Montgomery married to a dork like Dick York is tough enough to buy. The fact she is capable of twitching her nose to improve her life and change the world and is forbidden to do so, is just sad.

Darrin Stephens is just representative of how women were held back and chained to a paradigm that forbade them freedom of choice over their own lives.

Young women today would never tolerate such weakness in their role models. Although the women’s movement made a great first effort, it failed to take into account the fact that some women did choose to be housewives and mothers. This was their prerogative as well. Whatever lifestyle a woman wants she should be able to select for herself.

Women have shown time and again they are very capable of multi-tasking their lives. Of course one’s priorities should be in the right places then hopefully the things that truly matter will always be in the forefront. Yet it is not fair to tell a woman how to live, what to choose or what she is capable of in this world. No one should be a Darrin Stephens and dictate who anyone should be.

Unconditional love and acceptance is what we strive to find in this life and I can definitely tell you it didn’t exist on Bewitched. 

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Sound Bites from Memory Hell and NBC

      Sound Bites from Memory Hell and NBC

Wally Cleaver died!

Wally who you ask? Well if you did and you are a Baby Boomer you either grew up without a television or lived on Mars.

Anyone who existed before the advent of color TV knows Wally was the Beaver’s brother, or as some may also know him, Eddie Haskell’s best friend.

Tony Dow was only 77 years old, and no I can’t believe I would ever put the word only in front of 77 years old, and he’s certainly left me feeling mortal. Yet incredibly nostalgic for the great old shows I loved as a kid.

When I remember childhood so much excitement and comfort existed within the confines of that box in the living room playing moving pictures. This new and awesome friend became the babysitter, entertainer and object of amazement as we sat, eyes glued and sucking in the wonder.

The shock of growing older is stifled by the amazing ability we humans have to live in a permanent state of denial about aging. Unless we are faced with an-in-your-face situation like illness or we trip over our own boob when we remove our bra, we can pretty much go along believing we are still in our thirties and all life lies ahead.

Please do not for one moment think I’m surprised a celebrity could die. I do not labor under the delusion that because you’ve been on television or starred on the big screen you are immortal. Although, actually in a crazy sense you are and our favorite shows provide a sense of that earth-standing-still mentality. Characters and plots, always constant offer some feeling of assurance things haven’t really changed despite the reality that exists when we turn away from our television screen.

So many programs have casts now gone to celebrity heaven. Their only problem is there are no agents in heaven and therefore no multi million-dollar deals. Too sad, yet residuals aside I’m certain we’d all be happy to know that Samantha is still tweaking her nose, The Golden Girls are still listening to Rose’s St. Olaf stories and Roy Rogers and Trigger are still catching the bad guys.

Soupy Sales is throwing pies at the angels, Granny Clampett is still swimming in the ceement pond and Barney Fyfe is screwing up and getting haircuts from Floyd the Barber. Ozzie Nelson never leaves the house to go to work, Perry Mason always has the killer on the stand five minutes before the end of the show, Ben Cartwright has four grown, unmarried sons living with him on the Ponderosa, The Twilight Zone is creeping everyone out and Groucho Marks is still smoking a cigar and waiting for the duck to drop down. Oh yes, Father Knows Best, Jack Benny is playing that violin and The Real McCoys still are. Maverick is playing poker and looking damn good, Donna Reed is making oatmeal at eight in the morning in a silk shirtwaist, heels and pearls. (Yeah, like that ever happened in real life. My mother was still in her nightgown when I got home from school). 

Dobie Gillis is chasing women and Maynard G. Krebs is still allergic to work. Dick Clark is at the bandstand looking twenty-five, never aging and introducing Frankie Avalon. Danny Thomas is hoping to Make Room for Daddy, Death Valley still is, Bugs Bunny is dressing up with a mop on his head and lipstick to entice the Tasmanian Devil and the Naked City never got dressed. Wagon Train is heading west and Chester is limping on Gunsmoke while Miss Kitty wears those feather boas around her neck. Jack Webb is getting “just the facts, Mam” on Dragnet, Ralph Cramden is driving a bus and Norton is addressing the ball on The Honeymooners. We always love Lucy although she still has some splainin to do.

The Flying Nun hasn’t landed, and believe it or not the professor can figure out how to make a radio, but not how to fix the boat so they all remain on Gilligan’s Island.

That Girl lives in an expensive New York apartment and dresses in couture while working part time, and Hogan’s Heroes are outwitting the Germans because Shultz “knows nothing.”

Jeannie walks around with her navel uncovered and sleeps in a bottle, Mission Impossible still is and on Green Acres Eva Gabor dresses every day for an inaugural ball and possessed the first Glam Squad. Get Smart is hanging out in the cone of silence and Petticoat Junction is well, yeah, right. Colombo, like every real-life detective figures out the killer in the first two minutes and Beep Beep Rosie is cleaning The Jetsons’ house. And when is she coming to clean mine already?

Sky King is flying around heaven and Uncle Miltie is dressing up as a woman and making us all laugh. Buddy Sorrell is insulting Mel Cooley while Laura Petrie is yelling, “Oh Rob”.

The Brady Bunch is surrounded by avocado green appliances and wood paneled rooms, My Favorite Martian is living with Bill Bixby and moving his head antenna up and down unable to leave earth. Lassie is saving Timmy and Lois Lane hasn’t figured out the guy she’s in love with is really Clark Kent. Sid Caesar does the best fake accents anywhere on Your Show of Shows and Gracie Allen is a lovable airhead while George just smokes his cigar and patiently grins. Red Skelton is still Clem Kadiddlehopper, Our Miss Brooks is unsuccessfully lusting after Mr. Boynton and Abbot and Costello are asking, “Who’s on first?”

My Little Margie is driving her dad Charlie Farrell and his boss Mr. Honeywell crazy which is why Farrell went on to open The Racket Club in Palm Springs when land there was five dollars an acre. December Bride is living with her children while they search to find her a husband and Liberace is still in the closet sporting a candelabra for some additional class.

Ernie Kovacs’ wackiness and brilliance remains greatly missed by all and  I Married Joan introduced Jim Backus who went on be Mr. Magoo and Thurston Howell the III. Mr. Peepers is a shy science professor who’s not as scatterbrained as people think, and Fury is still a magnificent black stallion.

Red Buttons is singing Hidiho and F Troop can’t find their way out of a paper bag. The Life of Riley still is and Ann Southern continues to be a very Private Secretary. Topper remains plagued with ghosts and an alcoholic St. Bernard and The Millionaire’s Michael Anthony refuses to drop off my check. 

Yo Rinty! Need I add more? 

The Bob Cummings Show has Alice B. Davis madly in love with her boss but getting nowhere, which is probably why she left and became Alice on The Brady Bunch.

Sgt. Bilko is the best con man in any man’s army and actually managed to get a monkey, Harry Speak Up inducted. Lest we ever forget Sheena Queen of the Jungle or how no week could ever begin properly without The Ed Sullivan Show? 

But of course no list of great shows could ever be complete without the Mouse. I had my ears ready every day while Jimmy Dodd and Big Roy led the Mouseketeers through the theme of that day’s show. My favorite was Friday when Spin and Marty at the Double R Bar Ranch, Annette and all fun series were featured. Although, Anything-Can-Happen Day on Wednesdays was pretty damn good stuff too.

I know I’ve left some oldies but goodies out so you could fill in your favorites. Please send me any I’ve forgotten and your thoughts on those shows. Hey! Why do I have to do all the work here? Just kidding, I love remembering all the happy moments these shows brought into my life as a kid and even today. I hope I just brought some new smiles to you.

Getting Old Sucks!

Getting Old Sucks!

No, I don’t want to hear anyone say, “Sure, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Excuse me, but no one really knows that for sure do they? For all we know the alternative could be Wonkaland or a hut over the water in Bora Bora. Or maybe a massage every day throughout eternity and then a buffet filled with your favorite foods minus calories. Or surrounded by the people you love all the time and they aren’t allowed to criticize you or get on your nerves.

Wow, Paradise!

So now that we’ve put the whole best alternative myth to rest let’s get real shall we?

I seem to spend most of my time lately between doctor visits and healing from surgeries to replace broken parts, talking about the past.

Friends and I commiserate about the good old days when childhood was simple, and how we actually walked back and forth to school, alone. In winter we’d wrap up in ten layers of jackets, undershirts (which my father insisted I wear over my bra) then march out into the cold snowy day alongside a friend.  

I still have a difficult time reconciling how I walked so much as a kid, even home for lunches, played outside, yet still was fat. What’s up with that? I guess I’m over the exercise-keeps-you-thin theories.

I read a study years ago that because Baby Boomers were so active as kids it is easier for us to get back into shape again, than for our children to get into shape in the first place.

Supposedly our muscle memory is still there waiting in the wings for us to run a marathon or walk miles.

Excuse me? As a friend reminded me when hearing that piece of information, her muscle memory now has dementia. I found it hard to argue with that diagnosis. When I call upon my body to pick its flabby ass up off the couch and walk the miles through Costco, it answers me with some incredibly salty language I choose not to repeat.

“Hello, Norma to muscle memory. Wake up and come on down.”

I never knew a muscle was capable of giving someone the finger.

I totally understand why our memories can instantly remember over fifty years ago yet forget last week. Thinking about the wonderful times with friends and family when we were young in a far easier world is a special kind of comfort. One usually reserved for a warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie or that first bite of turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving.

There is definite pleasure in recalling happy moments when we were carefree, and remembering to come in the house when the streetlights came on was our only responsibility.

Of course everyone knows that old age is challenging and some seem to coast through while others have to schlep along. Is the difference good genes, attitude, sheer luck or perhaps something else?

I think it may be a combination of all with a hefty dose of genetics thrown in for good measure.

To me it seems those who truly cope well are those who’ve lightened their load.

No, I don’t mean weight, at least not in the sense you might think.

I’m referring to lightening the heavy burden of regrets, hurts, anger and sadness we all carry with us attached to our hearts in an invisible sack.

Should we, how could we, had we, why didn’t we, are the words that still haunt and drag us down every time we say or think them.

If I had only, how could I have thought, etc. are the banes of our existence when we are older. 

So many times we forget what a negative effect they impart, and so many times those negative feelings can actually manifest into actual physical symptoms and illnesses.

We get loaded down and then suddenly the world seems hopeless. Our immune system is crying out for help under the weight of all the useless baggage and life becomes a bit overwhelming and disappointing.

Not all of us give in to those feelings but many do, and they seem to be the ones that suffer most and have less fun.

I have a friend that finds it almost impossible to let go of anything in her closet. Those forty pairs of black pants are an absolute necessity for her.

Too many are the same way with their emotional pants. Letting go is hard whether it be a favorite jacket, an old piece of furniture or the regrets and pain of the past.

Sometimes it’s easier just accepting the impossibility of getting through life without screwing up something somewhere. Yet I wonder what we’d all change if we had the opportunity?

The Butterfly Effect where one change in the past can set a whole different outcome into motion is a powerful deterrent.

I like to think if we look around we can all find at least ten things every day to be grateful for and happy about. Okay so we don’t always look, including me, but we should.

So in the end I guess it’s about focus. Recalling happy times in the past is fun and comforting as long as we spend just as much time enjoying the present. Planning fun and interesting things to do in this moment. 

Is it easy to get bored? You bet! Yet with very little effort we can all pull out that bucket list and find something fun we haven’t yet done or accomplished and set out to do it immediately.

I’ve heard so many people say that happiness is a choice and to some extent it is. Sure there are going to be tough times when you can’t fool yourself into thinking there is any way to find any good in your situation. 

Perhaps that’s why we must be happy right now, so if the bad times come (hopefully not) at least we know that someday after the bad the good can return once more.

Yep, getting old can suck, but it can also be a pretty great time, even though maybe not all the time.

A Special Thank You to Old Friends

A Special Thank You to Old Friends

It’s been quite a shockeroo getting older. Although I’m grateful to still be at the party, my feet really hurt from dancing. I’ve gained a bit of experience good and bad and that has led to many truths I now embrace.

One of the realizations I’ve come to is that despite time and distance, we need to care about and keep in touch with old friends.

The laugh laugh golden years are as scary a place to enter as the New York subway,. We seek comfort in this new uncharted world and one sure place to which we can turn for help is old friends.

Memories become so fickle when your brain becomes the arbiter of what we are able to remember. 

“Excuse me, brain what did I do last week?”

“Sorry, can’t compute right now. However do you remember when you were in high school and you went to that concert with your friends and drove to Canada and…?”

“No, Brain. I’m trying to recall what I did last Thursday not a hundred years ago.”

“Bossy bossy, don’t push your luck here. Take what you can get. Your request will take a few minutes to pull up, meanwhile here’s a fun gem from your sorority initiation.”

“Great, thanks, brain. Just what I need to cheer me up, a visual of me at twenty.”

As these older memories become more prevalent, old friends rise to the forefront of our minds. It somehow feels good to recall happy, carefree times and the friends with whom we shared them.

As we’re making an appointment for our knee surgery, it’s comforting to call an old friend that has survived that battle. And while you’re chatting good memories surface to dispel the unpleasantness of reality. 

I never thought I would have anything in common with Lindsey Wagner except being female, but now it seems we are both bionic.

The last few years have been brutal for most of us occupying planet earth. Locked down, shut in and unable to travel or see grandchildren has taken a toll on the happiness factor to which we all aspire.

Even the most optimistic of us can’t ignore or rebuff the realities of growing older. Taking ten minutes to straighten up from a chair when once we jumped up and ran. Marching into surgery centers to get replacement parts that are done with such automated precision General Motors is envious. Finding fat where muscle once occupied space in our bodies becomes apparent when a good wind perfectly directed at our underarms can turn us into the Flying Nun. The fun amusement park of growing older has more rides than Hunter Biden has drugs.

A friend admitted recently that she is now perfectly content to be home more. Where once she would seek to be active and out in the world she is content to be safe in her cocoon and needn’t travail the outside world as often. I could relate. 

Yet when we are home, despite all efforts to keep our minds busy with activities like, streaming, reading, cooking, chatting on the phone with friends, and how we failed to save the world for democracy, we have more time to think about “the good old days,” and those with whom we traveled that road. 

Shared memories can lighten the load of a difficult day. Remembering happy times brightens what might be a sad time when you learn a friend is ill or you lose someone. For just a moment while we are talking we become young once more and still filled with those awe-and-wonder feelings of youth.

Of course we all determine to keep busy and active. To make the most of every minute and live in a state of gratitude, thankful for our blessings, but when life throws us a curveball old friends are there to catch it before it hits you in the head.

I’m not in any way suggesting we live in the past, but let’s be real; the past contains a lot of years and a lot of memories. Moments that make us feel warm and cozy and contain laughter and the joys of youth. What a great feeling if even for a few minutes that young and carefree shared happiness returns and brightens our lives.

So many of us now leave the holiday cooking to our daughters or daughters in law to achieve. Standing in the kitchen has become a chore not so easily accomplished and we’re happy to pass the torch to our children.

Still those pre-holiday times remain a time of joyous memories. My friend Marsha and I would talk on the phone while preparing mashed potato dumplings. Chatting and laughing made the time pass quicker, and the task of cooking for thirty people less tedious. Now at holiday time speaking to Marcia brings back the happy feeling of the family all together again, parents, in laws and even husbands that are no longer here. For even a brief conversation everyone is once again alive and sharing a holiday meal.

Old friends can give this gift to us, the remembrance of a time when those who’ve left are once again at the forefront of our happiest memories. Places we haunted as kids, schools we attended and old neighborhood foods and faces return. 

The challenges of getting older seem easier when shared. As any difficult task many hands make quick work and it’s comforting to know those whom you trust have the audacity to face Father Time head on. 

Putting up a sukkah with friends was quite an occasion each year and now the feel of autumn while talking to Yolanda brings those memories close. An over abundance of food, the smell of the branches, watching in my mind’s eye as my children, now young again, place the leaves on the walls as the crisp autumn air encircles them in a blanket of laughter and love.

I was lucky to have so many friends I cared and still care about. Although my childhood friend Nancy is in Florida a Facetime call brings her into the same room to laugh and gossip about our crowd. Okay, and good practice at ignoring the now-evident wrinkles.

I suppose I’m the overly sentimental type but I know when I speak to old friends time slips away like a curtain and pictures of wonderful times reappear.

I imagine we all wonder what it would be like to pick one moment to relive once again, yet all of these times are available by simply sharing them through a phone call or Facetime. Perhaps this is the universe’s gift to us and as far as I can see it seems to be working just fine. 

No Yin to Soften the Yang; Maybe America Needs a Royal Family


No Yin to Soften the Yang

Maybe America Needs a Royal Family

Life is a process and must possess a delicate balance. The Chinese expression yin and yang has always referred to the state of being that creates a fulfilling and stable life.

Sadly in today’s world chaos and insanity are out of proportion and out of control.

So what does this mean for individuals that seek happiness and contentment, that long for equilibrium?

Well one could look to England for inspiration. Just go with me here for a minute.

In 1960 the United States found itself in a new position. That young family in the White House was not simply the first couple, but for the first time the closest thing to royalty in United States history. Now of course our forefathers, who in their infinite wisdom foresaw the dangers of a monarchy were probably correct. Even George Washington was loath to be President because he thought it might too closely resemble a kingship. Okay, so they gave us Uncle Sam as a consolation prize and he’s a favorite, unless he’s been cancelled, I’m not sure.

Yet look at the facts. The Kennedy dynasty’s indiscretions, with a patriarch far less than noble, were pretty much kept under wraps. With no Internet information access was in quite a different state. The Kennedy brothers’ reputations as womanizers weren’t acknowledged and American people only saw a young, elegant and beautiful couple to admire and hold in high esteem.

When Jackie went to France and captivated the French by speaking their language then enthralled De Gaulle and Khrushchev, we watched proudly. This was our first lady and probably the closest thing to a queen America would ever know. Ah, Camelot was alive and well in D.C..

Americans felt a deep sense of pride over the Kennedys. Her sophistication, elegance and style rubbed off and every woman wanted a pillbox hat or a Jackie style suit. Women copied her hairstyle and men were in awe of her beauty; women by her grace and femininity. We were thrilled to be able to say, “That’s our President and First Lady.” They rivaled any stars in Hollywood and of course we weren’t aware he was sleeping with one.

Of course we all know things have changed dramatically. We no longer view politicians as anything but subhuman and we hold no illusions. Our repulsion returns each November when we are forced to cast a vote for either bad or horrible and those of us who remember the age of innocence are saddened. Oh to be dumb once more.

So I imagine that’s why many Americans are so possessed with the British Royal family. Yes, I’ll say it, “they look to the Queen as their rock and their comfort and in bad times she is there.” She’s the Mom of Great Britain and the Commonwealth, strong, tough and never veers off course. No matter what chaos reigns around her she steadfastly faces it down. She’s the Queen and they are her loyal subjects.

She brings some stability even when their politicians behave like, well politicians, and act reprehensively and corruptly. They have the Queen to fall back on. It is Her Majesty’s government after all. 

Who can Americans look to when our politicians make us sicker to our stomachs than a night of binge drinking and downing tacos? No one! We can’t look to our Queen to reassure us all is well in the kingdom when it is far from that.

So we are forced to face this new reality alone without a monarch. 

Horrifying suicide rates, rising crime, inflation and having to sell your house to fill your gas tank. What does this do to a person’s psyche?

When I was younger life seemed easier. Despite difficult times one could look forward to a happy occasion or event to take the edge off. There were weddings, confirmations, sweet sixteens, holiday gatherings and other upbeat events to allow one to forget the sadness of the week. 

The last three years in the world there has been an overabundance of yang with no ying to soften the blow.

We have been cut off from the world and even now attending parties or events comes at a risk. 

The world is always changing and yet humans could cope by depending on the comfort of a happy time to ease the difficulty of a crisis. We need more joy, more parties, perhaps although it will never happen, our own Queen. 

Many have ventured out into the world deciding against allowing the forces of evil to impede their ability to live a full life. This has worked out well for some and not so much for others, but risk assessment is an individual’s prerogative.

So I guess we’re on our own here in the USA. By the way there is a rumor Uncle Sam has COVID so we may be out of luck there, too.

Why We Buy Stuff on TV

“Cinderella is proof a new pair of shoes can change your life”

The other day I was watching one of the home shopping channels and it was Christmas in July, definitely one of the more brilliant marketing ploys in modern times. Who isn’t dreaming of Christmas while you’re sweating by the pool? Well, there I am watching twinkle lights, artificial trees and gold colored bells and lights at twenty times the price as the dollar store. 

So why do people buy all this stuff and these networks make billions?

Infomercials aside, and yes Cindy Crawford is gorgeous and if I thought I would look like her I’d buy her face creams all day long, the home shopping channels have cornered the market on couch potato spending. And let’s not forget the pandemic’s contribution to all this. Point and click and ten pounds of cookies can be yours.

I shall now divulge their secrets, not that it will in any way deter us from falling into their highly effective sales traps. They are good and we are hooked.

In case one hasn’t noticed every celebrity and their mother now has a product on these stations. I saw the Pope last week hawking cinnamon communion wafers and it was the daily special! Such a deal! There are over a billion Catholics in the world so you do the math. You could also buy them on auto ship, another incredible sales ploy.

So why do we buy all this stuff we don’t need? Aside from the fact our favorite celebrities are selling it there is another reason. They pound every product into your head until you’re certain if you don’t buy that new drain cleaner your house will flood, no man will ever look at you again unless you’re wearing that new magic formula make up and yes, this new beauty cream is guaranteed to make you look ten years younger so why spend money on plastic surgery. It’s a damn public service they’re doing.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen them present a new product and I shook my head and said to myself, who in their right mind would buy that? By the end of the show I am convinced I need those scissors with the built in hedge clipper and rush to call in before it’s sold out. And I don’t even have any hedges!

Can anyone live without the most comfortable bras, the most gorgeous Christmas twinkling lights in a set of three colors or a house cleaner that does everything and even doubles as a mixer with vodka after you’re through cleaning.

A very important component to these channels is they fill in the lonely hours for many people who become attached to the hosts.

Regular viewers call in with comments and the hosts recognize the names, whether they actually do or not they react that way. Listeners happily tell the host they just bought four pairs of Diamonique earrings for Christmas gifts as though they’d just won the lottery. 

Shopping becomes personal despite the fact you’re doing it with millions of other people. The late Joan Rivers realized very quickly that her customers translated into more fans at her comedy performances and she mastered the art of forming relationships that added more cha ching to her whole bank thing.

One downside to the experience is the number of times products arrive and are far from what you expect. Luckily returns are a no brainer and customers do have the option of leaving reviews about everything that’s sold. Just a tip here, it’s a damn good idea to check these out before making that call.

They have made it so easy to buy all you need to do is dial the number and you are immediately recognized. Hello sucker (fill in name here) are you calling for item number 123456? What color, how many and do you want a flexible payment method?

That’s the best! You can buy some fifty-dollar piece of crap and take three years without interest to pay it off. Who can resist, it’s like free? Hey wait do I need a fifth air fryer? Well damn it is only five dollars a month so why not?

No wonder the retail stores are in trouble. When you walk through Macy’s there is merchandise on a rack, an occasional mannequin and good luck even finding a salesperson anymore. I wonder what would happen if salespeople started grabbing you and talking up products until you buy. Can you say lawsuit?

On these shows there is a very well-trained host or hostess selling selling selling until you finally give in and purchase that fart filter for your husband even though he’s been dead ten years.

Like a barker at a carnival the hosts go after you convincing you this or that is a necessity you can’t live without and you buy.

Doctors show up with their own pills or make up or creams and that home liposuction kit will eliminate that midriff bulge in twenty minutes.

Even celebrity chefs spend hours on the channel hawking cookware until you’re convinced your eggs could never taste good again unless they’re fried in that chef’s non-stick pan. Even popular hosts sell their own products, have cookbooks of their own recipes and have garnered millions of fans to serve their own retail agenda.

There is nothing you can’t buy on television. Furniture, clothing, food, tools, dishes, toys and I’m waiting for a daily special on a car before trading in my old one.

This is the epitome of American ingenuity and marketing so a big bravo to them. Capitalism is alive and well on television and reigns supreme.

Well I have to go perfect a piece of junk I’m working on to sell to one of the channels, so see you on TV. Oh wait, is that an earwax candle kit? Wow that definitely takes recycling to a whole new level. Happy shopping, everyone! 

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie And Please Teach Me How!

“Innocent sleep. Sleep that soothes away all our worries. Sleep that puts each day to rest. Sleep that relieves the weary laborer and heals hurt minds. Sleep, the main course in life’s feast, and the most nourishing.” Macbeth.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie and Please Teach Me How

Like getting older doesn’t bring enough fun surprises; little things appearing on your body from who knows where, foods you always enjoyed determined to go ten rounds with your digestive ability and always losing your glasses to the top of your head. Now sleep depravation is a new wrinkle with which to contend.

It’s hard to believe now that I was never a great sleeper. As a child I fought sleep with every particle of my being, frightened I would miss something of cosmic importance while my head was ensconced in my fluffy pillow. Of course now I realize at this age such events would be a good thing to miss.

I would do everything to avoid my bedtime using pleas of “one more show, please, I didn’t see Uncle Miltie yet, can’t I watch the fights with Grandpa or I hear the Northern Lights are heading toward Michigan and I want to see if they show up.”

These excuses fell on deaf ears so I contented myself to lie in bed listening to my Zenith clock radio until midnight when my favorite show Lee Allen on the Horn closed with Frank Sinatra’s classic I Can’t Get Started With You. Then I would succumb to dreamland unsure as to whether or not I had missed some earth-shattering event.

This all changed when I hit the teen years and discovered sleeping until noon was a luxury I could definitely get behind and endorse. Many a time I greeted my friends on a Sunday afternoon still in my pajamas while we sat on my bed listening to records and exchanging the latest tidbits of gossip. Sounds rather frivolous now looking back at how we probably should have been discussing how to change the world or learning about how to end political corruption. But I digress.

After I was blessed with children I realized how valuable a few moments of sleep could be. I would have traded everything I had to close my eyes for even fifteen minutes and know blissful sleep once again. A Porsche, no thanks, but can you watch the kids for half and hour so I can get some ZZZs, please?

There was a short time between toddler and teen when I was blessed with trips to dreamland and happily crawled into bed at the end of a long and fun-filled day of cooking cleaning, laundry, shopping and attempting to close my zippers over my ever-expanding waistline.

Then I once again found myself lacking sleep when my children secured a driver’s license and I couldn’t enter dreamland until the garage door opened and I was certain they were safely in the house.

Different stages of life require various amounts of sleep. I am surprised at how I functioned with so little sleep when my kids were babies and teenagers and how much I seemed to need as a teen. And therein lies the rub, because now that I have all the time in the world to snooze, a good night’s sleep seems as out of reach as a face free of wrinkles or thighs that don’t shake like Los Angeles when I walk.

I know I’m not alone in my attempts to sleep through the night as many friends have also shared their stories. Tales abound of how their trips to the bathroom each night find them wide-awake and searching for the remote to continue the Frasier or Golden Girls marathon. I myself find that falling asleep even for two minutes in the middle of a show constitutes a nap to my old confused body and I’m up and good for a few hours more as I flip around and settle on Netflix at three in the morning.

No matter how many times I try to tell my addled mind that two minutes do not a night’s sleep make, I am not getting through and only with the help of a good antihistamine can I accomplish this goal. As one who would rather not depend on drugs to do the trick I have conversations before bed with my subconscious about the benefits of sleep and how we must be nice to us. Yet it all falls on deaf ears and there I am once again at five thirty in the morning staring at the screen and wondering how in the world I am going to awaken for that doctor appointment at eight o’ clock and function on less than three hours sleep.

Well, that’s the point; I can’t. The next day I sleepwalk through my responsibilities until I sit down at three o’clock or so, turn on the television and quickly pass out. 

Of course this lovely afternoon nap is a precursor to another night of eyes wide open staring at a Frasier rerun or The Birdcage viewing. I fight desperately to avoid some anxiety producing reality, but once awake my mind runs through all the stressful situations with which I am currently faced like a scanner on steroids.

So I turn once again to Sophia calling Blanche a slut and wonder how I could have ever taken sleep for granted.

Of course one wonders how much sleep is the optimum amount for someone in the laugh laugh golden years? I’d have to say enough to get through the day, but not too little to add to the ever increasing bags under your eyes.

I’ve always believed seven hours was my minimum but I have learned I can get by on six. In a pinch five, but less than five is iffy. I had three one night last week and my grandson had to wake me in the middle of our binge watching The Good Place.

Not to be maudlin but do you think your subconscious is trying to tell you, “lay off the sleep so much, you’ll get plenty of sleep soon?”

Yipes, that makes me want to stay up all night.

So reading into that Macbeth quote perhaps Shakespeare was hoping for a good night’s sleep also, and those complimentary words are his way of kissing up to the sleep gods.

At this point I’m a firm believer whatever it takes to get some ZZZs I’ll do, even if it means missing out on some world-changing event. As we’ve all learned, despite Shakespeare’s optimistic view of sleep, life will still be waiting for you in the morning. Sleep well, Readers. 

We’re All Human and Other Lies



            We’re All Human and Other Lies 


I can’t count how many times in my life I’ve heard someone say, “We’re all human.”

I am now compelled after a lifetime of experience with these so-called humans to question seriously that assumption. 

The most basic question I ask is in what regard do we refer to Homo sapiens as human. They are classified as the “wise human” and include man.

Is it a biological classification or a psychological one?

This I would stress is the ultimate question of that assessment and I seriously question the whole “wise” definition here.

If one is to classify all Homo sapiens as human simply in body function and structure than I suppose I’d have to agree the phrase is accurate.

However if it implies we all have the same psychological and mental qualities I must argue the point strenuously.

And here’s why…because one walks upright and isn’t swinging from a tree doesn’t mean one is in any way a human being.

If we qualify human behavior as acting rationally, kindly and within the limitations of society’s norms, the argument falls flat.

Many four legged creatures are more evolved than many two legged ones and I defy anyone to argue the point.

We are all led to believe that those who commit evil acts are deep down in some way really human beings that have been led astray by their environment or life’s circumstances. So we are supposed to be forgiving of their horrible behavior and acts of terror.

This is a serious misconception on our parts.

So many are brought into this world under devastating and difficult circumstances and rise above to achieve greatness and contribute to mankind.

Others pick up a gun or an axe and kill with no remorse.

Yet there are those who insist they are misunderstood or to be pitied and to this I must argue vehemently that there are only two choices that really count in the end; has one chosen good or evil in their lives? 

This is the basis for free will, but I have to add that the concept of free will is somewhat flawed. One doesn’t possess free will if freedom is withdrawn.  Too many live in totalitarian regimes or in slavery even in today’s world that inhibits free choice, but when it comes to the soul no one can enslave that which we and we alone possess. Even those who are incarcerated have the choice to seek a higher morality within the confines of prison walls.

I use the word choice because it is truly just that.

It isn’t easy to be a good person all the time. To refrain from feelings of anger, hurt, or to resist grabbing a sale item out of another’s hands at a black Friday sale.

Most people who are honest will tell you they have days when life tests them to the limits of their endurance. Life will do that to us all.

When we see someone walk into a school and kill children and teachers we would all love to get a piece of him, but our better natures prevail because that is our choice. We must allow society to mete out justice lest we fall back into a wild-west mentality despite conjuring up visions of a public stoning. (I must admit I really have a hard time with the stoning thing when politicians blubber on).

Being human is a tough gig. We are all faced with tough and horrific challenges each day. Loss, adversity, sorrow, death, illness, stupidity, incompetence, Congress, the Johnny Depp Amber Herd trial, Harry and Meghan, waiting a year for the next installment of the Mandalorian and how much can anyone take?

Human beings rise to the challenge and do it with compassion and when needed, humor. So what’s a human being to do when life turns on you and tests you to your limits?

However, unfortunately there are some who choose to forego their humanity, become instead animals and choose evil. Should we still call them human or face the reality there are some among us who choose to be otherwise and do not fit the profile?

‘Were all human is merely a designation of a species for it cannot possibly account for those that share only the skeleton with those who are human in a true sense.

Walking upright does not make one a human being, the right choices and a heart that feels love and compassion in lieu of merely beating to deliver blood is what separates us and always will.

Perhaps it is the word human we all have some ambivalence about. There might be a new classification for those who should not be placed in the same species as those who live their lives decently and with honor. Yet the definition of human seems to be up for grabs in many quarters today. Perhaps we must all decide what acting human truly entails.

We may be at odds at times about what classifies one as human, but evil is easily defined. There are no excuses, no reasons, no rhyme for those who commit atrocities, and to assume we are all human may be the first mistake we are making. Species classification is not the measure of a man, deeds and actions are. To be human is an often challenging, yet remarkably satisfying choice too many fail to opt for in today’s world.

We do not have X-ray vision or the ability to look inside another’s soul and see what evil may lurk beneath the surface, but we can see within ourselves.

Our choice to be human is a personal decision we all make each day and we can take pride in knowing it’s the right one.  

What to do When Your Dream Comes True

What To Do When Your Dream Comes True?

  What do you do when a dream comes true? Is there more than one way to deal with the realization that something you’ve strived for and sacrificed to accomplish is now in the rearview mirror of life’s highway? Should we be happy, sad, anxious, at peace or feeling a million other emotions jolting through us like electrical charges? To all of the above I say yes.

We all work toward goals that are clearly laid out on the drafting table of our mind’s eye, yet it seems when they finally materialize they are never exactly like the picture we’ve stared at for years. When there is fulfillment of a dream, it almost always is a bit different than we imagined and usually far better than what we’d conjured. Why is that? Shouldn’t it be exactly as we planned? It happened, but why is it different than we envisioned? We never foresaw that part of the dream or that wonderful addition or twist.

We hear the words and we do hear them often, you must never give up on your dreams. Trite clichés like teamwork makes the dream work and quitters never win and winners never quit keep us moving forward in the blind belief we can control the final outcome. And there’s the rub. Because we do get the outcome, but it’s far better than we planned. Shouldn’t it be perfectly perfect in every way? Who changed it and made it even better than we ourselves could ever imagine? What cosmic force interfered and took our dream and colored outside of our lines. Sure the infrastructure is still there, but the building is far more grand and beautiful than our blueprints.

If it’s true that what man can conceive he can achieve shouldn’t we just simply loosen up a bit? Is the reason some feel a certain letdown after realization of a goal because they simply don’t know where they should be heading next? Or have they driven so long in one direction they can’t imagine a different one. If there is some sort of destiny running alongside us in our quest, why must we embrace the burden fully? Perhaps it is for that very reason that fate rides along with us to simply see how dedicated we are and whether or not our dreams should fall short or be far greater than expected.

Is it merely a case of the smaller the dream the fewer enhancements it should be afforded? Or is every dream worthy of the same grand gesture from our better angels? So I pose a simple question: is the amount of effort we put into a dream what determines how much fate contributes to the outcome? Or is the amount of struggle and disappointment the catalyst for all the help? Is the amount destiny contributes a result of other disappointments and failures coming back to add to our joy over this one success? And if that’s the case why do so many people never realize their dreams but are instead thrust onto a totally different life path?

I’m not quite certain about the answers to these questions because it seems certain knowledge can never be made available and although we believe we have it all worked out, we usually don’t. I suppose there are people who achieve a dream and say, “Okay now that’s done so I can relax and play golf.” But there are also others who feel once a dream has been accomplished it only means another one begins. It is in essence a piggyback effect and leads to new chapters and adventures, perhaps never before imagined. We can never be quite certain of where a moment might lead. Small choices that may seem irrelevant to our journey can in fact be the very thing that propels us into the place we’ve struggled to reach.

One hears stories of how a simple act like making a wrong turn or getting into the wrong elevator can create an opportunity to achieve a goal long abandoned. So maybe dreams once dreamt are really never forgotten and are always possible despite our own choices.
When I was a comedian I dreamed of being on the Tonight Show. To receive a visit from the suits at NBC was the goal of every jokester that stood on a stage. Thirty-six years later I got the call and made it to NBC not because of my comedy, but because of an appearance on the Food Network. So was my comedy inconsequential to my journey or only one wheel on the vehicle that would drive me forward to success? It wasn’t the Tonight Show, it wasn’t a sitcom, it wasn’t anything I ever could have imagined and yet all the things I’d done in my life led up to the moment I entered Universal Studios and saw the Peacock emblem.

Was it what I’d imagined, heavens no. It was an experience far greater than my own limited dreams could take me. And now I must try to imagine the next stop on the journey after the detour I’ve just realized. So am I unique, not at all. If I had a dollar, even with the inflation this bad, for every time I heard someone say, “what happened was far beyond my wildest dreams,” I’d be richer than the Kardashians.

So in truth I must admit, it was, far greater that is. Would I still like to have had a moment with Johnny Carson? Of course. We don’t just stop caring about our goals although they’ve been surpassed and turned out differently than imagined. But I know now that it was the quest to be on the Tonight Show that led me to Baking It and the enhanced dream. There are always pitfalls, letdowns and disappointments on the road to achievement , but when success finally arrives it brings with it a sense of wonder and fulfillment far greater than can be imagined.

In the end I suppose one might say the powers that be usually want more for us than we want for ourselves, and in the end they do have the power after all.

Good luck with your dreams and let 2022 be the year you achieve, and believe it can be even greater than you ever imagined.  

What We Need to Be Real

What We Need to be Real

 I believe in Merlin the Magician. Of course believing in the greatest wizard who ever or never lived might seem foolishness personified to some, and cause great disagreement with the Harry Potter fans, but I choose to believe there once was a Merlin and a King Arthur complete with Knights of the Round Table that served their king with bravery and dedication. I’m not the only one so don’t look at me like that, man has been fascinated with the Arthurian legend forever.

Of course many would look at me and say I’m a few ants short of a picnic for this outrageous statement, however I’ve found life is incredibly easier if we give in to our inner child occasionally and treat ourselves to a great fantasy, like a hot fudge sundae with no calories once a month. Okay. So most people don’t wait a whole month, and okay so maybe it’s more like once a week, but my point remains the same. A great happy ending often does more for the soul than chocolate.

Yet, as the year ends I’m forced as so many to take stock and examine the past 365 days to make some type of value judgment on all events. So you might ask of me, why am I fixated on Merlin? Simply in this second year of COVID insanity for me Merlin represents magic, pots of gold at the end of rainbows and unicorns with magic-studded horns. Of mysterious forests filled with wood nymphs and fairies. I choose to believe there is magic in the world and whether or not I see it is irrelevant for it exists beyond my sight. Outside the realm where we must live and deal with the mundane and ordinary is a place filled with all the mystical wonders that escape slowly when mankind most needs to believe.

There is something within us that craves more purity and greatness than what we see with our eyes and can defy the senses. A question I must ask, why is it so easy to believe in the evil that exists beyond the world of the seen and not the good? Is it because wickedness dominates us now?

If one asked a room of people if the devil exists I am certain the answers would come down to three: no, yes he exists and three, wickedness exists so I guess you could call it the devil, in a way. For reasonably if evil exists in the world, and one look at Congress and there can be no argument on the issue, then who is the force behind that malevolence? And please don’t blame voters who are consistently faced with choosing between the lesser of two evils.

So why are we as human beings so smitten by the dark side of man’s nature and cast aside a belief in the mystical so easily? Especially when our souls crave it so. Fire-breathing dragons and monsters that go bump in the night are far more believable than Tinkerbell. And yes I clap because I believe in fairies. There is a war inside all of us between the innocence of our youthful fantasies that embrace the proverbial happy ending, and the pragmatist that cannot deny the wicked side of man’s nature so apparent in our daily lives. Now more than ever our society is faced with the inescapable truth that man’s nature too easily succumbs to its evil intentions. How shall we believe otherwise when each day we are bombarded with proof of the decline of goodness and righteousness?

Shall we blame the media? I, as a member of that once illustrious group must admit there is some truth to that statement. It is certainly a well-known belief among the press that if it bleeds it leads, and that holds true even more so today. How can mainstreaming bad be good? There doesn’t seem to be any positive news any longer so no wonder people are frustrated. This fascination with immorality has overwhelmed them to such a degree we as a society must stand up and cry “No more, please.” We crave less fire-breathing dragons and more angels in our lives.

We can’t go on swimming in the slime of depravity, but must believe that despite Grimm fairy tales there can be a happy ending. Cinderella can live happily after with the prince and damn the divorce statistics, Red Riding Hood saves her grandmother and Beauty and the Beast do live happily after without the need for plastic surgeons. It’s true that if we simply follow the second star to the right and fly straight on until morning we will reach Neverland, and Leprechauns staunchly protect the pots of gold at the end of every rainbow. 

The world is too real right now and when that happens in man’s history evil explodes and the human race must cleanse itself to make the earth once again receptive to the light. World War II was followed by a time of peace and joy when the dragon was slain and the doors of Camelot swung open and we rushed inside.

The true sadness in the now is that we are no longer just hearing of iniquity on the news, we are living it in our daily lives. Crime is rampant, lawlessness abounds and people are overwhelmed by all the insanity that has become a daily occurrence. I have no idea what it will take to slay that dragon breathing down our necks, but I am certain that soon heroes will arise and we will cast it out once more.

As we need to believe that although evil succeeds in the short run, good will ultimately prevail. On that victorious day surely we “won’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot.” 

Wishing a beautiful and mystical new year to us one and all.        




My Grandparents Myself

My Grandparents Myself

Reading the tweets on Twitter about the NBC show Baking It on which I was privileged to be a judge, I was really taken by how many favorable responses us granny judges received. Living in the Hollywood area for so many years I’ve been brainwashed to believe that no one wants to see old people on television, or on the streets for that matter. And I must add that in this town old is considered anyone over fifty.

So you can imagine my surprise when young people were writing so many positive things about we judges, and I assure you fifty is well in the rear view mirror for many of us.

Then it dawned on me that perhaps it isn’t really so surprising after all.

Should I assume that I am the only person that adored her grandparents and had an unbelievable relationship with them, especially her grandfather?

My grandfather loved children so as the first grandchild I commanded all of his attention until my brother was born.

When I was a year old he made me an inner tube out of an old truck tire with a seat attached so he could push me around in the ocean. When we were older he took my brother and I fishing in the everglades and I even remember going to the movies to watch Some Like it Hot with him when he wanted to see his old friend George Raft. He made the best dill pickles and his laugh lit up a room, and in every picture together he looked at me like I was a banana split.

Too many of us are castigated for living in the past and told we must be in the present and looking toward the future. Dwelling on the past is a futile effort and waste of time when we could be living in the now…but is it really?

I say poppycock. That’s right. I said, poppycock.

Some days I drive myself to the Santa Monica Pier and sit admiring the ocean remembering the wonderful times with my grandfather.

Do I feel that these moments are a waste of my time? No indeed. In fact it’s rather the opposite. It’s as if I’m back in Miami Beach laughing and kicking my feet as he pushed me along the waves. I can smell the salt air and feel the sun beating down on me and these memories light me up inside even on the darkest days. How can feeling good possibly be bad?

The grandparent/grandchild relationship is incredibly special and to believe that only old people would want to see older people speaks to an inability to connect with the world and see people for who they really are.

I strive constantly to create memories I hope my grandsons will carry with them their entire lives.

When my grandson was four years old and collecting bugs I was on my hands and knees on the sidewalk helping. Although the sight of a bug made me jump five feet into the air under normal circumstances, when he asked me to secure them for him, my fears floated away on a cloud of pure joy at sharing something together. Although now when I ask if he remembers my fearless bug collecting, the recollection seems to have faded.

Yet I know from experience that many of the memories once lost ultimately reappear in time and although I can’t remember for what reason I called a friend by the time I’m finished dialing the number, my earliest memories of Miami Beach as a young child come back into focus whenever I smell the ocean.

So why are these moments of recollection so important as we get older?

In a study at Cambridge University in 2019 researchers found that “recalling specific positive memories and happy life experiences during adolescence may help teens fortify their resilience and reduce the risk of depression later in life.”

All one has to do to verify this thesis is look on Facebook. Every community has pages of memories from their old elementary or high school and the city where they lived as children. These pages are filled with pictures and images and allow users to share stories and reminiscences from their past.

Perhaps it’s simply the innocence we all crave as we get older, the need to believe the world is still that comfy cocoon we once nestled inside filled with play, fun, holidays and grandparents.

Grandparents signify unconditional love, a safe harbor in an often times turbulent ocean. A place to climb back into arms that may not be as toned or strong as they once were, but feel safe against any invader or frightening force.

We need happy memories to ward off the unpleasant ones that have a tendency to surface unwanted and uninvited. A way to reinforce the belief life is beautiful and things do work out in the end; even when they don’t.

Grandparents are the guardians of our memories. They contain all that is good about our youth, a path toward believing and sustaining hope and forcing us to forge ahead even in most difficult times.

It may be as simple as the smell of grandma’s apple pie in the autumn made with fresh apples you picked for her, the sight of your grandfather’s favorite tree you helped him plant or an old television show you watched together. You didn’t get the jokes, but you loved watching him laugh just the same.  

So I must offer kudos to the producers of Baking It who truly “get it,” and despite the Hollywood hype about the whole 18 to 49 age restrictions on television and movies, they knew better.

When we can look at television or the movies and see something that makes us feel warm and fuzzy it’s a no brainer we need more of it, and that happily includes all of us grannies.

We Have Nothing to Fear But a Lack of Fear

President Franklin Roosevelt famously said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

Those words have persevered throughout the decades and been closely aligned to the difficulties he spoke of facing this great nation when he took office. Yet, is the lack of fear a good thing and is a fear of fear merely another fear we embrace? Then if we fear fearing isn’t that actually experiencing fear of fear? I’m confused, and what else is new? Sure, Yoda said fear leads to the dark side, but can’t a total lack of it sometimes lead to disaster? I bring up this quandary at this moment in time because of the fact we are living in incredibly scary times. There is so much craziness in our existence it would be practically impossible to be a Pollyanna. COVID19, global warming, rising crime rates, racism, Antisemitism, Congress (Ooh, that one really makes my blood run cold!) and all sorts of scary things that go bump in the night and threaten our sleep. So I pose a simple question, when is it okay to be fearful?

Recently I experienced a strange moment while dining at a restaurant with a friend and sitting outdoors waiting for a table. Usually I’m double masked just to ensure some slippery little COVID bug doesn’t slip through that cotton protective gear that has now become part of my face, but I felt a bit bold and obviously too comfortable in my environment on such a beautiful day. The sky was blue, the temperature perfection and the fresh air enticing so I removed the mask and presented naked faced to the world around me.Was this bold or stupid? I’m still pondering that decision because of what happened next. A couple sitting nearby told us they had driven an hour and a half and always enjoyed this particular restaurant when in the area. We began speaking and the husband said he was a chiropractor and bragged he had never caught COVID although his choice was to forego a mask or receive the vaccine. Has this man never heard of the Jewish fear of bragging about something, what Jewish people call a Kenahora or instant bad luck? Such foolish arrogance may lead to disaster if the devil happens to be listening to your conversation at that moment and sees an opportunity for a bit of fun at your expense by deciding to make a liar out of you?

Of course my hand immediately went toward my face to give coverage, but since I didn’t want to appear overly paranoid I didn’t re-don my mask. In retrospect I probably should have sprinted out of there like Jesse Owens being chased by Hitler. When they got up to go to their table she walked up to me, stood above my chair and leaned in closer to wish me a good day. It was so fast I couldn’t react and when they left My friend turned to me and said, “Sure, have a good day if you’re still alive.”

Okay, we laughed but in my mind I was writing my will. Of course I’m vaccinated but due to receive a booster this week. To say I’m feeling more vulnerable would be an understatement.

Let me be clear here that I am not an advocate of telling others how to live their lives.If someone chooses not to receive the vaccine it is entirely their own decision to make and none of my business.  I made a choice to have it, but others are certainly entitled to make their own. Having said that I must also add that although one is free to forego the vaccine or mask, that doesn’t free them from something called human decency and responsibility toward others by acting as a good citizen. Behaving in a reckless manner to endanger other’s health is quite another kettle of fish and a stinky one to boot. Since no one can be certain about that tricky little virus called COVID and now so many who are even vaccinated are coming down with breakthrough cases, to be aloof would to me seem inconsiderate and thoughtless toward others. To be unmindful of personal space and the fact others may actually want to go on living and not have you be the one to choose their time of death is inexcusable.

I totally respect someone’s decision to be unvaccinated and unmasked, but Bitch keep your germs outta my face!

So I now return to my original question, is fear really the boogieman some make it out to be? Or is a little fear a necessary and smart thing to possess as a barrier to chaos? I have a friend who lives with so much fear that on her tombstone it must be added. “She Worried.”

 I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the phrase, “you can’t live your life in fear.” So I don’t, but who’s the crazy one here?

Shouldn’t I have been more fearful around strangers and continued wearing my mask although outside that restaurant?Was letting my guard down a good idea in this instance? Is fear getting a bad rap? Do we too often equate fear with common sense and self-preservation? So where is the line between fearful and paranoid? And can we be certain in these times that line still exists? I truly believe we can only do so many stupid things in our life before one catches up with us. Still, we all know people who have done more than their share of stupid and are thriving pretty well.

So what’s the answer to how much fear is okay to fear? Or something like that. In a word or three, I don’t know. What I do know is in today’s world perhaps it’s okay to examine how keeping some fear on the menu isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It’s a matter of semantics really. Some will fudge the issue by saying, “No Norma you shouldn’t be fearful, simply exercise a bit of caution.” To that I answer “Bullpucky?” Caution is just the acceptable form of fear that is politically correct and easily justified. Being a cautious person evokes intelligence and responsibility, traits to be applauded. Being fearful evokes “she’s a paranoid nutcase and needs to get a grip.”

And yet they are the same thing after all. For what is caution but fear put into action? If I had worn my mask would I be acting out of fear or caution? Put that one in your Meerschaum pipe and smoke it.

I guess I’m tired of being seen as a nut because I’m scared. Does this sense of foreboding stop me from living my life, laughing hysterically at Larry David or choosing to eat salmon once in a blue moon instead of an entire Hershey bar with almonds? No way. I feel very confident that I can multitask and be scared while still enjoying my life. Perhaps even a bit more knowing I’m making  “cautious” decisions.

So if I survive that thoughtless woman’s germs, you’ll hear from me again soon. Stay safe, not so much from COVID, but from the crazies out there. Caution is good choice when dealing with the masses nowadays.            

Norma Zager, The Hollywood Grammy, COVID19, Yoda, Fear itself, Franklin Roosevelt, Larry David, Congress, masks, vaccine, bitch

Murder and Mortadella: Re-watching The Sopranos

 Murder and Mortadella 

I gained five pounds re-watching The Sopranos. You may scoff but my body has a way of inhaling calories, whether walking by a bakery, sniffing homemade cookies or merely watching a commercial for Dunkin Donuts. And would it be hospitable to let the Soprano family eat alone? Being part Italian I have a special place in my heart for all things pasta and if you pay close attention not five minutes goes by on The Sopranos where they are not eating. Let’s go take someone out. Okay, but have the mortadella ready when I get back. And it always is. Every scene is laced with food or violence and Edie Falco spends almost every scene in the kitchen serving up something with a tomato base. 

I’m not complaining mind you because re-watching The Sopranos was actually better than the first time. How many things in life can top itself after achieving perfection initially? Very few I’d venture. I was inspired to re-watch after HBO recently released its Sopranos prequel The Many Saints of Newark starring James Gandolfini’s actual son, Michael. Of course the fact he looked so much like his father and brought him to life so beautifully only served as catnip to a cat craving a good fix of my Sopranos addiction. Okay, yes we all know it can never happen again with Gandolfini gone and supposedly murdered at the end, I’m still smarting from that one by the way. To a true fan there is always that small shred of hope maybe we were wrong and it was just his daughter he lifted his head to see at the end. Yes, to a Sopranos fan hope springs eternal. I felt the need to re-watch it although it took a couple of weeks of sitting on the couch eating pizza to accomplish my mission.

Between inhaling the calories off the screen and shoving Italian goodies in my mouth I didn’t stand a chance. It wasn’t exactly like watching Richard Simmons dancing to the oldies.Yet despite the fact I’d seen it before I was mesmerized. I saw new moments, caught lines, read expressions I’d totally missed the first time around. The more I watched the more I took pleasure in every morsel, like eating chocolate after a ten-week diet. I savored each second especially Gandolfini knowing I’d never be able to witness his genius anew. I was completely impressed with Edie Falco’s cooking skills and Paulie Walnuts’ total ability to be a giant asshole and yet survive it all. So surprising because I felt sure someone was going to nail his miserable ass any minute. Every character brought a whole new appreciation as I watched Nancy Marchand play the mother from hell, Uncle Junior evil as Satan and Tony’s sister, his kids and nephew Michael Imperioli really bring the term dysfunctional family to life. Why should I be surprised when most fans can watch The Godfather, one and two, of course, over and over. I’ve stopped counting how many times I’ve see those movies but when I see them playing I’m drawn toward that channel like a shopaholic to a Black Friday sale. Why does it seem like evil is far more interesting than goodness? I don’t know anyone personally who has re-watched Touched by an Angel episodes over fifty times. That is not to say it is lacking as a show and undermine its feel good effect, but let’s face it, there is something so intriguing about evil characters. Tony Soprano was a mass of contradiction, a lovable teddy bear one minute and then beating the life out of someone the next. The Angel and Devil on his shoulder effect was incredibly magnetic.

Why are we so fascinated by that behavior?The complexity of the nature of a Michael Corleone or Tony Soprano, has I’m certain, been studied ad nauseum, but it might just be very simple; perhaps there is a bit of them within us all. It’s pretty basic I guess, we all have free choice to be good or evil, or both. That’s the concept isn’t it? Yet is it true? Does a sociopath really have free choice or are they a prisoner to the evil dominating their nature. Not to make any excuses of course for perpetrators of unconscionable deeds. Still, that is what mystifies me most. If given the choice would Tony Soprano choose only to be good? Obviously not, but a small part of us wishes Lorraine Bracco, his long suffering and optimistic psychiatrist could’ve succeeded and he’d seen the error of his ways allowing nice Tony to overcome. Is that insight into our own characters instead of his? I guess I’m inclined to believe it is.

Watching Marlon Brando die in that tomato garden playing with his grandson showed him to be very human, yet we all know his prevailing nature wasn’t. So why are we drawn to such complex characters? Maybe it’s the need in us to hope and believe good will overcome evil. Or for many women that a man will change and his dark side or bad boy inside will disappear. Or perhaps it’s simply the battle between good and evil in one soul is a potent cocktail to watch.

Ever since Jimmy Cagney yelled “Made it, Ma! Top of the world!” as he unloaded his gun and was shot to death in White Heat, we’ve witnessed a genre in movies and literature that has drawn and fascinated us without fail. Whether Tony Soprano, Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, Stephen King or Hitchcock these creations and creators knew the secret to keeping a reader or viewer caught up and totally hooked.

With The Sopranos of course it was all that and so very much more, including the eggplant parmigiana.

A Great Day to be a Geek Thank You Sir Richard

What a Great Day to be a Geek and Thank You Sir Richard 

The dictionary defines a Geek as… “A peculiar person, especially one who is perceived to be overly intellectual, unfashionable, or socially awkward….”I say what a great day to be a Geek. Say it loud and say it proud, this is Geek Day on planet earth.Sir Richard Branson’s trip to the edge of space today was one of the greatest advancements toward us regular folk strapping in and successfully achieving the dream of joining Kirk, Spock and Flash Gordon above the bounds of earth.

Yes, I happily admit I am one of those people; the ones who dreamed of escaping this planet and seeking adventures among the stars. My first story at the age of eight was about space travel so it started early in this Geek. Although no one has ever referred to me by that particular designation, I believe it’s because there is actually a bit of Geek in most of us. Oh sure we seek coolness in our manner and pretend to be aloof when someone talks about this or that particular episode of Twilight Zone. However is it a coincidence whenever you mention the episode To Serve Man, everyone is familiar and can tell you the end where we find out it’s a cookbook. Deny if you will, but no one was untouched or unexcited when Neil Armstrong hopped down that ladder and touched the moon. When John Glenn orbited the earth or now when Richard Branson unclasped his seat belt and flew weightless for four minutes to the edge of space.

Are we perhaps now a bit jaded by all these accomplishments? I imagine we are, after all we are living in the world of AI and robotics and everything has changed except for the contempt and disgust we feel for politicians, but I doubt that would be any different on any planet. So why am I so pumped about Branson’s flight, when at my age I wouldn’t even be a candidate for a quick ride myself? Simply put this is the culmination of a dream held since childhood. Going from watcher to doer. Actually being able to participate in space travel is as exciting to me as watching Babe Ruth hit that record breaking ball was to New York fans.

This is not the end, but the beginning and now that the barrier has been broken it will continue to move quickly toward ever more exciting new efforts and achievements. Oh yes, there is one small caveat of course. A seat on the Concorde was 12,000 dollars. A seat to fly to the edge of space is now $200,000. A bit out of the reach of most Geeks, unless of course you’re Bill Gates or Elon Musk or were lucky enough to sell your app to one of the big guys for a billion or so. Although I’d love to suit up for an adventure I’ve been dreaming of since my childhood I’m afraid it will probably be my grandchildren that are flying around, planet hopping and if I’m lucky they’ll be able to regale me with their stories of Mars and other such exciting destinations.

Sir Richard Branson was the first billionaire into space and won the race even beating Jeff Bezos who probably should have called Amazon to deliver him and might have gotten there quicker. I suppose for now it’s a rich man’s travel package, one that most of us earthlings can’t avail ourselves of at this time. But like all new discoveries and inventions, the price will come down. In the 1980s we paid upwards of 5000 dollars for a big screen television, now on Black Friday you can get one for a hundred if you’re willing to risk a few broken bones to get into the store.

So will we find space to be Lost in Space or Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey? Will it be filled with odd creatures that populate the Mos Eisley Cantina on Tatooine? What is waiting for us up there in the star-filled blackness of space and will we be glad we ventured forth into this new frontier? I hope I’m able to get some of those answers in my lifetime. Although some may believe this is business as usual in space travel, I have to admit I’m a pretty happy Geek today and relatively certain there are a whole lot more of us today thanks to Sir Richard Branson and Virgin Galactic .        

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Amazon is the Devil

Amazon is the Devil      

Any foodaholic can attest to the fact very little can stop a craving until it is satiated.

I for one can verify that on more than one occasion I’ve driven to a 7/11 in the dead of night for a snickers bar and I’m not ashamed to admit neither hell nor high water could stop me when the need for chocolate burned inside my cocoa-addicted anatomy.

Nothing less than a full-blown snow or ice emergency could keep me from the chocolaty goodness I sought, and although I later learned to satisfy my cravings in less caloric ways, the memory lingers.

I spent the last thirty years of my life wrestling with ways to address my food addiction and actually had a handle on curbing those binges that would leave me bloated and guilt ridden.

I earned my thirty year chip and although there were the occasional set backs along my road to recovery, I managed to find a level of moderation between my snickers intake and starvation diets.

My love for food and all things chocolate never changed but I had come to grips with the reality that my metabolism was born to be my greatest adversary and I had to exercise restraint in my daily eating patterns.

I felt quite certain I’d accomplished this achievement and hadn’t even ventured out at night to fulfill any cravings and then it happened. The mother of all horrible events in the life of a foodie, the pandemic hit.

And it had to be Chinese which meant like Chinese food I was hungry an hour later for 24 hours a day.

Locked up in the germ-free COVID-safe bosom of my home I could neither venture out (my children would have literally chained me to the sofa had I disregarded their orders) as I fought to find ways to deal with the lockdown, as we all did.

Let’s see, what will make me feel better about being a prisoner in my own home?

Jigsaw puzzles helped and of course Netflix came to the rescue of most of us with a non-stop array of new features to binge watch and chat about with friends.

Yet there was something lurking in the background, a voice sneaking into my conscience slowly and growing ever louder by the day.

Without the need to dress, wear make up or even dye my roots vanity took a back seat to finding ways to soothe the growing need to escape my bonds.

Yes I succumbed to those demons that had controlled my destiny in the past. That had brought me comfort and solace in times of sorrow and unhappiness or sheer frustration. But for the first time I didn’t have to venture out to seek what I craved, the devil delivered it to my door in the form of an Amazon delivery person.

This was something I never needed to know. This was a way to feed my addiction easily and constantly and I slipped.

Yes, I sold my soul for Hershey’s kisses. Oh the humanity!

I even discovered I could buy my favorite hot fudge online and ordered a giant coffee can full of the heavenly decadent favorite to luxuriate on my kitchen counter with a spoon kept nearby for frequent tastes and mood building moments when necessary.

And oh yes it became necessary more and more.

Having the luxury of Amazon was the best and worst thing that could happen to a foodie.

The true yin and yang of the calorically addicted for there in an instant I could place an order for all those foods I had fought to eliminate from my life forever and welcome them back to nurture and sooth my COVID-hating soul.

And they made it so damn easy. Jeff Bezos is the Devil. Just swipe and wait and someone shows up at your door with candy, cake and carbs enough to fatten a room full of anorexics.

For the first time in years I had candy dishes filled with M&Ms, a freezer full of Hagen Daz and homemade pies and breads with the aroma of heaven daily.

Seriously can anything cheer the spirit like the smell of apple pie or chocolate chip cookies or hot bread in the oven?

I think not which is why in between streaming television, jigsaw puzzles and a book or two my daily exercise consisted of walking back and forth to the kitchen to check what was in the oven.

I was in heaven. No waistlines, buttons or hair blowers to contend with. Like everyone else in  America confined to their home I had only my next meal to look forward to, and watching the news did little to curb my need for food compensation.

Chocolate and I were a team again and I embraced the relationship. Like returning to the man who’d consistently broken your heart and you’d sworn off a million times only to run back when he summoned.

Twelve pounds later I came face to face with my worst enemy, the scale. At the doctor weighed and scolded I had to examine my life choices once more.

My doctor looked at me with that you-know-better grin and all I could say was, “but Amazon was there tempting me all day every day. Blame Bezos not me. They kept coming and bringing food and what could I do? After I ordered all those goodies I couldn’t very well throw them out, it wouldn’t be right. It was Amazon, damnit!

He looked at me as pathetically as I deserved and urged me to exercise and gain control.

I promised I would and I headed home to my kitchen to face the music.

There was the refrigerator filled with remnants of my lapse back into foodaholicism and I knew I had to deal and start over. I needed to mend fences with my now too-tight clothes and the double chin that taunted me in the mirror when I dared look.

It was time to fess up and fress (eat in Yiddish) less and pay my diet dues once more.

I now have a handle on my love handles and have managed to lose most of the weight.

I always reread my Amazon order before swiping and am gratefully out and about more so clothes and waistlines matter again.

I burned the contract for my soul I’d gladly signed with Amazon and now I’ve gained back control of the online relationship that had overtaken my life.

I still must take it a day at a time because after all Oreos always lurk on my iPod calling to me, but I just turn up the television and start a new binge watch.

Wouldn’t it be funny of it turned out the virus came from Amazon?

Hell who knows what virus Bezos might pick up on that upcoming moon flight.

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Masking the Pain

 

Years ago in Venice, Italy with my family, we had the misfortune of arriving in that iconic city during Carnival.

We found the city cold, unfriendly, shopkeepers evil and unwelcoming and the entire experience extraordinarily horrifying.

The hotel was filled with crowds of scary partiers in masks like a scene out of a Nicole Kidman horror movie. The hotel was filled with Freddy Krueger in ball gowns.

We got the hell out of dodge as soon as possible and caught the train for Rome to a safer and more inviting clime.

Now after a year relegated to a life confined to masks I find myself reliving too many unpleasant memories of the past.

Venice aside, I harbor unfortunate recollections of the early days of anesthetics when a small mask was placed over one’s nose and ether poured on slowly until unconsciousness ensued. Recollections of awaking after surgery to a mask-wearing doctor aren’t something I choose to dwell upon.

Neither of these mask memories fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling or a desire to spend the upcoming years in a face covering and yet, we are told we must.

We’re suddenly living in a mask-wearing-virus-filled existence and no one can predict how long this new normal will remain.

Faced with this new addition to my wardrobe I am trying valiantly to conjure up more pleasant mask memories and I must admit a few come with questions I’ve never before considered.

Why did the Lone Ranger wear a mask? Supposedly it was to hide his identity, which in my opinion it did very poorly. If one is doing good deeds why the need to hide? I imagine if you’re afraid of getting caught robbing a bank a mask would be an asset, but the Lone Ranger, I’m not seeing it.

Now Batman, that was a mask. If you’re going to go to the trouble of wearing a mask why not cover your entire face and add bat ears? Bruce Wayne always did things in a big way and that made Batman one of the coolest villains. I’m even willing to overlook the whole George Clooney nippled costume thing.

I don’t mind wearing a mask except for the obvious social setbacks.

How might one smile at anyone when walking down the street? One of my favorite habits has always been nodding and saying hello to everyone I pass as I move through my day. Without the smile it loses some of its cache and is far less friendly.

I see it as a civic duty to spread a bit of good cheer to the strangers I meet in my travels. How can I fulfill my promise to spread happiness like a Jewish Santa Claus minus the red suit and bag of goodies?

Oh sure the mask will come in handy for many things. Postponing a nose job or facelift, or the new double chin from the COVID 19 weight gain. Perhaps you can put off the teeth whitening a while longer and of course no need for lip plumpers anymore.

Still I’d rather see and be seen and the mask is a cover up of giant proportions.

You can be mad, glad, sad or blah and who’s to know. What could be better than a mask for masking our pain?

Your moods are covered up by a piece of cloth and unfathomable to others.

So because man is creative we now have all types of personality masks.

Designer initials and patterns, even some with smiling faces; happy masks or sad, heavy and light ones from all kinds of materials. There are masks with logos and ads or pictures of your favorite characters. Okay, so I admit I have a Baby Yoda mask. Get over it.

For evening there are pearls and sequins and some even dripping with fake diamonds.

From the looks of it masks are here to stay by virtue of the enormous investment we all seem to be making for a way to exhibit at least a modicum of personality in this new faceless world.

As optimistic as I’d like to be I find something reprehensible about masks.

Our world is plagued by a lack of social interaction with the advent of the Internet. A place where human beings hide behind a screen to chat, message and communicate. Unfortunately masks will become just one more way to prevent us from seeing one another and bonding with our fellow earthlings.

We must also consider that this covering will make it easy for space visitors to roam about freely where before one might have noticed their presence. Gee that gray guy with the mask has enormous eyes.

If you were beginning to understand how torn I am about protecting us from one another you’d be correct.

I know we need to wear them and I’m all for trying to do it in an attractive way, yet I’m really quite sad that this is yet one more layer between humans to separate us even further.

Nothing in this world is a better communicative tool than a smile. It shouts volumes to others whether friend or stranger. It says you matter to me enough that I am happy to see you. You’re important and worthy of a happy face.

It wishes the recipient a good day and sends positive vibes out into the universe.

Each smile drops a bit of joy onto the earth to attach itself to those passing by.

Where will these little bits of joy come from now without smiles to create them?

There is no doubt we will have to make more of an effort to reach out to others while our smiles are imprisoned in masks. More calls, more stopping to say hello, yes even more text messages with lots of smiley faces. It may not be the real thing but it’s the next best until the masks come off.

I imagine it’s my challenge to find happiness in my covered days. I can look back happily to that year I finished writing the book I’d been procrastinating for so long. I guess it’s true the best way to get a writer to write is to place them in captivity. Worked for me, but hopefully I’ll be able to discipline myself in the future since no one wants another year in lockdown.

We all need more smiles and a kind word never hurt anyone either.