Lunch Was Super With Soupy Sales

It wasn’t a fancy lunch at the Polo Lounge or Spago, but mostly peanut butter and jelly, some tuna fish and lots of Jello that went boing, boing, boing. Not five star or gourmet fare, but they were the best lunches I’ve ever had. As a special perk the menu for the next day’s lunch was posted on the blackboard so we could entreat our mother to duplicate whatever Soupy was having. We weren’t just viewers, we were Birdbaths. Members of an elite card carrying club that drank United Dairies milk.

I’ve been really fortunate in my life to meet and dine with some pretty incredible people, but I’ll take my memories with Soupy Sales, White Fang, Black Tooth, Willie da Worm, and Pookie over anything. The knowledge I gleaned from the words of wisdom written on the blackboard under the title Soupy Sez were invaluable. Such gems as; “Be true to your teeth or they’ll be false to you,” “Over the teeth and through the gums, look out stomach here it comes,” “When a man writes a song in his automobile, it’s called a cartoon,” “You show me a man who puts his parakeet in the blender and I’ll show you a man who makes shredded tweet,” “Birds are really something to crow about, but a bird in the hand can be a mess,” “Show me a woman who has misplaced her handbag and I’ll show you a tote-all loss,” “Show me a novel caught in a wind storm and I’ll show you a book gone with the wind,” or “Show me a midget king and I’ll show you a twelve-inch ruler.”

Or such informational weather reports on his ancient radio as, “there will be a volcano eruption today so for your own safety learn the words to lava come back to me.”

Add to that learning to dance The Mouse and the Soupy Shuffle and our aerobics were included with lunch.

It wasn’t just learning the skill of taking a pie to the face or being made aware how careful you need to be before opening a door unless you knew the pointed finger or arm waiting on the other side or a celebrity waiting to get a pie in the face. It was the interaction between friends that taught me so much. Let’s face it, who else could ever get away with throwing a pie in Frank Sinatra’s face and live? The pranks, including one infamous moment Soupy opened the door to a naked woman we never saw on camera as he fell apart, are still part of the show’s mystique.

Of course White Fang and Black Tooth were the experts at getting one’s point across without the use of intellectual phrases or complex sentences. Just a few shakes of the paw and a couple of familiar grunts were all we needed to get the message and laugh uncontrollably. Their grunts far exceeded the intelligence of most politicians today. No interpreter necessary, we understood every “eh eh eh” White Fang uttered. To this day an imitation of those two extremely vocal hounds can send me into fits of laughter. Perhaps I can credit them with my editing abilities. Thanks guys for jump starting my journalism career.

Of course Willie da Worm as Soupy called him, was a great life lesson as well. Prone to sneezing fits and health issues, he owned the moniker, “the sickest worm in all of Detroit.” He made one wonder how many other sick worms there were in Motown. The way Soupy delivered his sympathetic offerings to the poor little ailing creature taught me true compassion. It’s one thing to offer empathy to another human being, but the idea of opening my heart to a worm, I have to confess it opened my eyes. Nowadays Willie da Worm would have to take a COVID test. Times have changed indeed.

Soupy was constantly telling Black Tooth, the biggest sweetest doggy in the United States, “don’t kiss.” While he attempted to untangle himself from her hugs he advised her to drink lots of milk because it gives the cows something to do.

I could double up in hysterics faster at a puppet hand that made noises than at people.

Now Pookie, that was one cute little lion. Always referring to Soupy as “Boobie” it’s no wonder I love cats so much. And that cat could scat like Ella Fitzgerald or put on a wig and sing like Petula Clark. Okay so maybe he sang pretty badly, but I was actually grateful something existed with a voice worse than mine.

White Fang, the biggest, meanest dog in the United States was not only nasty, but oh so clever and conniving. He never failed to put one over on Soupy. Guess it should have taught me to beware of cute dogs or good looking men with bad intentions.

The guys in the studio snickered at all the puns and bad jokes and many times you weren’t quite sure why. So I also learned the meaning of an inside joke.

Between the insane news reports and future guest stars like Moshe Dyan Cannon and Belly Savalas, it was non-stop insanity. Yet, more than anything from watching the interaction between Soupy and the gang, we noticed how Soupy, befuddled look on his face, actually listened to his puppet friends. Maybe that’s where we learned how.

Yes, the humor was shtick and craziness was the order of the day, but we laughed and loved every minute. Half the humor we got, half not so much, but we heard the guys in the studio roaring with laughter so we smiled along. The point is we had a side order of giggles with our lunch. It wasn’t politically correct and it didn’t have the artful banter of a Neil Simon, but it lightened our day. And after lunch we returned to school with a full stomach, a happy heart and Soupy throwing us a big kiss.

Is Embracing the Unexpected a Path To Happiness?

How many times have you heard or been told that old saw, “no risk no reward?”

In other words, we must put ourselves out on a limb to find happiness or satisfaction in life.

Not so sure I agree with that one. Sure, there are people that will reach for the stars, even tumble a few times before they reach them, if at all. But so many live quiet, contented lives and thrive. They see the stars not as something to reach, but to enjoy.

Are the rewards even greater after the pain and heartache of failing and standing back up again? Isn’t just being content to wake up each morning and enjoy the simple consistency of it all enough to build a happy life?

Falling short of reaching the moon isn’t failure, but part of a journey many take toward self-discovery. Yet perhaps those that needn’t strive for something so grand are lucky. They already know themselves and what will make them happy. Still, is everyone’s perception of a grand life the same?

I have seen so many that have sought to achieve against impossible odds.

Many were successful, some were destroyed. Everyone’s journey toward self-discovery is unique. Coping with achieving less that one’s goals isn’t the same for every individual.

One never knows what will await someone at the end of the road, and whether or not they can handle what they find. Some can’t.

I’ve thought long and hard about what drives people. Why we all have different levels to reach to sustain contentment and self fulfilment. Is it random or destiny that guides our path? If so, is accepting less than we sought merely a way to test one’s resolve or teach life lessons. Or lead us toward our true path?

I’ve known people whose life expectations fell short and they couldn’t go on living. Sadly, they were unable to move ahead and chose to end their own life. I’ve always wondered why and how they made that drastic and tragic decision. Even what might have altered that choice.

Looking around it seems as though goals are quite diverse and complicated. Yet in some small way we follow a path we perceive as either smooth, or filled with potholes. It becomes obvious the outcomes we anticipate aren’t always as we’d hoped. Yet, is our plan the one that counts, or is there a better one we need to discover along the way, and to follow? I believe in many cases there is. And doesn’t a detour usually signal there is construction on a new fresh and better road being prepared ahead?

For many the journey is calm and certain.
I knew so may that opted for a calm and quiet existence and life didn’t turn out that way. We always move ahead into a future that is uncertain and unpredictable whatever we pursue.

Others who sought a more unconventional life actually found that peace and self-awareness must include valuing calm and restraint.

We can choose, but so much of the time destiny chooses for us.

We only have a certain modicum of control over the life we choose.

Yet many will readily admit choice is an illusion and we often find ourselves on unexpected roads.

Like driving down a familiar street and finding it closed. Once we’ve turned onto the detours unfamiliarity leads us in directions better than we ever anticipated.

Many will tell you it’s those new roads that bring us to destinations filled with great joy, knowledge and adventure. Still, some wish they’d stayed on the old road and remain dissatisfied with the outcome.

Whatever one’s circumstance may be, human beings must adapt to be content. There is new purpose and fulfillment in unexpected twists and turns.

I have seen so many that stubbornly battled life in a grudge match that didn’t end well.

I suppose what I’m saying is that great opportunities don’t always present themselves in a manner you imagine or insist upon.

Keeping open to new adventures, changes and detours along life’s road may be exactly what leads us to that best life we always sought. No matter how unexpected the path may be.

Choose to Stop Choosing

Am I the only one who has noticed the choices we make about our lives seem to be less crucial as we age?

It once seemed that every time I was faced with a decision the importance was magnified by the fact it may affect the course of my life. Which let’s face it, seemed long to us then.

Now making a choice seems kind of, I don’t know, simplistic.

I’m of course not speaking about the choices that seriously affect our health conditions or life and death. I’m talking about the little things that come up daily that seem so trivial now.

Picking a college, or a profession at that time was quite daunting. After all it could change the course of one’s destiny.

I have noticed today’s young people seem to agonize far less that we did. They are not as locked into forever as we were. They have a shorter attention span to all things.

The go-with-the-flow mentality we always sought to cultivate has landed in our grandchildren’s generation.

They seem far less restricted by the fact they are locked into one path, but can select numerous options.

I have no idea why it was the case, but we had a far stronger attachment to permanence. While we believed you chose a life path and moved ahead never veering, they seem far less invested in forever.

I remember so well how things went then.

Certain life choices were serious and permanent. Well as far as we were concerned.

Things like marriage, how many children, profession, where to live, when to retire and where, were credible parts of our lives to consider and weigh.

It was very different for sure. There were expectations sprinkled with limitations for women.
Men were expected to go to college, get a profession or business degree. Women not so much.

Many women entered college with their parents urging them to pursue an Mrs. degree.

If a girl graduated with an engagement ring on her finger, to many parents that was a successful outcome.

Coming from a home where my father was a devout believer that women were to be cared for and know their place, I never felt I had many choices. However, blessed with a rebellious nature I opted to forego the oft designated and preferred teacher route. “The you’ll always have something to fall back on,” mantra that was drilled into girl’s minds back then.

I became a journalist, which for my time was a bit avant garde. It was a profession in which women were just beginning to feel their oats and a dream of mine since childhood.

Of course, women were expected to quit whatever job they held as soon as motherhood became imminent and be the caregiver in the family.

Most girls of my era never questioned or rebelled against that choice. We were very happy and satisfied in that role.

Still, many did feel there might be something more after child raising. Being more educated than our mothers we felt a slight twitching of discontent. I’m not saying everyone. Most of the women I knew were content to live happily as wives and mothers and make it their priority, as was I. Yet, some felt they wanted more choices for our lives. The Feminist Movement highlighted that need.

After all we’d gone to college, learned, secured professions and wanted to do something more than derive our self-esteem from how white we got our sheets and towels.

Believe me I’m not diminishing in any way the satisfaction of raising a family. Seeing your children grow up happy, healthy and productive human beings is a job of which any women should be most proud. At least I am, and most mother’s I know.

However, we felt that after we raised our kids, new choices should be available to pursue.

And pursue we did.

So many women I knew left the nest they had built and made the choice to begin anew.

Some went back into their profession, some started businesses they had dreamed about and others pursued charity work.

These were important choices and women now seemed to have more of them.

After all the bra burnings, women’s movements and liberation inspiration it became clear the world had changed.

But not just for women. The choices women made now also changed the family dynamic. Men who had come to expect a certain paradigm in the home, were faced with new lifestyles.

Kids found it necessary to be more independent from their parents and learn skills they hadn’t ever thought necessary.

It didn’t happen overnight, but it all happened.

These were life changing choices.

Today what is really so important?

What day or where we play pickle ball? Which cruise to take, or should I let my hair go gray? Where is the best early bird special? Bra burning holds a far different meaning now. The act no longer symbolizes freedom. But the casting off of old worn-out clothing. Elastic can only stretch for so long before it must be tossed.

Figuring out which day of the week to do Physical Therapy isn’t the same as deciding on who you will marry.

The choices today seem to carry far less weight and carry far less consequences.

Yes, I’m aware any choice we make at any age can produce unexpected results, but it seems as you age don’t sweat the small stuff has finally kicked in.

I in no way intend to imply that Baby Boomers live inconsequential lives. No way. In fact so many have chosen to take risks and accomplish goals that are quite impactful and far reaching.

I can’t imagine a generation that marched against a war, for civil rights and witnessed assassinations could find satisfaction in irrelevance.

In the end, I wonder if we should acquiesce to the young of today. I’m looking around and not so sure they can do as good a job as we did. But I’m just too damn tired to fight the world anymore.

So, it’s tempting to play golf, maj jong, travel and choose which safari to experience.

Choice or no choice. I say what the hell, we’ve earned time off from tough choices. So why not just choose to enjoy every minute?

I Fell Off The Earth

Long ago early man lived under the delusion the earth was flat. That walking too far in one direction or another would surely result in a fall so catastrophic into who knows where, life would end. Or worse he would become the enjoyable repast for an ocean filled with monsters and creatures he couldn’t fathom. Whatever the case he knew it was to his benefit to watch his step when he walked too close to the edge. Ahh but that was the conundrum. For as convinced as this dull creature was the earth was flat, he was never able to discover with certainty the end’s location.

Was it by sailing too far asea? Or would he reach the limits falling off a tall mountain or wandering too far in one direction across the desert terrain?

Whatever the case, he was certain of one thing…he better be darn careful or he’d be a goner for sure.

Now of course this early version of modern man couldn’t be blamed for such ignorance. After all he was limited by technology, science, skills and saddest of all, intelligence.

His inadequate brainpower had not nearly reached its potential so he was a captive to his own limitations.

Poor stupid, early man. Wandering about the earth peeking around corners to ensure there was no ledge from which to fall. Or scary monsters that would open a chasm from which he’d never return.

Must have been a bummer to take an evening stroll without street lights.

Yep, one has to feel sympathetic to these creatures so pathetic in their ability to figure out this mystery.

So when the question of a flat earth was finally settled, at least for some, man could move forward steadily and quickly without fear of falling. He could sail oceans, climb mountains and meet challenges secure in his safety.

Sadly, finding answers often lead to more questions and unintended consequences.

And consequences, that’s another story.

Tragically, discovering you won’t fall off the earth, doesn’t change the fact man is a creature with serious memory problems. That mistakes are constantly repeated and the human brain forgets, even when it promises it won’t.

So what is the point of this treatise Norma? You are simply telling us what we already know? What’s your point?

Sorry, but I wanted to set up the premise before I told you what it felt like to fall off the earth. To reveal I’d discovered the spot where it ends.

Yes, the other day I found that edge that threatened the very existence of mankind. That transported us back to those dark ages when we walked unknowingly into that abyss ensuring our demise.

It was a simple answer to a question that has plagued me for years. How did German Jews stay in Germany while Hitler spewed his intentions to kill them all? Bet you didn’t see that one coming.

But German Jews did.

Anyone who has ever spoken to a survivor has heard the words, “We thought of ourselves as Germans first and we were an important part of German society. We never thought it could happen here.”

So they hesitated until it was too late to stop the avalanche of hate rushing toward them and, well you know the rest.

The Jews of Europe fell off the earth and paid a high price for walking too close to the edge.

But those who survived learned and repeated the phrase Never Again until it became devoid of all meaning.

Jewish people whose reputation as intelligent, savvy and, laugh-of-all-laughs running everything, walked off the edge last week in their own modern Germany. Many voted to elect a man mayor of New York that believes they have no right to exist.

It would be no surprise with the virulent Antisemitism running through the world that many would align with him. After all he was offering all sorts of free stuff. And sadly, young people and too many older ones today have become addicted to free stuff. Snake oil salesmen have never had problems selling the weak minded and desperate.

But watching Jewish people cast a vote for a man that denies their right to exist. That celebrated October 7^th, was proof that Jewish people still believe the earth is flat. They have not progressed or learned from the past. Yet are still wandering aimlessly, deep in their psychosis and desperate need to be accepted.

Yes, I fell off the earth last week into an ocean of stupidity and pitiful behavior by members of my own tribe hell bent on destruction.

He is not the first Haman he will not be the last. But for this to happen in New York City, the place where our families landed after the Holocaust is perhaps the saddest example of Jewish dementia I’ve seen.

I can say my fellow Jews are pathetic and pitiful. I can say it because I am a Jew, and those whom I love will ultimately face the consequences of this tragic folly.

The Jewish people of New York are marching backward through time, racing toward that fall off the earth into a sea of pain and destruction they supported and caused.

There is no longer a lack of knowledge the earth is round, or that man can sink to levels even the evilest of the species cannot foresee. There is only a certainty that mankind is unteachable, forgetful and doomed to self-destruction.

I fell off the earth and the fall was excruciating. Into a past so frightening it exceeds endurance. I pray Jewish people watch their step or they will once again be peering through fences or flee their homes.

Sadly, in today’s antisemitic world they will have nowhere to go.

So yes, for Jews the world is flat and we will all soon fall off and land with a painful thud.

I am reminded of that oft-repeated joke. “What is a basis for all Jewish holidays? They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat.”

Hey, New Yorkers, if you survive you do have some of the best food in the country to feast on.

Tragically, you won’t be around to enjoy it any longer.

Fear of Zombie Chickens and New Meds

I was terrified of chickens as child. Before you judge me, I can assure you I came by it honestly and through no fault of my own.

Knowledge evolves, some people not so much. Those who come after us will probably consider our knowledge primitive and a joke.

So it’s natural that over seventy years ago our understanding of the nervous system was limited.

And so it was that a dead chicken and I met and shared a moment. One that freaked me out and caused me to fear chickens until my teens. It didn’t help that I grew up hearing about some paranoid chicken that ran around screaming about the sky falling.

The fact my interaction with a chicken corpse terrified the hell out of me is no surprise.

Funny how the memories the most years ago seem clearer now. I must have been three or four years old and at my grandmother’s house. She had just returned from the butcher and placed the dead chicken on the kitchen table.

I entered the room when she walked out to get something and while I stood staring at the naked bird, it leapt up off the table.

I did a quick Linda Blair move and started screaming.

My grandmother came in and for some reason she had trouble believing the chicken jumped.

Despite my fears and attempts to convince her I’m pretty sure she believed me as much as a woman who finds lipstick on her husband’s collar.

So the chicken and I shared a moment. Not a good one, where I was left believing I had seen a dead chicken arise from the dead.

Soon after when my grandfather took me out to visit relatives who owned a farm, it wouldn’t end pretty. A barnyard full of chickens came running at me, I freaked and wouldn’t let my grandfather put me down the entire time we were there.

Yep, the dye was cast and chickens and I were at an impasse. I believed when they were dead, they ought to stay that way. At least in my presence. And apparently, they didn’t.

Of course now I understand that it wasn’t the chicken’s fault he had a zombie moment. It was the fact the nervous system can still act after death.

Today we understand these anatomical anomalies. But back then in olden days, not so much.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if fifty years from now we learned that eating ice cream with a chocolate chip cookie with a potato chip chaser creates a chemical reaction that causes weight loss? Or two brownies eaten together quickly can rev up your metabolism by double digits?

Or that jogging ages us by ten years or maybe that people who claim to be abducted by aliens, are actually the aliens?

So many things we were told as kids have been turned upside down by current knowledge and experimentation.

I learned this when my son was born. When I asked my pediatrician if I should feed him the same formula as my daughter, he said absolutely not it has too much fat content.

Well gee, Doc thanks for telling me now. So to my daughter it wasn’t my fault, don’t blame us moms for listening to the doctors.

As we still do today. And that’s scary.

We all wonder if that certain pill we took or that vaccine we were forced to take is actually a little stealth bullet waiting to shoot us somewhere down the line.

I guess despite the fact we all are a bit more skeptical of new drugs, new treatments and discoveries, we really have no choice in many cases.

When the data says go for it and our lives are at stake, we kinda have to.

I suppose I’m especially suspicious because of my dead chicken moment, but perhaps we all should be.

In many ways we are in a lose lose situation here.

Too many examples of drugs gone rogue and delivering unforeseen consequences have harmed and even killed people.

When I see an ad for a new treatment on TV and the list of side effects is longer than the ad for the pill, I find myself thinking, Damn, cancer, no liver, heart issues, and possible loss of my right arm. Never mind! My arthritis is sounding pretty good right now. Check please.

So perhaps that chicken did me a favor. If it made me suspicious of chickens rising from the dead, of pharmaceutical, companies touting new miracle drugs or a cure all for what ails you, so be it.

I’m grateful I’m a skeptic. Sure we need new medicines. Many have been amazing and done wonders to help keep people living longer and with more quality of life.

Yet, I still see that dead chicken on my grandmother’s table when I hear about a new miracle drug.

I’ll have to keep my belief in miracles to parting the red sea and a newborn baby.

In the meantime, I can’t worry about what they may find out twenty years from now when zombie poultry may start roaming the earth.

Junk or Jewels, it all Counts

We’ve all heard the myth about women and their shopping gene. And yes, I do believe it exists.

But what is it and why is it a major factor of female behavior?

However, it’s not just in women. It exists in men as well. True despite the fact many women have to literally use force to get their husband’s into a store. Hence all the men in the mall sitting holding purses.

Many men have a hunting gene that is actually quite similar to the shopping one in women.

I’m not being sexist here in any way, it’s just that women have a special talent and ability to literally derive great enjoyment from their hunt for stuff. It’s not price, it’s appeal. We can get just as excited over a five dollar can opener as a five-hundred-dollar dress. Junk or jewels it all counts.

Whether in stores or online the rush can be shared or enjoyed solo. It’s a thing. It’s deep and it’s real, so let it go.

The other day I spent an entire afternoon with a friend shopping online. That’s right online. We sat at her kitchen table, in front of my computer literally having a great time searching and purchasing stuff. No limits, no caps, as much as you can buy as far as the eye can see. Online is great because it’s stores with no walls.

There is a certain amount of pleasure at finding just what you’re looking for, but that joy can be compounded when you discover something you hadn’t even expected. Like eating a chocolate chip cookie and biting into a piece of a Heath Bar. Wow, that’s even better.

Of course both these experiences are only compounded when an item is on sale. That my friends is the cherry on top of the banana split.

I suppose it’s really nothing more than a hunting gene that exists in one’s DNA. No sexual designation, but an ever evolving one.

I can’t imagine because I don’t or couldn’t hunt, but I used to hear my brother excitedly regale us with stories of a duck he bagged. I think that’s the term. And I could see the excitement in his eyes. A sense of pride, of accomplishment. He belonged to a club where sportsmen would go shooting and then enjoy a dinner of their catch. Or does catch refer to fish? I’m not certain what you’d call game. As I noted hunting isn’t my thing. But it is the thing of many men and women. And if that brings them joy, I am no one to judge.

I can only speak eloquently on shopping and eating. After all, the search for the perfect meal or dessert could be called a hunt.

Back to shopping. I see women stalking the mall. Eyes open wide and quickly veering their head in the direction of prey caught in their peripheral vision. Surveying, focusing on every sequin, every pleat, every seam. Slowly, meticulously like a hunter squinting into the sight of his rifle. With dead aim he shoots.

Just as women enter the store, boom, the hanger falls and the credit card is pulled out with a certain precision and speed only experience can achieve.

She has bagged a bargain. A basic black dress that eliminates ten pounds immediately and adds to her height. It’s perfect, it’s timeless and it’s on sale.

Exuberant, alert, her face reflecting her joy she marches triumphantly out of the store, swinging bag in hand as she continues the expedition.

Now energized and confident she takes aim at each window as she slowly passes. Knowing there are other treasures to uncover, to track and to possess.

She is quick, but stealth, knowing there are two sides of stores to cover. Prizes may await on either so she needs to be diligent, prepared and ever vigilant. After all there are others hunting, and it is as it has always been, a race to the finish line.

She is quick to notice signs large or small announcing a markdown or sale. She peers into the stores to see if it contains a special rack hidden from the door containing great discounts.

That is where some of the true treasures can be found. The reward for diligence may be a sixty or seventy-five percent mark down.

She cannot waiver, there are many who may share her taste, her size, her determination. Her guard must remain up at all times. If she falters, she loses.

We know the game. We’ve played since our mother’s introduced us to shopping at a young age, and we have spent years honing our skills. Perfecting how to discern what’s good, what’s cheap what’s worth the cost. What should be left behind to rot in the garment jungle of design mistakes. We’ve all know the folly of buying on price alone only to find a garment hanging, tags on, unworn in our closet years later.

Yes, the lessons were many and some costly, but we persevered. We learned through experience and a wisdom gained only through missing a great value. Of watching as something we coveted is carried away because we hesitated inunworn garment,faint of heart,Best Buy,stead of pulling the trigger.

We’ve grown wise through pain. We’ve been molded by loss and we know this is not a game for the faint of heart.

It’s a sixth sense we’ve honed, studied and internalized.

Women share their catches like drunken fisherman in a bar pulling their arms apart to brag and boast of former glories.

Life is for the living and shopping helps keep us alive.

Hello, before you disparage me did you ever see a man at Best Buy searching for a big screen TV? Judge not, Mister.

The City That Never Sleeps Or is That Should be Put to Sleep?

“It couldn’t have happened anywhere but in little old New York.” O Henry

As story and recollection go it was merely an accident that my father left my mother on the New York State Thruway rest stop gas station at two in the morning. As I am the only one left to remember I assure you I have thought carefully about this incident over the years. Partly to ensure it is not forgotten and partly to discern its intention.

Long ago content my father was merely not aware my mother had stepped out of the car from resting in the back of the station wagon with my brother and I, the subject was a source of humor.

Now I’m not so sure. About the intent I mean. As I grew older and my Freudian radar increased, the fact it was a simple mistake by an exhausted driver no longer rings as true.

Were it not for the truth of my parent’s marriage that stares me in the face, I could put the matter to rest. Like a dead squirrel on the side of the road, or thruway as the case may be.

I was asleep in the back of the new chevy station wagon when I awoke after my father asked loudly if my mother was there. “No,” I answered sleepily and suddenly felt the brakes slam on and a sudden charge of the car backward.

My father apparently realized my mother wasn’t sleeping and began the process of backing up on the thruway on ramp for what seemed miles.

So surprised, I was speechless until I saw my mother standing at the gas pump. Braless and almost barefoot, clothed only in shorts and a blouse whose buttons were struggling to cover my mother’s ponderous breasts.

I can’t remember if anything was said when she reentered the car. In fact, probably nothing was said for quite a while. We’re talking days here, folks. I do remember my mother muttering something about the gas station attendant thinking she was a whore, but of course I didn’t even understand the word at that age. Yes, I know hard to believe we were so naive back in the day, isn’t it?

Of course, my father struggled to explain he was unaware she’d left the car for the ladies room while he paid the bill, and well it was all rather understandable really.

But was it? Or just an unconscious attempt by my father to take advantage of a rare opportunity to free himself? Lord knows the man dreamed and talked about it his entire life. Escaping from my mother I mean. So, the possibility of such an achievement must have been enticing.

Although knowing my father as I did, it seems quite unlikely he’d ever have been able to carry out such a feat.

I always attributed the incident to simply the icing on a disaster cake that was our trip to New York in the fifties. It began with my father telling my eight-year-old brother to wait for him in the doorway of the Astor Hotel while he bought something in the gift shop.

My brother wandered away looking for him and chose the wrong door of the two that led outside. Yep, seems my Dad wasn’t as tuned in as he should have been that trip.

After police and house detectives began a search for him it all felt exciting, like a real life TV detective show. I was far too young to comprehend the gravity of the situation then, but today it still haunts me. We received word the police had found a boy wandering the streets alone and taken him to the station. He was served an ice cream cone. Yes, that was the New York City police ladies and gentlemen, back during civilization. He was returned to us, scared, anxious, but well fed.

That evening my father and I saw The Music Man on Broadway which was great. At least until we entered Sardi’s restaurant where they wouldn’t let my father in without a suit jacket. They offered up a beige rag of a frock which he donned before sitting. Then we both sat embarrassed and unhappy during the overpriced meal.

Sardi’s food has become even more overpriced now and the dress code far less English Royal Court, but the memory lingers on. I did go back there once many years later, but the food was still seasoned with mortification and sadness for my Dad. Sadly, a reputed restaurant a child was so excited to try, offered up a menu that included an understanding of the word humiliation.

By now you’re probably wondering if I ever returned to New York. Yes, I did on numerous occasions, but I’d be lying if I told you any of those trips ever made up for or even came close to that time, which still burns in my brain.

When I think of New York my memory immediately plays mental pictures of my mother standing frightened at the gas pump and my brother crying. Of a rude maître d holding a schmatta jacket accompanied by a desire to never return and experience those feelings again. And yes, there were happy moments on that trip, but sadly I guess the image of a Big Apple with a worm inside remains.

The words written to laud NYC are plentiful, but perhaps New York really is as Ralph Waldo Emerson described it…”a sucked orange.”

Sitting Shiva for Mickey Mouse; Inclusion Doesn’t Mean Dissolution

Of all the nonsense Hollywood has foisted upon unsuspecting audiences the last few years destroying beloved movies, characters and great art of the past, I’d have to say Snow White has now set the standard for how low you can go. News to Disney: everyone who remembers how much they adored and embraced the wonderful fairy tale filled with funny-named dwarfs, a beautiful princess and a prince that wouldn’t give up on his true love, is pretty pissed at the mouse right now. Bigger news to Disney: inclusion doesn’t mean dissolution.

The message in Snow White was valuable. How else would we have known how love can heal, how attitude is the answer to everything, or how awful stepmothers could be, had we not been exposed to Snow White in our formative years?

Okay so the stepmother thing has been a bit of an exaggeration, but I will say I do have friends that will verify, but let’s not dwell on the negative here, shall we?

The lessons we learned from Snow White carried us through life. They were important, not trivial or outdated, and for any young person with no life experience except social media to somehow set themselves up as a judge and jury. To tell the public what we should learn from fairy tales that have lasted centuries, is truly idiotic. For those who don’t understand the concept, art imitates life. Whatever and whenever is portrayed is what we live that moment. Rewriting history never benefits the present. Even futuristic writings begin with the mindset of the moment.

I know you are thinking, tell us how you really feel Norma, but I am really saddened by what has happened to my precious Mouse. I am also so insulted to think I need Rachel Zegler to point the way to my moral compass. Seriously? When that entitled brat marches in Selma, watches a beloved president assassinated, or marches against a war, then and only then should she deign to tell others how they should think or feel. Mess with the Mouse and you push buttons I never even knew I possessed.

We all grew up trusting, loving, watching Mickey Mouse. He was a part of our childhoods filled with fun, characters, Mouseketeers, movies, Tinkerbell and Wonderful Worlds to explore.

We, learned, dreamed and visualized watching our Mouse and he never disappointed.

We knew that when Walt Disney did it; he did it best.

Mickey’s only truth was the story itself and staying true to the purpose, lessons and dreams to which each character spoke.

Snow White was never seen as a helpless girl who needed a prince to save her. She was a strong capable girl who survived a wicked woman intent on destroying her. These values currently regarded as archaic are now being misrepresented.

For it was not the fact the prince saved her from the Queen, it was the fact love saved her. That love triumphs over evil. Having the star of the movie espouse hate was a spectacularly bad idea.

The prince was merely a symbol of the power of love. Is that a concept of which we must now dispense because some media brat is ignorant of the message.

Yes, it’s true that women have had to fight for their place in society, or shall I say their new place in society? Yet it is most important to remember that those who forget the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them.

If we erase all the old ways, old thinking from existence, how will we ever see how far we’ve come.

Shall we no longer allow cave men to exist because man now has supposedly evolved (I have my doubts about that one)? Or shall we only support and create art that mirrors life today? Is the past something we must relegate to the trash bin of history? Should we eliminate it all together to appease a small group of nuts that can’t bear to hear any sometimes unpleasant truths about life.

But my real problem is with Disney. The mouse was an icon, a symbol of family, love, learning and growth. Sunday night was The Wonderful World of Disney with the family. It wasn’t a habit, but a ritual. This new way of thinking not only dishonors the Mouse, but all those who grew up believing he was a place of safety, fun and happiness.

Did the powers that be at Disney awaken one morning and say, “Sorry, Mickey, you’re too old now. We have to replace you with a new hipper, woke social-media friendly model.”

As a Baby Boomer I am offended by this attitude. Mickey still has much to say, much to teach and millions to entertain. We ain’t all dead yet and our wisdom is pretty valuable. We were woke a long time ago. Anyone remember the sixties?

Snow White was perfection. It was a fairy tale that taught about teamwork, positive energy, helping others through hard times. About protecting those you love and caution about who to trust.

Most importantly it taught us that the power of love isn’t defined by gender, race, creed or color. It is simply all powerful and healing.

Message to the execs at Disney that actually thought this was a good idea: We learned all these lessons over seventy years ago when this cartoon was first released. We don’t need any holier than thou corporate suits shoving it down our throats in a disrespectful and obnoxious manner. Mickey was the gold standard all along. Do not mess with the Mouse!

Sorry, Mickey that they have twisted and turned you into a mouse without a soul. Perhaps someday they will wake up to what they’ve done and return you to your former glory. You had it right all along.

At My Age Words Are Scary

Sometimes we forget how scary words can be. We should have learned at a young age that words have great meaning but sometimes we forget.

Like when Little Red Riding Hood had her conversation with the big bad wolf who threatened to eat her up! Yeah, that should have been a hint he wasn’t there to play Candyland.

But I for one have too many times been guilty of dismissing the enormous power of language over our lives. Despite the little engine that could, I have too frequently told myself I can’t.

We are wired to absorb words into our brain, then they settle somewhere in our word vault where they sit, either doing good or bad as we plow through life.

Yes, I used plow because sometimes life can be as hard as digging up dirt in a rocky field.

Yet although we are aware that words can be damaging, abusive and harmful, we are often the ones who foist the harshest of the vocabulary upon ourselves.

Our subconscious, which is not always a friend by the way, can put the kibosh on our good times. Sort of the way a metabolism that sees carbs and ignores their existence instead of breaking them down, can create more fat cells.

Even if we change our rhetoric and tell ourselves we can instead of we can’t, our subconscious refuses to accept the latest version of our confidence level.

The negativity we have pushed forward stays and overpowers any new positive thoughts.

And yes, although we are saying nice things about ourselves, our subconscious, who let’s face it runs the show, isn’t buying it. So we’re locked into old ways of thinking, when we may have not been too happy with us and inserted some pretty rough stuff into the old confidence mechanism.

Our subconscious is like a movie critic that only likes black and white pictures and dismisses any benefits of color.

So how can we change our attitudes and fight this monster we may have created?

By the way, not everyone has filled the subconscious train with negative cargo and been unkind to their psyche, but many have. As one who stowed away plenty of harmful baggage, I’m here to say, that train is tough to get up a hill.

We all have a way to sabotage ourselves even if we don’t choose to do so. Our subconscious will find a way to keep you from doing the things you really want to experience, because it’s very tone deaf.

Yet, I still believe knowledge is power and so I’ve adopted a new attitude ala Patti Labelle. A new battle attack against a subconscious that has run the show for years. That was wired in our childhood. I now choose to be the new General George Patton, a real son of a bitch. I am taking back the reins of this old work horse and jumping over those hurdles.

How am I achieving this great feat you ask? I assume you would want to know because you’re still reading, so here goes:

I have eliminated the words “At my age” from my vocabulary. Or sure they can be used with other words, but no longer together. I seriously could not believe how many times a day I said these three self-sabotaging words. Is the phrase just another aspect of aging? Who knows, but it’s not good.

Do you want to travel to…? At my age I can’t rush around so much.

Should I buy a new couch? At my age why spend the money?

At my age I’m slowing down.

Do I need a new car? At my age…at my age… What the hell? Who am I methuselah?

So recently I head a story from a friend about an incredibly successful and influential man in his nineties remarrying for the fourth time.

“Wow, quite an optimist,” I said.

“No, you don’t understand,” my friend said. “That’s not how he thinks. He lives like he’s in his forties and has his whole life ahead of him. I think he believes he’ll live forever.”

I was dumbfounded. “Yes, but we don’t,” I said. Well I really didn’t say that, it was my subconscious adding its two cents.

“That doesn’t matter to him, he acts as though he’ll live forever and therefore he believes he has all the time in the world.”

Point taken, at least on a conscious level.

I decided I would embrace this new way of thinking. I would do the things I had told myself I was too old to do, feel, think and achieve.

After all I had my whole life ahead, right? No one actually knows how long that is, so why not believe it’s going to be super long?

Of course, my subconscious mind scoffed, fought for power and tried to override this whole new me, but I prevailed.

I have totally rearranged my thought process from, should I? to, why shouldn’t I?

We all should and age shouldn’t determine any decision that would bring happiness or more satisfaction in our lives.

Perhaps the key to staying young is simply not accepting that you aren’t. I know words have power and I am using all of mine to become that little engine that could. I think I can I think I can, No, I know I can. At my age at least I’ve learned that.

Oops, okay that was the last time I say them together, but it just seemed to fit in this instance.

Someone once said, “Words mirror how one feels and thinks. The moment people say something, they are already inevitably shaping the world.”

It’s your world, so take control and shape and shift it as you will. For as long as you will.

Stop Throwing Shade on Shade

So I’m watching golf today. I know I know, you’re asking why? Okay, I love watching these guys play because I stink.

So anyway, enough justifying my golf watching, the course looked amazing. The sun was in a great position, the greens were emerald and most of all there was a great deal of shade under the trees. The kind of shade that looks like it’s actually painted in.

The kind of summer day that makes you want to plop into a hammock and just watch the clouds roll by. Or run your bare feet through the cool leafy grass. Funny, does anyone do that anymore? Lie in the shade I mean. Just checking out the shape of the clouds? Or run your feet through grass. I wonder if that isn’t one of those things we lose when we get older. Or perhaps it’s the whole Oh-my-God-stay-out-the-sun panic.

Whatever the reason that’s actually my point. Despite the fact I seem to be taking forever to get there, it’s about shade.

When did shade become a bad thing?

When I was a kid shade was what you sought out and embraced on a hot day. After roller skating around the block a few times, you honed in on a shady spot like a boobed-up blonde to a rich old coot.

We all had our favorite trees we’d scoped out and felt the most covered under. That special tree that not only had the most leaves, but allowed for maximum breezage.

Does it seem I’m being too scientific here? It was never about science then, but comfort. Those hot days were pretty brutal for a generation that spent so much time outdoors, before computers, social media and daytime TV.

And here is the real 411, before air conditioning. It came eventually with some room air conditioners strategically placed around the house. But until then, on a hot day shade was your best friend. It cooled down your burning hot cheeks to a livable temperature and allowed you to head out into the blazing sunlight renewed.

Of course, at a certain point it was time to fill that pool and go for it, but shade kept you cooled down sufficiently to jump rope, play some dodgeball or read a comic book.

It was the place you gathered to trade baseball cards, play marbles, or picnic. PBJ and lemonade always seemed tastier outside on a blanket under a shady tree.

If indeed shade was so important to us as kids, why in the world has it taken on such a negative connotation?

Who decided that throwing shade on someone is a bad thing? An insult so to speak? No one asked me for my vote. I know which side I would have come down on.

I imagine this is just another example of how different the younger generation is from Baby Boomers.

We saw shade as something beautiful, comforting healing and abundant. An oasis in a stifling desert pre-air conditioning when we lived outdoors.

We loved the sun before it became our enemy. There was no sun screen, no thought of how dangerous it was to have a deep tan, just a natural desire to seek out the sun and shade.

Most neighborhoods didn’t have clumps of trees like a golf course, so we gravitated toward the lushest with that perfect opening between the leaves to allow for breezy relief.

We spent quality time in the shade. It was always positive to cool down, play cootie catchers or cat’s cradle with your best friend. A chance to recharge your batteries before the street lights went on and the day outdoors came to an end.

Shade allowed us to take advantage of every bit of fresh air and sunshine. We enjoyed a healthy lifestyle foreign to most kids today.

Now kids troll their social media and accuse people of throwing shade like it’s a crime against humanity. The real crime is not enjoying a sunny day and a shady tree.

Talk about corrupting the positive into a negative that shouldn’t exist.

If kids today weren’t raised with central air, sun screens and computers they could appreciate what an ally they have in a shady spot under a leafy friend.

Shade is the shadow of a tree that gives comfort equally and equitably to all.

It shares itself with everyone, anytime in a welcoming and comforting manner.

There is nothing negative about shade or what it provides.

All I can say as I turn back to Scottie Scheffler trying to reclaim his throne, is please young people; stop throwing shade on shade!

I Feel Like a Hamster

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like a hamster. No, I’m not growing fur and shrinking to the size of a cute little creature. Although I am shrinking every year, but that’s another blog.

It’s because I now understand how it feels to be running on a wheel nonstop and getting nowhere.

I can’t be the only one that feels the non-stop craziness of the activities that keep our minds spinning.

Of course, I’ve learned that to help stop the flow of madness one need only turn off the news.

Yes, I do believe you can live a longer and more idyllic life in the world of “I know nothing,” than in the world of awareness.

But I digress, as usual. So how do we decide what to filter from our consciousness and what to allow in? How fast to move and absorb life’s moments?

It may be just the pleasantness of childhood memories that assures me life was much slower then. Or I may be correct in the assumption that the pace was mellower.

It seems the only running I did was when playing sports or to catch a bus.

Before our families owned a second car, it was usually our fathers that drove to work.

Our Moms found activities within walking distance in the neighborhood or were picked up by a friend who was lucky enough to have a car.

Our mode of transportation was our feet or an occasional bus ride. Mostly to downtown or a shopping center newly built nearby.

Travel was a slow and deliberate activity that happened with planning and purpose.

Even walking to the nearby drugstore to sit at the soda fountain or buy a new Archie annual was planned and executed leisurely.

The activities of life were relaxed and purposeful.

So why does it seem these days every movement is designed to raise our fitness level and get our hearts pumping?

Even shopping, which I now call retail cardio is no longer a slow and lazy stroll to view shop windows and wish to be as thin as a mannequin.

Window shopping was shared with friends or family, many times after a relaxing lunch or dinner.

There was purpose and enjoyment to our movement, not simply to log steps on our pedometers.

So, you’re thinking, what’s your problem? At your age there is no need to rush or run through life any longer. You can definitely slow your roll now. Nope, see that’s the irony. It’s not about having the time to take a breath, it’s about the ability.

The pace of life we ultimately grew into and adopted has now become part of our psyche. We no longer just automatically stroll, or move like determined turtles.

We are now programmed to be the hare in our race.

There is a certain amount of guilt inherent in wasting time. Not making the most of every second seems like squandering our lives.

Okay, so yes, one can disguise idleness by calling it meditation. The moments spent in relaxing and listening to our breath reassures us we are using time wisely for health reasons.

Very few of my friends don’t readily admit time is flying by at a faster pace now. The years seem to move ahead at lightning speed.

But of course we know this isn’t the case. The earth still needs 365 days and one extra on leap year to complete a rotation.

So why do we believe time is darting by?

Is it really so fast and spinning like a top instead of moving like a snail?

Why can we no longer just sit and relax while basking in the nothingness of stillness?
Do the years seem to move quicker because there are less of them now? Where once we saw a never-ending supply of time before us, now we see that dreaded stop sign?

So perhaps we move faster to capture all the life we can, gobbling up moments like the last vestiges of crumbs off a yummy chocolate cake.

I imagine there is a rhyme and reason to our pace, but I wonder if it’s not about us at all.

Perhaps we are merely victims of a culture shift so dramatic we never saw the impact it might have on our lives.

It ingrained itself into our lifestyle like the Internet on steroids.

Is it our responsibility to take back our leisure? To create slow and meaningful moments of quiet once more?

And of course we must ask ourselves, is it even possible?

I talk to friends all the time that complain they are not busy enough. They need more to do. We have been told we will live longer if we stay busy and active.

So we rush around looking to fill our days and move quickly to avoid any consequences relaxation might bring.

Yet isn’t the stress of constantly seeking activity and movement bad for our health? Is there a way to find that perfect balance between strolling and dashing through life? Perhaps it’s just as simple as the fact keeping busy avoids thinking about time passing?

I have no idea. But I am not going to feel guilty if I choose to stay at home and watch a movie, read a book or try a new recipe. I think I often forget that no moment of one’s life is ever wasted if we are living it the way we choose. Even if it’s not at seventy miles an hour.

Looking Backward Can Lead Forward

So many people adhere to the mantra, “Never look back, always move forward in life.”

After much pondering, and my readers know how I love to ponder, I must disagree. At least in part.

I imagine the difference lies in why you’re looking backward.

Is it with regret? If so than perhaps that serves no purpose. Yet, in other ways it could.

The regrets we admit to in life, even to ourselves can serve a positive purpose going forward.

Refusing to reflect on and examine our past decisions can only lead to repeats of the choices which caused us pain and a lack of progress.

We need to see these experiences for what they really are: lessons. Ways to avoid the mistakes made before.

If never remembered they will probably be repeated thus leading to the same outcome. As life speeds by we learn that time is something to be embraced and repetition is the surest way to waste precious moments.

If we don’t contemplate and remind ourselves of past foibles, we will squander time.

So it’s important to ruminate when faced with similar problems.

This is a positive outcome of the past.

A negative one would be looking backward to decry and feel badly about those incidents we could or should have handled better.

If you have reached a point where you have examined your behavior and the lessons have been embraced and committed to memory than beating yourself up over them serves no purpose.

We can’t go back and undo the past no matter how much we would like. The only way to turn a negative outcome into a positive one is to use the information going forward.

No good can come of self-flagellation. Making oneself feel stupid or naïve only encourages self-doubt and anger over something we cannot change.

We all have a mental list of those moments in life we’d like to recant. Yet when and if we had the opportunity to do so, would they change the future in any way? Would they change the person we have become and interfere with lessons we learned and used to our advantage moving forward?

If we are all a product of our past decisions, we wouldn’t be the same had we modified those outcomes.

Sort of the old sliding door affect. Would changing one decision, even as minor as taking a different route to a destination, have led us to a different place and result?

Probably, yes.

And would we have been satisfied with that variation? I suppose there is no way of knowing.

I do know that we are the ultimate product of all the choices we make. Bad and Good.

Many instances in life we’re disappointed with a result very different than we’d hoped for. Yet looking back on it later, it’s actually so much better than we could have imagined.

If that is the case, many ask what is the point if fate is at work in our lives? Do we really choose or does the universe choose for us? Well truly that question is above my pay grade.

I can only say many times I’ve wished for a certain outcome and felt sad when it didn’t go my way.

So many times I’ve been shocked at how much better an incident turned out. Mostly far more wonderful than I could’ve ever imagined. An outcome that sent my life in a much more positive direction.

Then are we to believe we should just let it all go? Perhaps so. Yet as control freaks we want to believe we do have the ability to choose for ourselves. That we are the masters of our fates. It all begins and ends with us.

If one needs to believe we are, than by all means I say you are the boss of your life. Believe and embrace your own power.

So many say we create our destiny and only we are the architects of our fate.

Yet I still feel that there is something more. Something that is at play whenever we are faced with a possibility that will ultimately take us down a new path. An unknown, untraveled destination.

We go the direction we believe is the best option. Sometimes it is, sometimes not. Yet from a bad result may come new wisdom and knowledge. An ability to decide more shrewdly next time. If we look at the past as a tool, always there and available to guide and inspire us, looking backward can be seen as positive.

The second way to revisit the past is for the purpose of enjoying our memories. It’s why we have the ability to remember. That’s why it’s such a tragedy if one loses the capacity to recapture time with loved ones and happy times of youth.

Memories aren’t just to learn from, they are to enjoy. A way to time travel back to innocent, simpler times.

No responsibilities, no worries, just fun and carefree moments with friends and family with whom you experienced those years.

So if someone tells you looking backward is not a positive activity, be reminded of all the joy and knowledge we can receive by doing exactly that.

As long as we don’t spend all our time in the past instead of making new memories we can call on in the future.

So conjure up a few happy minutes with your yesterdays and then go visit your grandchildren. After all, tomorrow you will be an important part of their memories.

All Great Inventions Began With Women

I am so tired of hearing men talk about how women nag. What in the world defines nagging. Perhaps we should switch it around and say men don’t do things on the first five times they are asked. So women are merely inspiring them.

Now that makes more sense to me.

One never hears about the fact that all great inventions throughout time have been inspired by women. And the fact men don’t always respond to first requests.

No, this is not a sexist rant so just go with me please. I shall gladly explain.

For example, the trash compactor is the direct result of women asking their husbands to take out the garbage. How many men have been sitting in front of the television watching football and heard their wife call out from the kitchen.

“Honey, take out the garbage, please.”

No response.

“The garbage is overflowing I need you to take it to the can, please.”

No response except a whoop from the den about some field goal.

“Hello, the garbage isn’t going to take itself out.”

No response.

The wife enters the room.

Her husband looks up innocently.

“Didn’t you hear me ask you to take out the garbage?”

“I was watching that last play. It was amazing you should have seen Mahomes? The guy’s beyond great. Do we have any more of those potato skins left?”

“The garbage is overflowing. I need you to take it outside. The next commercial you can grab the bag and not miss a play.”

“Sure, sure as soon as the game is over. And could you check on those skins please? I almost forgot, are those wings done yet?”

“You said that hours ago.” Wife sighs, husband returns to game.

At some point in the evolution of man one husband took a minute to focus on what his wife was asking.

He inquired, “Why can’t you take out the garbage?”

Leaving the hospital after having the can of Budweiser removed from his ass, he pondered the question of why men have to do garbage duty.

Wait. he thought, perhaps there is a way to delay the inevitable. Why not just crush up the trash to allow room for more. Then less trips to the garbage can.

And thus the trash compactor was born. And yes, we have women to thank for that one.

Now we turn to the refrigerator.

In the beginning I imagine a woman discovered that she could keep leftovers from spoiling when they accidentely dropped into an icy snowbank.

“Oh look,” she told her husband. “This leftover deer is still fresh. Can you build me a box that’s cold enough to keep leftovers in?”

Man decided this would greatly lessen his need to hunt so often and spend more time on other pursuits. So he thought long and hard about how best to accomplish his wife’s request.

Hmmm, he thought. Maybe I can cut down a tree, hollow it out and fill it with ice. Then she can put the meat inside.

It caught on quickly and soon everyone in the area were making tree freezers.

Women were ecstatic to have this convenience.

On a roll now, next, women wondered why they had to leave the cave in freezing weather to cook the food over a fire.

“Hey, Hymie, Can you make a cooking pit inside the cave for me? It’s too cold to stand outside and roast a moose.”

Despite thinking her a bit demanding since he had just created a frozen tree, he relented. Not wanting to be kept away from fun time with his bros, he quickly found a spot to keep the cooking duties inside.

But he still reserved the right to cook over an open fire outside. So in essence barbequing, over which men still hold dominion, became another lifestyle innovation. One that women and men agreed was a twofer that benefitted them both.

In all three of those progressions into the future it was women cajoling their husbands to help with the chores that led to these modern improvements.

I believe one of the most overlooked of modern conveniences has not been credited to women, but mistakenly to men.

The automobile. Yes, men get the credit, but it was women that inspired the idea.

Let us check our history.

It happened during a rainstorm. The ground was muddy and difficult to walk over.

There was to be a party at a neighbor’s cave. The husband sat waiting and watching two neighbors killing one another over a bear carcass. After his wife finished dressing, she entered his area of the man cave wearing a new tiger skin and matching shoes.

“Let’s go,” he grunted. “We late for party.”

When they reached the cave entrance she turned to him.

“Excuse me? Hello, it’s wet.”

He walked out as she stood fixed on the spot.

“Come,” he urged. “We miss all the chicken wings.”

“You really expect me to walk out there in the rain in my new frock and shoes? You must be crazy if you think I’m trudging through the mud. I’ll look a mess by the time I get there.”

“Not my fault it rains.”

“Well, I’m not walking.”

“You expect me to carry you?”

“That would be fine.”

He continued toward the neighbor’s cave as she stood fixed to the floor.

“Come!”

“Nope, I’m not ruining new outfit. You carry me or I not go.”

He looked back to see her standing, arms folded and staring at the cave ceiling.

“Oh brother, you take the cake,” he said as he walked back into the cave. He lifted her asking, “Happy now?”

“No, not really I’m still getting wet.”

And so was born the wagon. And, of course the umbrella soon followed. Then the car etc. etc..

So who actually inspired the car? I believe I solved that riddle.

I could go on and on, but I believe I’ve made my point.

Men may have created many inventions we enjoy today, but women inspired and cajoled them to do so.

I have never seen a muse pictured as a man. Neither have I ever seen men inspiring wars to be fought over them. Helen of Troy? Trojan Horse?

Before you get all sexist accusing on me, I am merely pointing out that women have inspired men to do better, grow and create.

Even in the Garden of Eden it was Eve who told Adam there was no reason to run to the grocery store when apples covered the trees.

Oops, okay maybe that was a bad example, but I believe I made my case.

I don’t want to be one sided here, so I will admit men are responsible for inventing ear plugs. There, Fellas, happy now. I gave you credit.

So next time a woman says, “How many times do I have to ask you to…” perhaps she is merely inspiring the next great invention for mankind. Just say thank you and get to work, Guys.

Fun and Frivolity With the Mammo Fairy

It’s no secret where men are concerned, breasts are a favorite part of a woman’s body.

Yes, we know that if you are stupid the best way to deflect from the fact your brain is the size of a pea is to expose breasts that are the size of two mountains.

“What’s that you said? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” I think men learn that phrase in junior high.

It’s obvious that if boobs didn’t matter plastic surgeons wouldn’t be inserting fake ones into women every day. If you don’t believe me, just check out the real housewives on Bravo. They don’t even make any attempt to cover or wear clothes over those implants on camera. Thus, the whole “deflect from how stupid you are” makes perfect sense here.

No one is really paying attention to what you say when they are busy wondering how you walk upright without falling forward.

So why am I bringing up boobs? Is there a reason for this subject matter? Especially since most women my age are now tripping over theirs.

I figured that starting off with a focus on breasts would at least give me a shot at some male readers. Truthfully, my real agenda is to bitch about mammograms. Okay, got it. Guess the men have left the building.

Since it’s probably just us girls now, we so know how much fun it is to make that appointment at the radiologist every year.

I look forward to it as much as I look forward to zipping my jeans after a weekend of binging on pizza.

Yet we are bound to check out those babies once a year to ensure they still contain only the harmless lumps and bumps.

Men have no idea of how a mammogram feels to a woman. This isn’t the same thing as smiling pretty for the camera.

And although Playboy centerfolds always looked so happy to be photographed naked, I assure you when their breasts were being slung around like a sack of potatoes and put into a vise, no one was smiling or talking about their turn ons or turn offs.

It’s as if boobs are no longer attached to your body. As soon as you enter the room where the breast masher stands ready to create pain and angst, your chest becomes separate from other body parts.

The technician grabs, lifts, adjusts and places them in a vise like they’d walked in there by themselves.

Bravely you try to figure out how standing on your toes will make you tall enough to even reach the machine. Meanwhile the tech is lifting them higher than even NASA could accomplish. At that moment waterboarding sounds like fun.

But the happy really starts when the vise begins to close tightly and the crushing commences. Like watching a trash compacter creating a six-inch box from a truckload of garbage.

As if you are walking along and suddenly the Empire State Building falls on top of you. OUCH! Do you mind? Do you mind?

Then as if you had taken contortionist classes, you’re asked to move your body in ways never intended for a human being. Your back is in agony, your spine is about to crack and your boob is yelling, “let me the hell out of here.” All the while you stand stoically against this machine that is determined to get that pic come hell or high water. You dare not complain as it might make the process even longer. No one wants that!

Then the moment you’ve waited for. That hold-your-breath time you silently pray you’ll quickly feel the machine release and you can exhale again. Truthfully, you haven’t been able to breathe since you walked into the room, so to say you’re a bit lightheaded wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

A great deal of prayer occurs in a mammogram room. Probably more than in many churches and synagogues on weekends.

Oh Lord, let this picture come out clear so no redo. Oh Lord let me not move. Oh Lord, let them not find anything in there that shouldn’t be.

Oh Lord, let this be over.

Then that moment when the technician leaves and you stand there praying you can soon follow. Also praying you don’t freeze to death in that room. Penguins could live in there.

Yet you know that until they say you can go and don’t ask for more pics or a follow-up test, you’re not home free.

After it’s all over there is still that waiting period when every time the phone rings you hope it’s not your Gyno’s office. You never want to hear they need to do more tests just to be sure. Damn! Some of these doctors are real sticklers for perfection.

The whole process, depending on how long you wait in the waiting room is usually less than half an hour.

Why does it seem like you’ve been there for days?

I’m sure it’s the amount of compounded stress.

There is such a feeling of relief when you get dressed and leave. Like dodging a bullet that went so close to your head you heard it whiz by.

The different perception of breasts from men to women is obvious.

Until someone places a man’s penis into a vise and applies a thousand pounds of pressure (well it does feel like that so don’t judge me) this will never change.

Men admire, lust over and extoll a women’s breasts as some type of prize to be coveted and enjoyed. Their own little puffy playground ride. Kind of like a grown-up version of silly putty.

Women see them as something to worry about and pray over once a year. Something they depend on their super bra to hold up and defy gravity. What prevents them from wearing buttoned up blouses with that gap between buttons you can’t close.

Yep, there are differences here of gigantic proportion. And I’m not talking about my former breast size.

So if a man wonders why a woman is cranky, distracted and on a short fuse one day a year, here’s why.

She’s about to have a highly sensitive part of her anatomy tortured and tested to determine her fate. Necessary? Absolutely. Fun and games? Not so much.

So guys, next time you stare at a woman’s breasts try looking above her neck. There is a person attached to those toys and they aren’t always in the mood to play with GI Joe.

How to Avoid a Stroke Trying to Get a Human Voice on the Phone

Did you ever wonder how many people died of a heart attack trying to reach someone human online?

I haven’t seen any statistics but I’m willing to bet there are many casualties of this torture. I can easily visualize grandma sitting on the couch with her mouth open, not breathing, her finger still on the phone button pushing zero in a vain attempt to reach a human voice.

Good luck with that.

A woman in Hell, Michigan (quite an appropriate name I’d say) was found by her daughter in a state of rigor holding her cell phone in one hand with a finger from her other hand touching the O. There were still tear stains on her cheeks and a shocked and appalled expression on her face.

The phone was still repeating a recorded message,“ There is a longer call wait than usual. You are number 232 in line. If you hang up your call will be answered in the order it was received.”

As if it’s not bad enough to try and talk to a human being now, we will have to contend with whatever horrors AI will bring.

A friend of mine was trying to reach someone at a billing center. After ten minutes of yelling into the phone, “I want to talk to a person. Hello, are you there? I need to talk to someone. Are there any humans there. Hello, hello, hello.” Her neighbors called the police because they thought she was being attacked and rushed her to the hospital. She was sedated for two days after asking every doctor and nurse who entered the room if they could please put her in touch with someone human.

The saddest part is that the voice recordings never understand what you’re saying anyway. It’s like driving and trying to ask SIRI directions to an address.

“SIRI, I need to go to 123 Maple Street.”

“Certainly,” here are the directions to 146 Apple Street.”
“No SIRI, I said Maple Street.”

“A maple is a species of tree with brightly colored foliage in the fall.”

“No SIRI! Maple Street, Maple Street!”

“I’m sorry I can’t understand you when you are raising your voice. I am not programmed to respond to that. Goodbye.”

Is this progress?

I think not.

Is progress driving people to such a level of frustration they want to take a hammer to SIRI? Or slam the phone down on the recorded voice. Or have a stroke yelling for a human being to pick up?

The companies go out of their way to ensure there is no way for you to even reach a human being. Just try finding a phone number to call and if they do it’s always a wait of at least half an hour.

There is also a problem understanding call centers that are located in foreign countries from where you happen to be.

“Hello, hello is someone there?”

“Hello?”

“Are you human?”

“Garble garble garble. Skip skip skip.

“I can’t hear you what are you saying?”

“Garble, garble, voice drop, garble.”

“I’m sorry is there someone there? Does anyone speak English? I only speak English. Can someone hear me? Can someone help me?”
“Garble garble, garble.”

Now I will say there have been times when I could neither hear, nor understand the person at the other end of the line, and requested an English speaker.

This did help somewhat. But I still had a very difficult time hearing what they were saying.

There is also the problem of how to relax and stop shaking after the call is over. If you do ever finally make contact with someone, you are left shaking harder than a woman entering P. Diddy’s house.

How do you find a way to put a smile on your face, reverse your bad mood and greet the day in a happy-go-lucky upbeat mood after doing battle in get-me-a-human land?

I myself have always found a very crunchy cookie works well to dispel aggression and restore slower breathing.

So what is one to do when one needs assistance with a problem or an issue? Who can one turn to in their hour of total frustration and panic?

A recording doesn’t seem to fill the bill, as they say.

When one is calling about something aggravating, adding to their frustration level to the point of dropping dead, doesn’t seem to be the right response.

Screaming hello into a phone will definitely not lower one’s blood pressure.

Waiting for an hour in a queue won’t relax the heart muscle.

Staying on the phone for an hour waiting for your turn and then being disconnected won’t lower your dependence on tranquilizers.

Perhaps aside from a box of cookies someone can invent a new drug especially targeted for times when one has to deal with call centers.

It would slow your heart rate, avoid your need for human contact and instantly allow you to translate any language other than your own. It could be the miracle drug of the twenty-first century.

Seriously though, lives could be saved.

Phones could be spared being thrown against walls.

Blood pressure could be leveled off.

What a masterpiece of an invention.

Next time someone calls the DMV, Social Security or any government or billing office, instead of going into panic mode a simple pill popped at the right moment could solve the problem.

Now I know you might say it’s because I come from the hippy generation that I seek a pharmaceutical remedy to my issues, but in this case what other options are there?

Big tech is not going to stop innovating and with each new one, Baby Boomers are driven crazier.

We yearn for the time when we could talk to a person. Have a conversation and resolve an issue.

We are built to only react calmly to recordings of Johnny Mathis.

This new world is quite foreign to anyone who grew up when face to face conversations were the norm.

Now social media has taken over and young people talk though their computers.

Soon AI will speak for all of us.

When that day happens, I will be happy to let AI call and resolve my problems, while I happily crunch my cookies and milk at my leisure.

Who says Baby Boomers can’t get with the program? “Hello, is anyone there? Hello, hello, readers are you there?”

Ouch! My Feet are Killing Me.

Men will never understand the pain a woman suffers. I’m not talking about the trying to push a watermelon through your cervix pain. No, I’m talking about the pain you can’t acknowledge or scream about.

At least in childbirth you are allowed to yell and call your mate every name in the book. And even make up a few new ones if you want.

I’m talking about the pain of walking in high-heeled shoes that are pinching your toes like Godzilla is bouncing on them. I’m talking about that feeling that if you have to walk another step you will rip off those Christian Louboutins and beat the closest person over the head with the heel point.

An overwhelming Oh-my-God-I-wish-I-were-dead kind of pain only a woman in five-inch heels could understand.

Okay, I do realize men get kidney stones and they lose their minds from the pain.

So, if men have experienced that, then they do have some idea of a woman’s suffering.

So why am I bringing this up at all? Do you not have more important things to worry about, Norma?

Of course I do, but the other night I was reminded of women’s suffering and tolerance for pain watching Melania Trump at the inaugural ball.

Now this is not a political piece so please don’t start sending me hate memes or unfriending me. It’s to make a point about women and shoes.

I’m certain it took hours to put herself together and she was bedecked in a designer gown and all the trimmings.

But the real story here is the shoes.

When she walked into the ball I instantly saw on her face that familiar look of pain. Someone who is wishing she could take off her shoes and wiggle her toes in ice water. Whose toes hadn’t felt blood rushing through them in hours. Yet she knew the fashion world was snapping pics and judging, so Birkenstocks were out of the question.

When I was young in the Mesozoic era, the highest heels we wore were three inches.

That was enough to pinch, hurt and ouch our way through occasions when it was necessary to sport a dressy shoe.

Now women wear five-inch heels. Are you kidding me? I once saw Jodie Foster in heels so high her calves were bulging tighter than Tyson’s fists.

We’ve all been there. Trying to smile and act cool while we’re fighting not to cry or scream out loud from the agony. Trying not to show it on our face when we are literally wincing from the torture.

So my question is why? Why wear shoes that will cause you excruciating pain instead of sensible-sized heels?

I’m thinking one of the best parts of getting to grandma age is you never have to wear those Manolo torture chambers again. No one gives a damn if a seventy-five-year-old woman’s legs look shapely under her gown.

My friends and I fell back down to earth years ago searching for pretty flats to wear for fancy occasions.

And what a difference it made.

While other women in skyscraper heels suffered and tried to smile through the evening, we were cozy and comfortable in old lady flats with a cushy insole.

Now I do have some friends who can rock a one or two incher while wearing a soft insert, but I’m not that adventurous. Nope. I’ve decided life is too short to wear a vice around my feet that squeezes harder with each moment of swelling.

The last time I wore a heel I was limping and crying within the first hour. I said “screw this and walked around in my nylons the rest of the night.”

Do I care if people were pointing and giggling behind my back? Hell no, because they were all men. The women were nodding and sending me looks of pity and total understanding of my dilemma. Although some of them continued to brave on in higher heels with full knowledge they wouldn’t be walking without pain for the next few days.

So why do women care at all? I have a bunch of shoes in my closet I will never wear again. Yet I don’t have the heart to give them away yet.

Many were only worn once, but they sit sadly in the box awaiting their night on the town.

A night that will never come. So why do I keep them?

Is it because I actually believe that I will someday be able to tolerate the torture again? Does old age make you more masochistic?

Trust me. There is no pain killer strong enough to eliminate the misery and still allow me to walk upright without bumping into walls.

My toes still smart when I think about the squeezing they endured in those pointed, but absolutely yummy candy-apple-red heels I so loved.

It’s a chick thing and I don’t expect men to get it.

Most men would be sensible and ask, “well if they hurt your feet so much why wear them?”

Easy for them to say. Does common sense have anything at all to do with fashion?

Well, I’d have to admit when you’re young you kind of feel it’s your duty to suffer for style.

It’s so great to get to the Chico’s age. Now one can wear loose clothes, low heels and big necklaces or scarves to cover that turkey neck.

Don’t even start me on the whole fabulous “throw-a-hat-on” thing.

As difficult as it is to age, I must admit one of the perks is you no longer have to give a damn about fashion. You can display great taste even wearing comfortable clothes and low-heeled shoes.

At least there are other choices now besides Naturalizers or the grandma kickers of yesteryear.

Sadly, most people are too busy noticing all those wrinkles on your face to even make it down to the feet anyway.

The only thing a woman in her seventies should be doing with a five-inch heel is using it as a weapon if she’s attacked.

Even if I could get them on and stand in them, chances are I’d fall flat on my face immediately. What am I, a high wire performer in my old age?

As a public service I have a tip for the CIA and Mossad. Next time you are trying to make a terrorist talk, just put them in a pair of five-inch, one size too small Manolo Blahniks and make them walk two miles. They’ll sing like a bird after only twenty minutes.

The Tragedy of CA Fires Seen Through the Eyes of an Old Broad

Our lives are fraught with emotions. Each day we experience a cornucopia of feelings as we trudge along the path.

Yet there are times when we must admit to ourselves these emotions actually exhaust and deplete us, both emotionally and physically.

When we are spent from a mind and body overload of constant barrages of emotional bullets hitting their target.

The Los Angeles fires were just such an emotional roller coaster of exhausting proportions.

There are those that would say any natural disaster would feel the same. Watching the recent floods after Hurricane Helene was tragic and beyond belief. Seeing devastation and total loss tears into one’s soul like only a knife dipped in reality can cut. The chemical disaster in East Palestine, Ohio brought fear and anguish for those afflicted and their prospects of further dangers.

War, floods, earthquakes, tornados and all the frightening sights we as humans witness and experience each day, deliver a clear message that we are powerless against the forces of nature. This is a knowledge mankind has never responded to well.

So we attempt to shore up our chances of survival by building guards against these events, and as we have seen we fail miserably with many attempts.

Oh sure we can put shutters on homes to avoid the winds of hurricane force. But there is no defense against the power of rushing waters the ocean can deliver to our doorstep.

We can try, but we fail. Not often because there aren’t ways to avoid some of the harm or disasters, but because we depend on others that are incompetent to make decisions that will stand between us and safety.

The Los Angeles fires are a perfect example of nature enjoying an easy conquest because our generals lead us blindly and unarmed into battle.

Last year there was so much rain in Los Angeles I was waiting for Noah to return and build an ark.

This is of course a rare occurrence. One that should be embraced fully as an opportunity to collect and store much needed water to use at a later date.

This fire was no surprise. One can count on the Santa Ana winds coming every year as much as a five-year-old counts on Santa to deliver his presents.

A nationwide report in 2024 by researchers with the Pacific Institute,” ranks California ninth among states with the most estimated urban runoff. Rainwater flows off streets and yards into storm drains that eventually empty into waterways and the ocean — carrying pollutants picked up along the way.”

According to reports, the last major reservoir built in California was New Melones Lake in Calaveras and Tuolumne counties in 1979.

That seems a long time to go between adding new sources of water to a state that grows increasingly more arid each year.

So where was the water? And why wasn’t anyone responsible for ensuring there was enough?

There is a sea of blame to go around for these fires. And like most other issues that will make bureaucrats look bad, the truth will be covered up and shifted onto those with less power. If I sound cynical it’s the investigative reporter in me unleashing my frustration and mounting up to do battle. Yet the simple truth is like President Harry Truman said, “the buck stops here.”

Gavin Newsom is responsible for running an incredibly hypocritical so-called environmental state. They run around beating their chests about how they care about nature even as beaches are being closed because of the raw sewage on the sand where children walk and play. Or as surfers become ill from fecal matter piped into the ocean.

It’s a joke to anyone who understands how tragic ego-driven madmen and women can be.

Watching the fires I listened intently for the sounds of the clip clop of the Four Horseman galloping down the street.

The movie visuals of end-of-world scenarios were suddenly happening in full technicolor. Including all the smells and sounds to convince one of the impending Apocalypse.

Natural disasters are an act of nature. Man cannot avoid these battles, and of course we understand well that the odds are with the house here. Mother Nature’s house. Yet with intelligence and some prevention lives can be spared.

If that weren’t the case why would the state retrofit buildings against earthquake damage? Why would the army engineers build dams in New Orleans or cities salt the roads in huge snowstorms.

No one is saying the Santa Ana winds could have curbed.

Yet, couldn’t they have been anticipated. One hundred per cent, yes. Could the brush and dead twigs that acted as tinder for the fire been cut away after all the growth from last year’s rain? Absolutely.

Is anyone with half a brain aware that after these fires rain will threaten burned-out areas and create mudslide dangers for most homeowners in the burn belts?

Absolutely.

As someone from the Midwest where we “cotton to” common sense solutions, it has been increasingly difficult to understand how the minds of Californians operate. I am not speaking from a political point of view, just a midwestern belief in solving problems with good old down-home know how. It’s as if I’ve entered a foreign land and cannot speak the language.

Yet at the end of the day I may not understand what they are saying or doing, but the repercussions of their flawed thinking are felt by all.

The fires were a tragedy of apocalyptic proportion. Everyone is involved whether their house burned or not. We all experienced the emotional toll of watching and worrying for loved ones and friends whose homes were threatened or ultimately succumbed.

Yes, there are unbelievable amounts of donations to help the victims. But perhaps we should have all donated to some common sense votes last election.

Sadly, there are still many who will give these inept politicians a pass for their egregious policies. Actions that caused more harm than would have happened if they weren’t so busy with their own selfish agendas.

As always, it’s the innocent who suffer. But is innocence any excuse for bad judgement and believing corrupt and uber-ambitious politicians?

I guess that will be determined in upcoming elections.

For the good of the people of California and everywhere, I sincerely hope so.

Are There Only Endings? Or Are They Actually New Beginnings

As the old year ends and a new one begins it occurred to me we experience a great many endings as we move through life.

Since many of these are not of our choosing, man in his desire to make the unpleasant more palatable created a refrain to serve these occasions.

“When one door closes another opens.”

I imagine there aren’t too many of us that has not spoken those words to ease the disappointment of a favored activity, job or life experience suddenly coming to an end.

What I myself have found is that many of these endings come not at our choosing but at the whim of others.

Many times this circumstance leaves us standing shocked or surprised and in need of believing it’s all for the best.

Yet is it really? Always for the best I mean.

When something we’ve enjoyed doing for years is suddenly removed from our lives. Is it best that we are left with a big gaping hole where that positive energy once lived?

Can we always find a substitution for the moments we so enjoyed that are now stripped from our routines?

A friend is retiring from teaching now after fifty years and boy it’s not looking very easy.

She is finding as with everything filling gaps seems to be so much easier when you’re young. I imagine this is because opportunities arise more often when you are strong and vital.

Filling a gap in one’s life isn’t hard when the world is open and filled with untold adventures ahead.

But when you’re older, maybe not so much.

When you’ve had moments you looked forward to and enjoyed stripped away through no choice of your own, replenishing them can be tricky.

So we are left with a hole where fun and joy once dwelled now covered over by only a memory.

In the beginning optimism enters like a shoulder to cry on. Oh well, I suppose it’s time to move on. Nothing lasts forever and everything happens for the good.

But does it really? Especially when you’re older and finding ways to fill our days may not be as easy or productive despite how much we try.

The last thing we want to do is allow the feeling of negativity to enter where that positive energy once flowed. To feel that a treasured job or activity that brought us such joy is now gone and something has left us that cannot be replaced.

That feeling of loss is what we must rail against. So is replacing what we once had the only way to restore joy to our lives?

Is losing that job or activity going to linger and create a bad memory after so many years of cultivating good ones?

Do we want to be left in the end with only the loss and not all the years of gain?

Many times it’s not about money. It’s about feeling useful or positive about something. It may be a hobby that makes you feel a sense of accomplishment.

So we sit and ponder what might fill that gap. What do we need to do to feel those useful or satisfied feelings once more?

Is there anything that can bring back what is now lost?

How do we find that perfect replacement?

I’ve thought long and hard at these times about what to do next. What opportunities are open to me at the stage of life where I am now.

As we reach a certain age we all come face to face with certain facts about our existence. Our skills in certain areas have kind of cast us out of professions we may once have considered, even part time.

Let’s face it, the world changes as we trudge along. Sure we do our best to keep up, but sadly keeping up is not excelling.

We use our Iphones and computers with a sense of pride that we were able to adapt to this new technology, but would Google or Apple or any of the other companies that are now running the world employ us? Or would we even have a clue what they are all about?

I’m thinking a big no on that one. Ordering from Amazon is not the same level as inventing the next big thing in Virtual Reality beyond Oculus.

Believe me I’m not suggesting jobs are an issue for Baby Boomers. Most of us have retired or work part time as a hobby. This is about the things we found that fill our time once we left the workforce. The choices we made that we now don’t want to lose.

What can we do if anything to change the outcome of decisions made for us instead of with us?

No one can argue that life has many potholes in the roads we travel.

So what do we do when we hit one we didn’t see coming?

Do we lie there in the road and stop moving? Or do we call a tow truck, fix the car and keep driving?

Yet if we can choose, why wouldn’t we?

Exhausting all efforts to save what means something to us is paramount and the easiest way to move forward.

Despite the immediate feeling of loss, setting new goals will turn into a positive outcome.

I always felt that staring at a brick wall, we miss seeing the open path at our side. Although challenging, freeing up time to bring more interesting and fun things into our day can prove to be very positive indeed. It just takes a bit of effort but the rewards are plentiful.

So if a door closes, turn your head and feel the breeze blowing on you from that newly opened window.

In the new year I hope all your moments are filled with only good things and open windows galore.

Hockey Puck Latkes on Chanukah? Oh The Humanity!

From time to time throughout life stuff happens for which there is no name. So as creative humans we find it necessary to make up a designation for a new disease or illness which medical science has not yet nor probably will ever recognize.

Thus I present to you a new sickness I contracted recently and from which I still suffer. Readers, may I introduce you to Latke Trauma?

No, I haven’t completely gone off the rails. Okay so I do teeter on the edge at times I admit, but this one is actually quite logical. I’m quite certain the same thing has happened to you as well. Only now we have a name for it instead of “Boy, that Christmas ham was so tough it turned me off ham for a year.” May I present “Ham Trauma?” Or, “boy that awful tasting egg roll caused me to lose my appetite for Chinese food.” I give you “Egg Roll Trauma.”

Sorry, I never met a pizza I didn’t like so I guess that food would be exempt from such trauma. But latkes, sadly, are not.

At Chanukah meals it has long been the custom to allow the mighty latke to take either the lead, or a very important supporting role in a cast of yummy eats during the holiday.

Latkes, so rooted in tradition they call up the flavors of childhood even into old age. When one’s teeth are on their last legs they are still able to gum a latke down. Okay so it might take a bit more sour cream, or applesauce, but it’s well worth the effort.

So now that I’ve established how I feel about latkes you will better understand my illness.

Chanukah has just passed and I, as so many others, looked forward to chowing down on some crispy, perfectly fried latkes smothered in sour cream and or applesauce.

As we all know they always taste better at someone else’s house when you don’t have to fry them yourself and have the lingering smell of oil around for weeks.

So I was thrilled to be invited to a Chanukah party at a friend’s home and anticipating my first Chanukah latke of the year.

The crowd was large and platters of food covered the extensive table. But I was transfixed on only one thing. My eyes scanned the table for the golden discs with the perfect edges.

And then I saw them. Small yes, a bit oddly shaped, but uniform, with a large mound of applesauce in the middle of the platter.

I placed two on my plate and helped myself to the applesauce. Then I looked for the sour cream.

No sour cream. Refusing to panic I walked around the table thinking it must be somewhere else. No sour cream anywhere.

I looked in the kitchen on the island filled with foods and condiments, but none in sight.

My friend walked into the room and I asked her if she had sour cream to go with the latkes.

She wasn’t sure but checked the garage refrigerator and arrived back in the kitchen with a new container. Who serves Latkes without sour cream? I know but what can I say? She’s thin.

So I plopped a portion on my plate and set out to enjoy my first latke of 2024.

I placed my fork on the side of the latke and began pressing to release it from the whole. No movement. I tried again, but the latke was unwilling to part with any size piece at all. Perhaps a knife I thought.

I took a steak knife from the caddy and began sawing my way through the potato laden disc that had now taken on a rubbery consistency. I struggled to achieve a bite and when it finally came loose I dipped it into the applesauce and sour cream with great anticipation.

Now I don’t know about you, but at this age my teeth have cost quite a bit of money to keep in my mouth. Therefore, I am quite protective over each little molar and cuspid still hanging in there with me.

I bit down and the latke fought back.

Surprisingly it had a texture I struggle to find words to describe.

Okay, I’ll try…a gummy bear married a potato and they had a baby and it sat out in the dry air for a month.

It was painful. Oh, not just for my teeth, for my psyche.

It became instantly apparent I would be having no latkes. Quell disappointment!

But don’t cry for me Argentina, I drown my sorrows in jelly donuts, but I digress.

Now, despite the fact I have all the ingredients in my home within reach to create a generous supply of latkes, I have lost my taste for them. The memory of the hockey pucks disguised as latkes haunts me and has removed my craving for them in every way.

So although my waistline is happy about this new development, I can tell you my fat cells haven’t stopped bitching. Well they actually did when I started stuffing the jelly donuts into my mouth.

So although I will never have a vaccine named after me like Jonas Salk, I have managed to name a disease that afflicts us all at times.

“Favorite Food Trauma.” The only cure is the passage of time and for me at least, a jelly donut will always manage the pain.

If Only Life Was a Hallmark Movie

Unless you live on Mars, you or someone you know is watching Hallmark Christmas movies right now.

Men, women it doesn’t seem to matter, Hallmark has cornered the market on mushy and sentimental movies. By adding some fake snow, they cornered the Christmas market as well.

No wonder Hallmark starts its Christmas season in July.

Talk about the commercialization of Christmas!

Yet no one seems to mind.

There are of course other channels that run those schmaltzy two-hour tear jerkers, but Hallmark leads in finding the formula viewers will buy.

And formula is the operative word here.

It doesn’t matter to viewers that they are watching the same movie dressed in a new costume every time. They simply rehash the script, add some new Hallmark players as leads and viola. A new movie yeah, but not really.

We are all if nothing else creatures of habit. Hallmark, after selling us those syrupy cards our whole lives, knows what schmaltz we will embrace. And, of course in every Hallmark movie the embrace or Hallmark kiss as I call it, happens, wait for it, only at the end. There is usually an interrupted kiss somewhere along the line.

There is a definite formula that is followed to the letter in each movie. You can set your watch by it. Boy meets girl or now boy meets boy or girl meets girl, they dislike one another, or they click, both versions are available and lead to the same place. They fall in love, they solve a problem which depending on the season could be a pumpkin patch, strawberry field or school play problem. At Christmas there is a Santa Claus with nothing to do in December but help out one of the Hallmark players. So he makes Lacey Chabert or Jen Lilly fall in love with another player like Andrew Walker or Paul Campbell until it all falls apart. There is always a snippet of a conversation overheard and misunderstood, or a secret that should have been disclosed earlier that leads to a break up.

But rest assured all ends happy and the lovers reunite. The world is bright and then the Hallmark kiss at the end seals the deal.

It ain’t Shakespeare, but it sure seems to work.

Perhaps that’s why it does after all. The very fact we can count on every movie to end happy, have a Santa Claus to interfere, (because after all Santa has nowhere else to be at Christmas time), is actually a comfort of sorts. And there’s always holiday baking, tree trimming and a snowball fight to keep things real.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the Royal movies where a prince or princess from some country ending in “ovia” falls in love despite his or her mother being dead set against a commoner in her palace. But of course in the end all is forgiven and crowns are placed on Hallmark stars’ heads.

There is no tension, no nail biting, no fear something is going to jump out and kill someone. Even the mysteries are charming and innocent. A woman, it’s always a woman, takes time out from catering, baking or running her flower shop to track down a killer. There is always a handsome cop to help her so no worries.

Oh sure they have become more inclusive, there is even a Chanukah movie or two with unlimited Yiddish words thrown in for good measure to ensure every base is covered.

So if we’ve seen every movie a thousand times, why do we keep watching? I’d have to vote on the fact it is so predictable that makes it so watchable.

Hallmark has not reinvented the wheel here. The Hallmark players, as I call them, are exactly the same as the contract actors Hollywood collected in the forties and fifties.

Stars were always attached to a major studio until later when they went rogue and became independent agents. Until then they cranked out movies every month or so. Actors like Bogart, June Allyson, Peter Lawford, Elizabeth Taylor, Spencer Tracey and even Gable worked under contract to a major studio. An audience that attended an MGM musical could be certain Ann Miller would be tappy tapping alongside Bobby Van or Bob Fosse and Howard Keel would be belting out songs to leading ladies like Jane Powell or Katherine Grayson.

The familiarity and knowledge there would be no surprises brought audiences back again and again.

So is life like a Hallmark movie? No way and that’s why people watch them.

There is a kind of comfort in knowing that all will end well.

There are even humorous moments that seem to show up in certain Hallmark movies where actors kid one another and act like a family. It’s like the viewer is on the joke so we can laugh along.

Hallmark has latched onto a most seductive formula, certainty, escapism and optimism in an uncertain world.

And let’s not forget the pets. Dogs and cats are big in Hallmark world. Kittens and puppies populate the scene and nothing can lure you in faster than those adorable faces staring at you from a big screen. Lassie has come home on Hallmark.

Familiarity doesn’t breed contempt after all. It breeds viewers, sponsors and big bucks. I’d have to say no way is life like a Hallmark movie. That’s why we must rely on them to deliver us to a place where all is neatly wrapped up in a bow. Then deliver it all to us with a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine of reality go down easier.

Happy New Year everyone. I’m sure if you look you’ll find a Hallmark movie covering that holiday too.

Saying No to a Visit to a World of Hurt

How many times has someone threatened in a movie or real life, to send someone to a world of hurt?

So, what would a world of hurt look like?

Would it look like the earth spinning in space in a black, blue and red color scheme?

Or perhaps Mars with a reddish hue?

Would it have rings like Saturn to signify different levels of hurt?

Would you need a passport to enter?

I have no idea how or what worlds of hurt would look like. I just know I see too many I care for visiting it too often.

Of course no one would choose to live in a world of hurt?

How can someone choose to send you to a place that one knows is inherently unhappy and painful? I’d just say, “no thanks, I’ll stay where I am.”

Not quite sure anyone could be convinced to live there even by threats.

Many people live in that world as unpleasant as it may be.

I wonder how populated that world could become before climate control becomes an issue? Or even the Ozone layer or carbon emissions?

Do they drive in a world of hurt or is it only mass transit? Do normal people live there or is like California, an asylum with palm trees?

And here is my big question…in a world of hurt is it physical pain or mental anguish that sends and keeps you there?

Can you leave or are you stuck there for life?

This world of hurt we hear so much about perhaps we should examine exactly what it entails and how many actually choose to live there. Then there are others who run in the other direction when they see the charter arriving at the airport.

I am a firm believer that there is more than one world of hurt. Although never mentioned in the threat there are probably levels here.

No one says I’m going to put you into a world of hurt on level two. Would that be hurt that comes in waves instead of being present all the time?

Sort of like the feeling you get when you watch the news. Sudden pangs of nausea followed by moments of relief and then the nausea strikes again.

Do they pass out medication to relieve the hurt in any way? On earth people turn to drugs to take away hurt mental or physical, like a bad bout of arthritis. Yep, there are lots of worlds of hurt after all.

I imagine there are lots of bars and cocktails flowing in this world of hurt no matter what level you land on.

So, if level two is waves of pain, what is level one? Is that easier or more difficult to maneuver?

Perhaps the worlds of pain are set up like Dante’s levels of hell. Each getting progressively worse until all hell breaks loose at the lowest level.

Let’s face it. No one has to leave this planet to experience a world of hurt. I’d say that alone negates the need for any such threats to anyone.

I’m going to put you in a world of hurt is rather redundant for there is enough in this life to supply that need if one is thrust there involuntarily.

Sadly, we all know too many who are hurting. Some even in a constant state of hurt that seem stuck and mired down in a muddy puddle of pain.

So how much can one do to leave this world if the pain is thrust upon us?

If the cause cannot be rectified or changed by circumstances beyond our control?

After all we as humans only have so much power here.

Sure we hear a great deal about attitude. You have to keep a positive attitude and life will again become a bed of roses.

Sorry, no roses when you can’t resurrect the dead. And relying on happy memories to get us through doesn’t cut the mustard when a broken heart is involved in the equation. So begs the question…are there levels in this world of hurt that cannot be transcended?

Or is the human spirit designed to allow for a method of surviving in two worlds at once. Side by side where hurt and pain can co-exist alongside happiness and joy?

Is this automatic and something humans can control, or a part of us already inside like a switch that turns on and off?

None of us reach Baby Boomer age without experiencing pain and loss. The levels may differ and let’s face it, the strength and resolve of the human spirit differs in everyone.

Some may bounce back more quickly while others dwell for long periods of time mired in sadness and loss.

We as humans are unfortunately afflicted with many chances to visit this world of hurt. Death sickness, loss, and all the other misfortunes of this life.

We suffer for ourselves and we also suffer for others we love and care about. By very virtue of our compassion, we find ourselves thrust into sadness. So there is little chance any of us has not visited this world of hurt numerous times.

Whether we leave quickly or spend a great deal of time there depends not only on us, but by circumstance.

We all seem to travel between realms and I imagine it’s best to remember that we live in many worlds, joy, elation, happiness, contentment and peace that we move between daily. Don’t we all come out a bit battered and bruised as we pass through?

Hopefully we become adept and fortunate enough to remain in worlds of peace and joy most of the time we spend in this universe.

In this new year I’m buying a ticket for the world of optimism. I hear there is a four-star restaurant on every level there. Please join me and enjoy a fabulous new year filled with joy, happiness and hope for a great future.

Oh the Amazon Van is A-Coming Down the Street…

“Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon is a coming down the street
Oh please let it be for me” The Wells Fargo Wagon from the Music Man by Meredith Willson

Everybody loves Christmas, holidays and birthdays when those presents arrive from relatives and friends. Boxes filled with unknown surprises and goodies no one can predict, but is so exciting to receive.

Yep, nothing quite as fun as opening that box, ripping off the paper and seeing something fun and wonderful just for you. Soul food for the inner narcissist.

So is it any wonder Amazon is making astronomical amounts of money when they provide Christmas every day of the year?

Most people have become quite accustomed to ordering from Amazon. In fact, we grew so used to buying online we branched out to do most of our shopping. We began seeing far less of those stores we once wandered about in searching for that perfect purchase.

So what has led to our decision to let our fingers do the walking over the keyboard?

No surprise it has now become a regular and integral part of our lives to see packages in front of our front door.

Even if it was sent by us to us, doesn’t seem to matter much really. There is a level of wow- there’s-something-waiting-at-my-door-for-me excitement we may have become a little addicted to.

Okay I realize I’m using a word with a relatively negative connotation for something I’m coloring as positive. Yet isn’t any feeling that you continue to crave kind of like an addition no matter how minor?

I guess Amazon could be considered the Wells Fargo Wagon of our time. Driving down the street in a van instead of a horse-drawn wagon is quite high tech I admit, but the feeling is the same.

The fun of opening something that you received and wanted. Or especially didn’t even know you were getting.

I know we’ve all returned home from a shopping trip at the mall and one by one opened the little treasures we found on our excursion. And yes, I know this may be a chick thing more than a guy thing, but to put it in words a man can relate to…it’s like returning home from the hunt schlepping a deer on your hood or wherever it is attached.

At first, we were all a bit skeptical of the whole ordering online thing. I myself still clung to the whole touchy, feely love-to-shop in a store experience. We embraced the home shopping experience with a bit of trepidation, but then we suddenly got it.

Wow, more stuff to buy and we don’t even have to leave home. And no shopping hours.

Oh yeah, we got hooked and the shopping networks got rich.

Was it any surprise that the Internet would figure it out really quickly.

I think my total addition to Amazon began to truly take hold during the pandemic.

Up until then it was marginal at best.

I still enjoyed the whole brick and mortar experience. Loved the mall and walking around outdoors checking out store windows.

After all we are creatures of habit and my habit was to walk through a store and check out the merch.

Then something changed.

During COVID we were forced to let our fingers do the walking and searching for what we needed and coincidently, a whole lot of stuff we didn’t.

It became a new way of life to just sit in front of the keyboard and check out thousands of options for anything we wanted.

Let’s face it, unless you’re an Olympic runner you couldn’t cover that much territory at shopping brick and mortar in an hour as you can online.

There is a certain excitement to knowing instead of three pairs of acceptable black pants you now have access to hundreds without walking a step.

Can anyone wonder why women embraced this new experience?

Yet men liked it also. Checking out guy stuff and having tons of choices to compare and contrast proved to be a good way to do business.

So now everyone is happy checking out choices and bargains online.

It was almost hard to believe there were so many options available for anything we wanted.

During the pandemic we bought hand sanitizer, home disinfectant, puzzles, cleaning supplies and food. Lots of food. Although we couldn’t bring it in our house or open it immediately. We knew those evil little COVID germs may be lurking on the surface.

I even sprayed the outside of my food containers before opening them.

Then I took frozen foods out of the cartons and put them in the freezer unboxed.

Oh do not mock me, I’m sure you were just as freaked out as I was. Even looking for cool masks became another excuse to shop online.

Let’s face it, we were all programmed to be nuts at that point and over-the-top paranoid.

So returning to the whole online shopping thing, Amazon became the go-to place to get what we needed to survive.

It doesn’t take much to see we were being trained to seek and search for the necessities of life with a whole new attitude.

Why leave home when Amazon and the entire retail world delivers to your doorstep with one click.

Ah, and it’s that one click thing that sealed the deal.

So easy to understand the fun of having something placed outside your door just for you.

So easy to understand how taking the lazy road can easily become a habit and the total convenience factor was seductive.

If you live in California add to that a governor who believes that no day should end without a gas price hike and gasoline can never cost too much, and it becomes very easy to rationalize staying at home to shop.

So here we are, boxes up to the ceiling filled with goodies we probably don’t even need, but were compelled to buy.

Breaking down boxes is my new pastime and running to UPS to return stuff my new job.

Life has changed now that the Wells Fargo wagon is a-coming down the street every hour on the hour. Like Pavlov’s dogs we have been conditioned to salivate every time the doorbell rings and we hear…”Amazon delivery.”

Oops, gotta go. The sixteenth pair of black slacks I ordered just arrived. Hang on Amazon, I’m a coming.

When Did I Become a DJ’s Song Introduction?

How many times through the years have you heard a DJ introduce a recording as an oldie but a goodie.

I now realize that I have become exactly that, an oldie but a goodie.

And what might you ask makes you think you are a goodie? Oldie one gets without the need for an explanation.

Perhaps it is the fact my memory now resides in Google and the things I remember and treasure are on Facebook pages I share with thousands of others. We realize there is a limited number of us who are aware things we once adored ever existed. But thankfully I can still recall the things that made childhood so special.

Of course the very accomplishment of reaching that certain age, puts you in a category that should be applauded.

As Barry Manilow sings, “I made it through the rain…”

So if indeed I did, and we all did, then what now?

What is our next great achievement?

Becoming an oldie but a goodie seems rather lackluster, although damn nice to hear.

What is our next stage? Antique?

Rare antiquity? Salvageable?

Should I run every time I see someone resembling Indiana Jones heading in my direction?

Is my fate to stand alongside Cleopatra’s barge in some museum as an example of how wrinkles evolved?

It must give one pause. So I’m pausing. Largely because I need to more often now. Pause I mean. Racing through stuff is no longer the option it once was.

Currently, sharing becomes selective. Telling your grandchildren about meeting Soupy Sales loses its flavor when they turn to you with a blank stare and ask, “What’s a Soupy Sales?”

I now understand our accomplishments, exciting moments, and fulfilled goals must be taken at face value. Our face. And despite the fact we now have so many more moments to share, there are fewer left who have any idea what we’re talking about.

Thus the need for Facebook pages dedicated to stuff that happened sixty years ago.

So finding an old hanger from a department store we hung out at over sixty years ago that no longer exists seems exciting to us. Especially when you can post it on your Facebook page and there will actually be others who are equally jubilant.

I dread to think what would happen if Facebook disappeared and we had to wander the streets talking to ourselves or anyone who would listen about how we found the recipe for J.L. Hudson’s Maurice dressing..

I’d prefer to tell my grandchildren that elevators used to have uniformed people in them pushing the buttons and opening doors.

Still, as their eyes glaze over you might regret not posting about it on Facebook instead.

Here’s a scary thought. What if you had to go through life boring everyone you meet until you heard snoring as you recount how you lost your skate key from around your neck.

Can you even imagine how millennials would look at you if you told them your mother filled twenty books of S&H Green Stamps to get a toaster?

Or that a bank used to give small appliances away to get you in the door to open an account?

Now you’re lucky if there’s anyone there to even help you at a teller window.

I don’t believe they want to be bored when you share these little gems from your past. I just think young people can’t in any way relate. Let’s face it, things are very different now.

There is no way anyone would believe you didn’t pay for light bulbs or Bill Knapp’s gave you a free cake for dessert on your birthday.

It so begs credulity you may as well walk into a party and announce you just arrived from Mars on the Concord.

Telling my grandsons we had trucks driving through the neighborhood selling baked goods. Or a milkman dressed like milk sounds like a fairy tale to kids that can order anything they want with one click on Amazon.

Yes, I understand that times change and life moves at breakneck speed, especially as you age. Still, is it so terrible to believe Clarence got his wings when that bell rang?

I agree living in the moment may be the right thing to do. But is wanting to remember some of the happiest times of your life and share them so bad?

I feel lucky that my grandsons will take time off from building robots or Minecraft and listen to my tales of the past. Sure, a yawn may slip out, but they listen. And at times they are even intrigued by my tales from ancient times like the fifties and sixties. Or the events that colored our lives in the past.

I can’t tell you how often my grandson has asked me to tell him about the day JFK was assassinated because he knows how important a memory it is for me.

So even if it’s a pity listen, I’ll take it gladly because it’s borne out of love. And at least he understands who John F. Kennedy was and how much he meant to Baby Boomers.

I know we need to have a balance now. It’s important to keep making new memories as we selfishly guard the old. Exactly what that balance is, don’t ask me. I still consider a balanced breakfast a sleeve of Oreos dipped in a glass of milk.

It’s the Time of Year to Share Our Childhood Memories

This time of year is prone to dredge up memories of long ago tucked away in the recesses of one’s mind. I’m not quite certain it’s the holidays or perhaps that whole getting older and long-term memory that creates a sudden rush of childhood recollections.

I simply know that they are coming in droves.

Of course there is that desire to recapture earlier times spent with family and friends, laced with bittersweet emotions of loss and regret.

For myself living so far from my childhood home I find a lack of snow matters. No blanket of white feels as if an old friend that visited every season has deserted me in lieu of palm trees and blue skies.

Now believe me I’m not saying slipping and sliding along the streets in the cold and slush would be preferable, but there was something about falling snowflakes that just felt right.

I also seem focused on school around the holidays.

We strained at the bit to reach that last day before winter break when a teacher would dress up as Santa and pass out candy canes and Vernor’s Ginger Ale.

Our elementary school was named after James Vernor of the ginger ale company so they gifted us with their soda and candy canes each year.

Santa would be played by a teacher covered in a beard and of course we would whisper about who it might be as we waited in line for our treats.

Childhood seemed quite naïve and innocent so small moments were intensified and more special. We even believed hiding in the school basement under asbestos pipes would prevent an atom bomb from harming us. Silly, right?

Or that a wooden desk would hide us from a nuclear blast. Either they didn’t know the truth or weren’t about to share it with all of us. Seems so foolish now.

Baby Boomers lived a life full of new discoveries. Television began small and black and white forcing us at times to strain to see the picture among snowy waves.

We used rabbit ear antennas on the television set covered with aluminum foil to enhance the signal as we moved them back and forth while our brother directed until the picture clarity was optimum.

Snowy or clear we rushed home to watch the Mickey Mouse Club and later American Bandstand. Our eyes transfixed on this new way to be entertained and transfixed.

I begged my mother to let me stay up and watch Milton Berle on Tuesday nights and still vividly remember the Texaco servicemen that started the show.

We had strange puppets like Rootie Kazootie and Howdy Doody with visible strings. We never minded or enjoyed them any less; in fact, being able to discern the strings was part of the fun. Every kid wanted to be part of the peanut gallery. Then, when a TV dinner on a metal tray table was added to the mix, it all seemed too perfect.

We even had party lines on the phone for a short time as the new technology was growing faster than the company could provide. Limiting use the phone to only certain times seems comical now when we can’t put it down for a minute.

Could you imagine kids today being told they had to share their phone with someone else? I believe it would lead to some violent revolution.

But to us it was a new magical instrument we were happy to have for any amount of time. A new way to broaden our horizons and communicate with friends.

There was no Google, only sets of Encyclopedias, no computers, only visits to the library branch nearest our homes.

We could spend a lazy summer afternoon reading and sharing comic books like Archie, Katy Keene or Superman with friends munching on snacks. Candy bars were two cents or a nickel and we drank cherry cokes or chocolate phosphates at soda counters served up by kids in white jackets and hats.

We played hopscotch, four square, jumped rope, played jacks and roller skated in metal skates with our key on a ribbon around our neck. Marbles clinked along the sidewalk and we traded movie star pictures cut out of fan magazines.

We ordered the scholastic books from school and couldn’t wait to read them when they arrived.

It seemed the smallest things were a big deal back then. Including rushing over to the first neighbor’s house on the block to own a color television.

Obviously, I’m waxing nostalgic about a time that is now gone forever. Our grandchildren are living in a new world filled with things we only read about in science fiction novels.

Technology that causes my eyes to glaze over as my kids or grandkids attempt to explain it to me.

Our children do battle to keep them innocent and away from the screens and kudos to them for doing so. Yet the world changes each day and new innovation is now moving at a faster pace than ever before.

I’m certain someday our grandchildren will look back on their childhoods with a sense of joy and wonder as we do, at least I hope so.

Was our innocence a good or bad trait? Were we blindsided a bit finding the future was often as scary as Orwell had predicted, or Flash Gordon was actually Neil Armstrong? Were we literally over the moon when man first landed there in front of our eyes?

Am I implying Baby Boomers don’t embrace this new world and its wonders? Heck no! We are all into it big time and enjoying the ride. It’s just nice to wax nostalgic at times and remember our innocence.

Each generation will experience new and uncharted roads to travel. I hope wonder and peace will continue to be a part of their journey. I know it was ours. As much as things change one thing never does…the smell of a turkey roasting in the oven on Thanksgiving. We can all be thankful for that.

Please share your memories with me, I’d love to hear them.

Are you Elated or Deflated? Should Elsie the Cow be our Guide?

One hears a great deal about the word happy.

Are you happy?

What makes you happy?

Are you happy all the time and on and on?

Because happy seems to be a word that evokes much discussion one must wonder why this whole obsession with feeling elated?

Is happiness what we seek or aspire to achieve?

Can it be achieved at all?

Is happy a state of being or a state of mind?

Can we make ourselves happy or must happiness come through outside sources?

I hate to confuse the issue any more, but lately I’ve been wondering if happy is just a synonym for content?

Are the words related or even the same?

And is one state of being better than the other?

You must be thinking I have a great deal of time on my hands to sit and ponder words, but are they just words?

Or are they something much greater? Are they actually the building blocks for what creates our ability to live a good life?

I think words are in many ways quite responsible for how we live and fulfill our existence.

So can we be happy all the time? Of course not.

Let’s face it, life throws lots of curveballs our way and sometimes we don’t hit it over the fence.

I’m sure like me life has delivered you a walk or two and you found yourself standing on first base wondering why you couldn’t smash it out of the park.

Some would say there is a big difference between the two words, happy and content. I disagree. Babies don’t know if they’re happy or content. They just coo when fed and dry and place no labels on the feeling.

Happy is the gold standard while content seems to be its orphaned silver cousin. Settling for second best for those that can’t achieve happiness to the fullest.

If someone asks how you are and you say content their first reaction is, “content, why aren’t you happy?”

But what really is happy? And is it exhausting to maintain?

I imagine it varies with each person.

What makes us happy is a very personal and selective option.

Some are happy with lots of money, or love, family, a job or any number of things one may conjure up.

Yet no matter what the reason for your happiness it can easily deflate, like a balloon in a storm.

You can be happy one minute and the next in despair. Circumstances change our mood drastically depending on what life sends our way.

So if happiness is so elusive and easily replaced by gloom, why battle so hard to achieve it?

That’s where contentment comes into the picture.

I’ve learned we simply can’t be happy all the time. Oh sure despair, we’d like to be, but that’s quite improbable. Rationalization helps, like when you break your leg and say, “Oh well it could have been both legs.” If that works go for it.

So how do we find that balance between being elated and being deflated?

It’s as if we are always on an emotional roller coaster.

Some say they are always happy and see the bright side of every situation. To them I ask, have you any extra drugs to share?

If God had designed man to be happy all the time he wouldn’t have sent the snake into the Garden of Eden. Yep, that rascal became part of the plan and now despite how much we’d love to feel great all the time, it ain’t gonna happen.

If we are supposed to be happy all the time, why are those other pesky emotions hanging around our psyche?

Sorrow, anger, disappointment, etc, all seem to exist in there too?

So why is contentment actually the better choice?

I offer that it’s because it’s so much easier to achieve.

Content conjures up visions of a cow like Elsie grazing the fields all day chewing on grass.

But is that really so bad? Isn’t it a good thing to be content with our life all the time despite what happens to impede on some desired happiness?

On a regular day when we are simply existing and filling our hours with stuff that needs attending to, is it so bad to just be content we are able to breathe and live in the moment?

I am always content in the knowledge I accomplished my tasks for the day, starting with making my bed. Yet to say I was happy about my bed kind of takes the meaning away from being happy about winning the lottery.

Content covers it perfectly. We can feel good when we are content.

I am content sitting here and writing this blog. Or hot cocoa and a Hallmark movie, or finding a perfect pair of boots for winter.

Happy should be saved for special occasions like your good china. If we bring it out too often the dishes begin to chip and even break while hand washing them.

There is something comfortable about feeling content. Your life is on track and moving effortlessly. No highs, no lows, no oops, what just happened? You just move along on a stable course.

The higher the high the lower the fall while content keeps you on an even keel. We feel responsible for our happiness and making it last. Contentment is a more natural and easy state to achieve and maintain.

You can feel good about your existence even when you are not ecstatic or jumping for joy.

What is so bad about simply floating quietly through space?

Must we always seek to jump over the moon? And there is that cow reference again.

Many believe happiness is a choice we make each day. I applaud the effort and it’s admirable to choose happy.

Yet it’s also quite acceptable to admit we are merely content, living our life and saving our energy for times we may need it most.

Kind of like a jogger that slows the pace and occasionally speeds up to win the race.

I don’t know why being contented with one’s life takes a back seat to happy. Perhaps they are meant to simply complement one another.

As Roy Rogers used to say, “Happy trails to you,” but if the trail is only contented, I argue it’s okay to just be okay.

Here’s one of my Thanksgiving recipes I love

Happy Holidays!

Pumpkin Blueberry Mousse

With Pumpkin Candy Crunch Topping

1 cup pumpkin

1 cup fresh blueberries (optional)

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 whip 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. If you don’t want berries you can leave them out.

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)

Sauté 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 with crunchies.

Enjoy!!!

I Actually Bought Matches Today

I actually bought a box of matches today on Amazon. I don’t ever remember buying matches before.

My entire life I always had tons of matchbooks lying around and never thought twice about lighting candles, burning sage, setting my hair on fire, or whatever.

Now although many prefer using candles lit with batteries, I still find myself needing matches.

So, I went where I always go, to Amazon and ordered matches. Surprisingly they ran the gamut of prices, from twenty-seven dollars to $2.98. Guess which I bought?

Talk about burning through money! Twenty-seven dollars for a match? Unless they burn solid gold, I’m going with the cheaper model.

Okay so you’re wondering why I am wasting time opining about matches, but stay with me here.

Matches are a symbol of the loss of what I call the freebee.

Yes, there was a time in America when everywhere you went there was stuff lying around to take home. The goal was you’d use it all in advertising their product, store or whatnot.

Banks gave out pens, until I’m not quite sure when they started nailing them down to the counter.

Every restaurant had bowls of matches next to the mints when you left.

Calendars were a biggie. They reminded you of who furnished them for a solid year.

All sorts of premiums were given away gladly to ensure your continued business. Even candies were wrapped in a business’s name.

So why has this all changed and I now have to buy matches on Amazon?

If you’re thinking, wow she is cheap, complaining about some two-dollar matches.

Well, that’s not the point, although it did bug me a little.

Like old people who buy Sweet ‘n’ Low in a grocery store. We all know they don’t. But hey I do, so there. Not so cheap huh?

What is getting to me is wondering if they gave up all this freebee stuff how are they planning to get our attention now? Personally, I don’t like where this is headed.

We’ve already witnessed why matches are no longer necessary to grab your attention every day.

Computers and AI. That’s right the big C and little AI are now in charge of all the brainwashing.

If I sound paranoid it’s because I am.

It’s like a little invisible robot is following me around the Internet.

She just checked out a blouse at Macy’s, jump on it. Suddenly I’m receiving not only a picture of that same blouse on every webpage I enter, but more as well.

At least the restaurants with their free matches never followed me home and harassed me every second to come back and eat there again.

It doesn’t matter what you check out on line someone is there to remind you to buy it, visit it or come back to the site.

It’s uncanny how fast they move. They even add products that may go along with what you checked out.

Like if you search for a dining room table, suddenly you’ll see ads on your Facebook page for the matching chairs.

It’s like your own secret shopper is stalking you across the Web.

Now I’m not saying I’m dumb enough to believe we have any privacy in our lives anymore.

Hello Big Brother I feel you!

But come on, even shopping? Is nothing sacred any longer? I mean a girl and her charge card is a special relationship and should be respected.

Why should Google care if I need a new blouse? Have these people nothing better to do?

I remember the days when it was fun to window shop. Stores closed earlier then and it was fun some evenings to simply walk around and check out the merch after dinner or a movie. You’d notice how they displayed the products to get your attention especially on the holidays when everything was decked out to entice you to buy, buy, buy!

Believe it or not actual people thought about what mannequins to use, where to place them and what fun accents would draw more attention to each window and product.

Now little bots crawl around the Internet checking what you notice and reporting it to the head Bot. I don’t remember voting for a head Bot.

If this sounds creepy, I agree.

No one ever followed us around from store to store as we admired how a window was decorated. Unless they were a stalker. But there seemed to be a whole lot less of those back in the day.

Now our stalkers are little cyber beings that track, report and let Big Brother know our desires, taste level and how much time we’re willing to waste on line each day.

Supposedly there is a way to stop them from tracking your whereabouts. I’m certain that is a ploy to lure you into an illusion of privacy and they just make their little robots more stealth.

Gotta go now. Amazon is at the door delivering my matches. Hey what’s this? My Facebook just popped up with an ad for a lighter? Actually, I should have thought of that myself. Sad when you realize the little bots have better shopping genes that you. How depressing for a woman.
Thinking about all of this I am remembering how exciting it was when our family bought its first television set. Who knew eventually it would be the TV watching us one day?

Thanksgiving Just Keeps on Giving

I’m pretty sure most people consider Thanksgiving, if not their favorite, at least one of their top three holidays. I would have to raise my hand for it as number one.

It’s not so much about the food, although the smell of roasting turkey in the oven should be a candle you can burn all year.

It conjures up memories of being young, home from school and sitting in front of the TV watching the parades.

When I was young there was more than just Macy’s parade. In Detroit we also had a Hudson’s parade presented by a popular department store filled with local familiar floats and celebrities.

The smell of pumpkin pies baking, mashed potatoes mashing, string beans stringing and Yams yamming was such a heady scent I felt as though I was floating in culinary heaven.

The dining room table was always set with my mother’s best china and my grandparents arrival was the highlight of the day. My grandfather and I would watch the floats go by as my grandmother helped in the kitchen.

The house was a buzz of activity and there was a feeling the word cozy had been invented to describe such a day.

It seemed everyone settled into an activity as we filled our heads with the aromas emanating throughout the house. It was as if the world stopped so we could all have the time to enjoy the day’s moments. It’s an easy day where the only lesson is gratitude. Okay so maybe you don’t need that second piece of pumpkin pie is lesson two.

Happily nothing seems to have changed from those youthful days.

Thanksgiving seems to have cornered the market on foods that go together perfectly. There is a harmony about the flavors unlike any other.

The turkey still emits a divine odor, the parade still moves along toward 34^th street and now families can choose to watch football or the National Dog Show after the floats have finished floating along.

So what is it about Thanksgiving that makes everyone feel so content? Is it the knowledge it is a holiday we share with everyone? That the entire country is together enjoying the day? Is it the vivid memories it evokes? Or the fact we wear our elastic waists and pay no heed to calorie restrictions? Perhaps a reminder that the parade continues despite everything. That there will be bright floats and balloons even after darkness.

There is a sadness that didn’t exist when I was a child. A void those we loved once filled and we all content ourselves with the fact there is still family around the table and watching the parade.

Is it a bit tempting to dwell on the happy memories of youth and the loss of those no longer here?

Absolutely. But we all seem to enjoy our family and perhaps friends and of course wisdom tells us loss is a part of life we must accept.

I guess that’s why the very name of the holiday reminds us of what it is truly about.

Remembrance and gratitude for what was and what is. Acceptance and joy for the continuation of our own journey.

Sadly, there are some things we never seem to learn. Like the fact there is only so much room inside us for all the food and no matter how much we force down we will pay.

Stuffing food down my throat like a goose as if I were making pate, never works out well and we moan and groan our way into the next day.

It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving unless we all complained about overeating and forced in that last bite of pie.

So of course, despite the fact we all waddle around like bloated ducks we seem to miraculously find more room for the leftovers.

In the spirit of recreating the delight of Thanksgiving dinner I am including one of my favorite recipes for enjoying all the leftovers. It’s delicious and easy and I created it because I don’t like waiting too long to enjoy Thanksgiving flavors again.

Wishing you a happy holiday with all those you love. Smelling the smells, tasting the tastes and recalling the wonderful memories.

Thanksgiving Snoozles

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

1cup string bean casserole

1 cup cooked turkey

½ cup of stuffing

Add stuffing and green beans to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheet

Add turkey shredded or cut into small pieces over mixture

Roll over once and cut Roll over again and cut and repeat this until all cut.

Place in well buttered muffin tins and place a puff pastry pumpkin on top.

Brush with egg wash.

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked.

Leftover cranberry sauce can be used inside the Snoozles, but I always find it is delicious as a dip for the Snoozles.

When Can a Work in Progress Stop Working?

At what point do we no longer qualify as a work in progress?

Throughout our lives we content ourselves with the fact we are indeed a work in progress (WIP). We screw up and we allow ourself to be comforted by the fact we need to learn lessons. Grow as human beings and make mistakes.

So, at exactly at what point does this excuse run out of gas.

What point on life’s highway does the motor conk out and we can no longer use the work-in-progress-get-out-of-jail-free card to keep cruising along?
Is it in our thirties? After we have survived the teen years, stumbled through our twenties and are now part of the generation we were taught not to trust? Isn’t that a good jumping off point?

Looking back from my perch here in old lady land, I’d say definitely not.

There is a ton of stuff we missed out on in our thirties that must be carried forward into our forties. Marriage rules, self-sacrifice, raising children, peacemaking and trying to allocate our time wisely.

We realize there was actually no time left for ourselves at ten at night when we rolled into bed after a day of chasing kids, cooking meals and being superwoman.

So as we approached our fiftieth year, kids older and college bound, our marriage either intact, or about to come unglued, are we still now considered a work in progress?

Objectively speaking this is definitely not the point we can say we are in full bloom.

Now we face new challenges like empty nesting, attempting to have a conversation with our mate that doesn’t center around the kids, no more carpools or gigantic hauls at the grocery store. Perhaps widowhood or divorce impels us into the future alone.

Yet if we were progressing all through our years until fifty, shouldn’t we now have the skills to deal with all these new feelings and trials?

Work should be completed, right? Our time is ours and we can do anything we want. Hello restaurants every night and days waiting to be filled with time just for us. We are now our own boss and we can plan our own calendar.

No watching our son running around in pouring rain on a slippery soccer field and feeling like the worst mother ever. No more hearing ourself described as lame or out of touch by our teen agers. No more horrified as we begin paying attention to anti-aging commercials on TV.

We enter a new world when our children leave home. It’s about trying to arrange time with friends and even figure out what we’d like to do with our lives now that we are not a chauffer, a laundress and a cook.

But are we still a work in progress?

I’m betting, yes. Simply by virtue of the fact we have all new lessons to learn.

New skill sets that must addressed like, aging, no we are not twenty anymore. We slide through our fifties feeling proud of coping and managing this new era.

Then we face the sixties, a tricky time with issues that arise unlike any before.

So here we are still a WIP with new questions to ask and adjusted priorities. Have things changed because of the work we did? Or as a natural result of the aging process?

Despite the reason we now see things through a different lens.

We are suddenly faced with the fact that life is in our face. Everyday tasks and decisions that allowed us to live outside of the harsh truths works no longer.

Of course we haven’t reached sixty without confronting the sadness, tragedy and hardships humans suffer. Yet life had a way to distract us with the flurry of Now we have time to reflect on those ignored truths we set aside as we changed diapers, packed lunches, bandaged bruised knees and laughed at the Muppets.

Unaware that as a WIP all these moments meant something to our growth, our maturity, our life lessons.

Now in our sixties we realize they very much did.

We must find new ways to fill our days in a meaningful way. Our responsibilities have shifted and our little birds are out of the nest as we fight not to notice its emptiness.

Are we happy in this new world seeking adventures, looking forward to each day with curiosity and excitement? I’d hope so because isn’t that a part of the work we did? Learning to embrace each moment and find joy in every day?

I guess we could say we’ve grown, learned and flourished with no more work to do. Yea for us! We did it.

Or did we?

No way. Each era delivers new works to achieve. Facing them, using the information we gathered should help us more easily accomplish new challenges.

Health issues, responsibilities toward our aging parents, facing our own mortality now looms larger than twenty years hence. Our seventies have brought us to new challenges and obstacles.

If we’re lucky we’ll continue moving forward. Learning, growing, progressing and treasuring times in which we find joy and satisfaction like simply awaking to another day.

I suppose the answer is we are always a work in progress. There is no diploma we can earn, no award to win, no stage to step upon to become a completed WIP. I imagine when we believe we are finally there, is when we must understand there is always much more to do.

Eating Brownies on Mars in a Bikini

I am quite aware that my life has become a skit on the Carol Burnett Show.

Watching Burnett as Mrs. Wiggins walking all hunched over was funny indeed. Now, not so much when it takes me twenty minutes to stand up straight after sitting.

Funny it seems although your hearing slips a bit as you get older you can clearly hear your bones creaking just fine. Perhaps my father’s excuse about not hearing my mother because he was getting deaf was a ruse?

So now that spry is a word that means being able to get to your Amazon delivery before the porch burglars beat you to the punch, we must find new ways to be happy. To avoid guilt over those activities that once gave us pause. To embrace eating a whole pie while standing at the counter and evening off the sides.

And bless the gift of rationalization, I use it more and more.

For instance, did you know that brownies contain eggs and walnuts. Well, you do have to add the walnuts, but still. Do you see what an education we received from foods? And how much they help us?

Add to that the fact most people enjoy a glass of milk with their brownies and now you have a healthy snack with protein, vitamins and endorphins. You see, you have to look at things the right way. If you use dark chocolate the brownies are even healthier. Something about antioxidants.

I believe we can all agree on the fact fruit pies are a real boost to your health. I mean blueberry alone is one of the most applauded foods. Antioxidants and vitamins and they even taste great.

How about apples with the whole “an apple a day keeps the doctor away” rep? So eating an apple pie is healthy, right? I’ve heard really good things about cinnamon too so cut me a big slice, please.

And let’s not forget lemon and lime pies. Hello, vitamin C there.

Pizza taught us how to divide a whole pie into slices. And the meaning of bliss.

TV dinners taught us to compartmentalize. Twinkies lesson; that some things indeed are built to last forever.

I know some experts say frying foods is unhealthy, but here’s the thing. If frying chicken is the only way you will eat chicken, then doesn’t eating protein make up for the frying thing?

How obvious is it to everyone that Cracker Jacks taught us that life is filled with surprises, good and bad. Like when you had to share and your brother got the prize inside.

Let’s talk about macaroni and cheese for a moment, shall we?

Okay so many believe it’s a heart attack on a plate. And yes, the cheese is pretty abundant if it’s a good recipe. But hey, cheese is protein, so that’s good. And if you add the milk, it’s calcium up the wazoo. Let’s remember we need that for strong bones.

And please, just adding a bit of bacon to that mix is extra protein. Need I say more? Healthy, delicious and a staple in everyone’s diet since the days of Kraft’s blue box when we were kids. No excuses needed on this one. Heart attack on a plate my eye.

I doubt anyone could argue that balancing the cream in our Oreos taught us more about ratios than fourth-grade arithmetic.

Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. One could say it’s almost the perfect food.

I’m sure I could go on all day about how foods we love that have been so maligned can offer some nutritional benefits. And yes, I understand fully that sugar is not our friend.

Yet in small amounts, unless you’re diabetic, sugar should be okay. I mean let’s say you bake a batch of cookies. Most make about three dozen or so. If you only use one cup of sugar and divide it between 36 cookies. I mean unless you eat the whole batch yourself in a day is it really so bad? Okay, so I guess it’s possible for some people to eat them all.

There is a point here I promise.

We have grown up with more changes to health advice from so-called experts than grains of sand on Caribbean beaches. Please don’t even start me on that crazy food pyramid thing.

So which is it already? Is fat healthy or as they now say, good for you?

Are carbs okay to eat or actually our enemy?

Is it all about vegetables or is protein the key to health?

Duh, your head could spin from all the diets and experts changing their minds every ten minutes.

And perhaps this constant change in attitudes toward foods creates more anxiety in us about eating anything at all.

And as we all know stress makes us eat even more. So if they would make up their minds already we could all calm down and enjoy a BLT in peace.

Now after much rationalizing and making excuses for eating the foods I love I have a new solution. I truly believe this will be more effective.

Space travel. Yep, just hop on one of Elon Musk’s rockets and high tail it to Mars. I said Mars, the red planet, the place where the little green men live. And there is a reason they are little green men.

If you weight 100 pounds on earth, on Mars you only weigh 38.

Sounds like a hell of a weight loss plan to me. Who the hell needs Ozempic when Mars is the obvious answer.

So I’m off to the kitchen to bake some brownies to take along on the trip. I’ll see you all on the red planet. Now where did I put those walnuts?

How to be Happy at a Certain Age

How to Be Happy at a Certain Age

At what age are we allowed to stop listening to Tony Robbins?

After a lifetime of making decisions, bad and good don’t we earn the right to cover our ears when someone tells us how to have our best life?

Excuse me! Haven’t we already done that? And when we are at an age when we’ve pretty much become what we are or ever will be, how can these gurus help us now?

This morning my big dilemma was whether or not to get my haircut. Yes, I know it’s hardly anything to get into a quandary about. Still, it involved some long-range thinking about when I might go if not today and trying to fit it in between doctor appointments. So at what point would Wayne Dyer, Tony Robbins, Les Brown or anyone’s advice help me make this earth-shattering choice?

Since I’ve spent a lifetime hearing the adage, “Never put off until tomorrow etc. etc.” I now feel perfectly comfortable putting anything I want off until anytime I want.

I have firmly decided that the word ornery as it pertains to older people is in itself justified.

Are we ornery if we simply feel we deserve to make our own choices, plan our own days and see who we wish to see? Is this a flaw in an otherwise kindly and easy-going nature.

How many times have we heard the expression he or she is so stubborn now? I can’t get them to do anything anymore.

You bet you can’t. For why should we? After a life of living up to other’s expectations of how we should act, raise our children, dress, and think and feel a certain way, it’s okay to say no.

I believe it’s perfectly acceptable when our daughters tell us Mom that purple nail polish is too young for you, to nod and say okay and then wear it anyway.

When the lease from my car ran out it had fewer miles on it than a demo. So I decided to buy it instead of leasing again.

My son called and asked me if I had made up my mind this was the best thing to do.

I said yes, I love my car and I want to keep it.

“Okay Mom,” he said. “But are you certain this is the car you want to drive for the rest of your life?”

What am I 90 years old? How do I know? Perhaps in three years I’ll decide I want another car. But I didn’t say that. I knew he was thinking that soon he and his sister would be seriously considering taking away the car keys. Although I have no intention for quite a while.

So yes, now we have established that my kids think I’m 100 years old and have one foot out the door.

But I don’t and will not start to think that way for some time to come.

As poet Dylan Thomas wrote; Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Here, here to Dylan Thomas! But gentle may be the only way you can go when your arthritis is acting up.

Sadly, many of my friends admit their kids see them as old as well. But are we supposed to sit in the house and stop living just waiting around for old Grim Reaper to ring our doorbell?

I wouldn’t answer anyway. Let him think he has the wrong address for a while.

If there is one positive about aging it’s the feeling of freedom it brings. We are no longer constrained by societal norms. Nor are we limited by anything but our own tired aching bones.

As long as I am still winning arguments with my hips and able to scamper along, just call me Bambi.

Please understand I’m not saying that when we’re young and forging our path through life, these gurus can’t make a positive impact. But by my age one should know it’s all a state of mind.

Because others see us as old doesn’t mean we see ourselves that way. Our mirrors reflect a younger us.

Mind over matter is probably more important in old age because if we begin giving into our creaky bones, they get the upper hand.

If our gray hair is all we see, it’s over. If we face the fact our children have suddenly become what they perceive as the parents, we will feel as old as they see us.

I always gave into my children and still do, especially my grandchildren, but I also have cultivated a sense of amusement at it all.

Did Wayne Dyer ever talk about how to get through a day when you are in pain? Did he ever tell someone how to look in the mirror and refuse to see the wrinkles that suddenly popped up on their face?

No, I’m afraid that’s a life lesson one can only learn through experience.

What kind of person we are is formed throughout our life and when we reach the laugh-laugh golden years, we find ourselves falling back on old coping mechanisms. These life lessons help fend off the limitations we may face.

My choice is humor, others may choose golf, pickleball, cards, joining clubs, taking up art, travel or a new hobby.

I have decided grandchildren keep you young. So who needs gurus when you have those adorable little faces looking up at you? Not me, most definitely not me.

So if your kids look at you like you are the Crypt Keeper, if the world sees an old person as you pass by and if you can’t walk as fast as you once did at the mall, it’s all okay.

Even gurus get old and if any one of them has the answer of how to live forever, I’ll buy that book.

Dressing Your Age is Like Dressing a Stuffed Turkey

Dressing Your Age is Like Dressing a Stuffed Turkey

Since spending more time on YouTube I’ve seen an abundance of women advising other women on how to dress.

How to look thinner, younger, taller, shorter, more modern, more stylish, more French and on and on. It’s like trying to figure out if you should stuff the Thanksgiving turkey or just bake the dressing in a casserole dish to let the poor bird breathe.

My first response to these self-proclaimed fashion experts is, funny you don’t look like Anna Wintour or Diana Vreeland.

And since they’re not top dog fashionistas, why should I take their advice? But I watch despite myself to see if there are any little stylish tidbits that have been hiding in the fashion bat cave.

I am usually taken by how ordinary their own fashions seem to be. I don’t remember once seeing their outfits and saying, “Wow I’d like to look like that.”

I’ve always believed fashion has to capture us and spark some type of excitement. A pair of jeans and a striped t-shirt may be standard fare and always acceptable, but sparking, not so much.

If I were taking advice on looking fabulous, I’d take it from Giorgio Armani or Ralph Lauren.

Help me Giorgio, Help Me!

I have come to the conclusion there is fashion and then there is dressing appropriately.

They are two different things.

I think we forget that fashion can be fun. In our need to fit in when we’re young we followed the crowd. Dressing with pizazz or creativity has always been the mark of a rebellious nature.

Yet runway shows are most often over-the-top clothing one would never wear in their daily life. Oh sure I’ve seen high school girls more topless than runway models, but that’s their mother’s problem.

So because you reach a certain age does that mean fun with fashion days are over?

Once it was unheard of for women to wear slacks. Now women in their nineties are wearing jeans. And if men’s ties are “in” why can’t we sport that look?

Yet as we age it seems we are less likely to take risks or push the envelope.

It suddenly becomes all about comfort. Speaking for myself I don’t have the patience to be constrained any longer.

Wearing tight jeans, trying to stuff myself into a pair of unforgiving slacks with a tight waist and belt seems ludicrous to me now. I no longer have any desire to lie down on the bed to zip my Calvins. Let’s face it, I might not have the strength to get up afterward.

Elastic waists are a gift that allow us to move about unencumbered by buttons and fabrics that refuse to budge an inch.

The addition of spandex has allowed us to wear pants with a waist and zipper, yet the give is forgiving and the comfort level is high. Although there are differing opinions about who actually created elastic, it was in the mid 1800s in England. So, I guess we should give the Brits a pass on Harry and Meghan since we owe them.

Yet how does one who loves style continue to show individuality in their choices?

Jewelry? Yes, but now some of the so-called fashion experts advise that big colorful necklaces are “out” and small delicate jewelry is in. Good luck finding a thin chain in the folds of your turkey neck.

So many women opt for necklaces instead of surgery and one that comes to mind is Candice Bergan. Her neck was always covered with a statement piece to hide the ravages of time. Now apparently these look heavy and outdated.

During the pandemic our wardrobe suddenly consisted of sweats, sweats, and sweats.

Who needed jeans and a belt to watch Netflix or take a walk around the block?

At first when we reentered the world it was fun to get dressed. I pulled my favorite outfits out of the closet and oops, yep there it was. It seems the pandemic created a bit of a problem. Many of us learned that sitting around on our keesters caused expansion. Our waistlines grew in proportion to all those new recipes we tested and people even stopped wearing pants on Zoom calls. Talk about comfort.

So we switched into comfort mode.

Living in California I soon learned that there is a very slim line between casual and after-six-style.

I’m not sure if it’s the weather or just that old California laid-back lifestyle that dictates fashion.

People here think nothing of wearing jogging suits to a restaurant or the market. Along with their Chanel bag and Cartier Love bracelet. Apparently, it’s some type of I’m-so-rich-I don’t-care Cali couture.

Dining with the ladies involves jeans and a sweater or shirt. Despite Beverly Hills’ reputation as so chic, residents think nothing of dressing down to lunch even in the poshest of eateries. I was at a semi-formal evening event recently and saw a man wearing jeans and a sports jacket.

So is it an age thing this comfort dressing, or are people just over it?

When I was in Paris many years ago, I was shocked by how Parisian women dressed.

High spike heels on those cobblestone streets, clacking as they walked. My feet ached every time I heard them take a step.

Scarfs loose and flowing behind them and coats with belts pulled in tightly to show off their slim waistlines. Don’t tell me you’re not throwing up those croissants, Bitch.

Now the only time I see women in the U.S. dressed to the nines in on TV shows about realtors. Apparently in real estate to sell a house you have to be a fashionista. They wear designer jewels and clothes with slits cut up to the tush and boobs hanging out of push-up bras. And what was your offer, Sir?

Us ordinary women seem content to don something comfortable to fulfill both a good look and great comfort.

If you’ve ever noticed a woman’s face walking in uncomfortable shoes it’s not a pretty sight.

Now happy feet seem to reign and it’s all about looking nice in relaxed luxury. Designer brands even offer athletic outfits and sneakers logoed up to the hilt.

The Doris Day, Pillow Talk look, that glamorous image women once sought to perfect seems a bit ancient today. Could you imagine Jackie Kennedy showing us around the White House in jogging shorts?

And although so many women give in to the desire to pull out a favorite piece of jewelry now and then, we all seem to succumb to those spandex-laden jeans, long skirts and comfy tops that allow us to move without pain.

So I suppose although one’s hearing may be failing as we age, listening to our inner fashionista is still possible. Nowadays it seems fun with fashion means being comfortable and happy in both our own skin and apparel.

Design is no longer the dictate of Vogue editors but our own bodies. And my waistline is loudly yelling “Hello! I need more room here. And did you really need that extra piece of pizza?”

Doing the 100-Meter Medical Dash

After my recent blog about how at a certain age one’s home turns into a make-shift pharmacy, many readers questioned why I had not mentioned the fact they spend most of their waking hours running from dentist to doctor to doctor. It’s called the 100-meter-medical-dash.

When once a conversation would start with, “So how was your golf game?” Now it begins, “I went to that new specialist and he kept me waiting an hour. I almost missed pickleball.”

I’ve never seen an office so busy in my life. It looked like the first day of a clearance sale at Lohmann’s.”

Believe it or not if you live in New York or LA this spending your day going from doctor to doctor can become quite expensive.

In La and NY doctors are in medical buildings. These building don’t charge by the hour, they charge by the minute and some by the second. The last time I went for an MRI it cost me thirty dollars to park my car. And if you think you can escape this fate by street parking, guess again. Most buildings are in areas where there is no parking except in the building lot. I’d bet if you are going for an MRI chances are good you can’t walk ten blocks to get there.

So when did our days of shopping, running errands and meeting friends for lunch become, “maybe I can meet you Monday, but I have to check my medical appointment calendar. I have physical therapy two days, doctor’s appointments two days and I need to go to the oral surgeon for an implant. No on this week, but maybe when things slow down. I’ve got January 11th, 2025 open. For sure let’s make a plan.

Of course we all know we’re making the rounds from cardiologist to orthopedic surgeon to gastro to stay healthy and alive. And please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed your doctors are all the same age as your grandchildren. So annoying.

Okay, moving on, but isn’t it also true that most of our time now involves dashing from doctor to doctor and procedure to procedure.

Where once we collected the names of good manicurists and hair dressers, we are now trading names of orthopedic surgeons, overnight nurses and rehab centers while collecting urine samples.

My left arm is substantially thinner from all the blood they’ve drawn. Forget the fact I’ve had so many X-rays Marvel Comics is making me a new superhero, Glow in the Dark Grammy. And she’s Bionic!

So our lives continue. And although we might walk less steady, down more meds and spend less time going out for dinners and movies, we all keep up the pace of running from office to office to stay alive and feel good. Oh well, at least it does count as daily steps.

If you’re still married your appointments and procedures are doubled.

My friend ran off a list of tests she would be taking the next day. From collecting urine, to X- rays to MRIs and it seemed endless.

We used to discuss new recipes, what we were cooking for dinner and how annoying our husbands could be. Or even the latest diet that landed out of the sky. Quite different nowadays.

I do feel very sorry for those who live in countries where health care is not so easily obtained. Where you have to wait so long for a medical test you die before you’re able to get it. So I’m not complaining. Still, can we all look in the mirror and honestly tell ourselves it’s all worth it? Yes, of course, because at a certain age staying alive becomes one’s priority.

I just think it’s so sad that we are all so preoccupied with health instead of spending all our time living and seizing the day. So how do we capture more me time that isn’t shared with our MDs.

Like we don’t have to see a doctor again until the street lights come on.

Healthier living and medical miracles have definitely allowed us to enjoy life with our friends and families longer.

What if there is a price to pay? Isn’t time the ultimate gift after all?

Running to specialists, giving up certain foods and lifestyle choices, opting for healthier ones are worth it to be with loved ones.

Yet despite greatly understanding and appreciating that this is a good thing, waking up each day and seeing a calendar filled with tests, doctors and dental appointments can dampen your mood a bit. No one looks forward to a colonoscopy.

So how do we make it all more palatable?

As you see while sitting in waiting rooms I’ve given some thought to this situation. I believe one way to take the edge off is to make a living plan. After all, now that we have a health strategy we need to balance it out with a fun formula.

Ah but how do we do that?

I guess it’s about time management. If we make our appointments early in the day we can plan a fun activity afterward.

Take in a movie, meet a friend for lunch. Shop for those new boots you’ve been wanting. Check out the sights in your hometown you’ve never visited.

Do something out of the ordinary. Go for high tea with a few friends, celebrate your birthday even when it isn’t. Drop by and see your grandchildren with a new game to play.

Force your daughter or son to have a special lunch with you and catch up without the kids around.

Surprise your better half with a quick weekend getaway somewhere close they’ve been wanting to see.

If it’s autumn go leaf peeping or pick apples and eat donuts hot out of the Cider Mill oven.

You’ll notice I didn’t recommend joining a gym. This is about fun stuff. But I’ve heard Yoga or Pilates can be fun if your bones still work.

Yes, I get it. All of this takes some planning, but so does making doctor appointments.

I guess it will take effort, but the reward will be worthwhile.

If nothing else you’ll have something to talk with friends about besides your new hip replacement.

Wishing you happy new adventures and carpe diem.

In Dreams We Can Fly

An interesting thought occurred to me this morning as I awoke from a really crazy dream. Apparently as we grow older the only thing about us that doesn’t change is the ability to dream.

People interpret dreams in hopes of understanding their meaning. But does knowing what they mean change our lives, influence our choices or improve our ability to achieve our goals? Some believe it might. As far as I’m concerned the jury’s still out.

Of course there are the usuals and recurring episodes I and many others view nightly.

Ones like I’m late for my finals and can’t find the classroom. Or I haven’t read any of the assignments all year. These stress dreams as they’re called still awaken me in a state of “wow, that was scary” even after all these years.

Then of course we all have the powerful dreams where we are with those who’ve left us and awaken with a certain sadness at facing reality once more.

One of the things I find most puzzling about dreams is ones when I find myself in a place I’ve never been in my waking life. The setting is familiar, and I return to that place on a consistent basis. These are very inviting places I remember when I dream of being there again. These are dissimilar to other dreams I soon forget, but these places remain in my memories always.

For me it is a department in a store I’ve never seen. It recurs occasionally as though I’ve just been shopping there. But I haven’t because it only exists in my dreams.

A lake house where I enjoy spending time appears as well. I also see a modern cityscape where the view is futuristic like a movie about life on planet earth fifty years from now.

The only similarity about these locations is they all sport beautiful views to which I am partial. But the familiarity I feel when they appear in my dreams is palpable.

It’s almost as if these locations are movie sets I choose to use as a backdrop to whatever script I’ve written for that night’s episode.

Of course it begs the question…are they? Movie sets I mean. Are our dreams merely the motion pictures we write and produce each night based on real life stories we live each day. Are they the nightly wrap up our conscious mind memorializes in our subconscious to use at a later time?

It’s rather surprising how dreams can elicit so much emotion. We can awake sad, frightened, puzzled and any number of emotions from a night’s sleep. We even awaken from the creepy ones with hearts pounding. So it’s obvious dreams have a physical effect.

Many of our dreams we forget, but the ones that seem to stick in our minds bring a need to analyze them and determine what they were trying to tell us. Like a secret message from our subconscious we are compelled to decipher. If we fail to decrypt the secret could it have implications in our waking lives?

Is someone or our own mind trying to help us in some way to avoid a mistake we are about to make?

I think that’s a possibility. In my own life I have been faced with choices and dreamed about the decisions. Failing to understand who or what was warning me, they’ve turned out badly.

So how do we learn the language of our dreams? Shouldn’t we be able to understand our own minds?

Can they warn us if we don’t dismiss them so quickly?

Experts spend their lives studying the human brain. It’s truly a remarkable computer that stores, creates and functions as the clearing house and control center for our entire body.

Quite a little workhorse taking on so many tasks.

Yet I find myself feeling that dreams may be something very different. Are they merely movies we create each night out of the multiple choices in our catalog combined with experiences from our day?

Or are they a vehicle to allow messages inside our brain from parts unknown? Is our imagination busily at work each night writing and editing what we see?

Or is there something much more?

Because most people share the types of dreams they have, like the stress dreams they select when they are under duress, does our brain provide the elements from which to choose?

Why do so many people have the school dream, the falling dream and of course the flying dream?

I especially love the flying one because it is such a freeing sensation. Some meanings are obvious as in our desire to escape our earthly bounds and soar above.

Yet some experts suggest “dreams help us deal with emotions, solve problems or manage hidden desires. Others postulate that they clean up brain waste, make memories stronger or deduce the meaning of random brain activity.”

A new theory claims “nighttime dreams protect visual areas of the brain from being co-opted during sleep by other sensory functions, such as hearing or touch.” Experts also suggest that dreams help us process emotions and memories and can also inspire creativity and provide self-knowledge.”

One experts notes that “Even though the exact mechanisms and functions of dreams are still not fully understood, understanding their importance and interpreting them can enhance our quality of life.”

Perhaps all these things are true, but I can’t help finding dreams an interesting way to spend a night. I’ll continue create new blockbusters if my subconscious allows and add more flying to the mix. Perhaps I always secretly wanted to be Tinkerbell and all I really crave are some wings and a magic wand to be happy.

Now that wasn’t that hard to interpret, was it?

How Do We Get Our Happy Back?

Okay so today I was talking to my friend Ellyn and of course the conversation morphed into “What the hell is going on with this world?” It’s impossible to escape the absurdity looming around us like a giant cyclone of insanity.

Yet, as in any time of upheaval, sometimes it’s important to try and take some good from the situation, no matter how dire it all seems.

We agreed there was one positive upshot and it’s important to leap on and embrace it fully. The need to refocus on the little things has become imperative.

In these times of chaos when so many feel the world is imploding it’s impossible to feel in control of our own lives.

So what can someone do to recover some of the peace we so desperately need. In other words, how do we get our happy back?

How do we feel positive again and remain focused on optimism and hope? How do we ensure our little corner of the world is still ours and ours alone to do with as we please?

Can we find joy in the midst of chaos? Is there a way to take back our little corner of the world even for just a moment or two?

It ain’t easy. When our world is spinning it’s awfully hard not to get dizzy. To prevent ourselves from falling (which is difficult on any day, anyway) and restore our sanity.

Human beings need a safe haven in any storm. We aren’t designed to live in constant turmoil with our minds constantly running wild and no peaceful spot in which to recline, catch our breath and feel safe.

I believe that’s why there are flowers, gardens, meadows with singing birds, mountain tops and huge fluffy clouds drifting through an azure sky.

Our eyes need to see and hear peace to feel it within ourselves.

So what can we do to escape into our happy place?

I imagine we must first accept the fact that happy weeks, days or months are pretty much almost impossible to achieve. Once we understand that, we should be able to embrace and enjoy a smaller portion of joy time.

It may be hours or even minutes in our happy place. Yet if we understand time there is short, we will absorb more joy from each moment.

Finding peace is much easier because we all know with few exceptions what brings us joy. This is a question we needn’t ask because we have already been there.

Time with our grandchildren or family members.

A fun dinner with friends, old or new.

Perhaps a tour of a local museum we’ve put off too long or an art gallery in a beautiful spot.

Have you watched a favorite movie that made you laugh so hard you cried?

Or a comedian who left you with spasms of laughter? Most comics have their acts up on the Internet now. Instagram Reels seems to be overflowing with hysterical moments of laughter by some very funny comics. And please let’s not forget the adorable antics of kittens and puppies.

One of my happy places is escaping into a good book. It doesn’t matter what genre. A great mystery can keep you attentive indefinitely.

Sometimes when we feel that lack of control it’s good to call a friend. One who is feeling or has felt the same way. After venting it’s important to end the conversation on the positives and be left in a better place than before you spoke.

Okay, I’ll go there. Yes, a favorite food. I said it. This diet obsessed nut is one of many, many foodies that still find some solace in that perfect bite.

It doesn’t matter what the food is because even a good diet meal can taste great. I don’t think anyone is surprised to hear that for me the happiest place on earth isn’t Disneyland, but anywhere I’m biting into a piece of chocolate.

If the pandemic taught us anything, it’s that we must be content to find our own place to thrive in chaos. Most did, but many succumbed to the awfulness and lack of control.

Yet there were new hobbies, new interests, new accomplishments during that period that served to lead us through the darkness to the other side. Many discovered talents long hidden but now much enjoyed.

I don’t have any answers for the big questions confronting us today. Sadly, it seems leaders don’t either and that in itself is a reason to be afraid. We are all watching frightful events that once seemed unfathomable and so many are depressed about the lack of control and chaos.

Humans must be safe to feel safe and now it seems almost impossible to maneuver the craziness thrown at us each day.

Where can we hide, how do we duck quickly with arthritis filled knees, what can we do to make things better?

Only do what we can to help ourselves and our loved ones find their happy place.

I wish I were a Yogi and could meditate myself onto a higher plane, but right now I’m quite earthbound.

Perhaps it’s time for a little transcendental meditation, but I must ultimately return to this planet and the eye of the hurricane. And of course if all else fails retreat into denial.

For me it’s been a challenge to ignore the craziness and find ways to find that inner peace. However maybe in some ways it’s easier because now it’s so necessary we feel more compelled to seek it out.

At least we can all escape to our little moments of joy and find some calm and happiness there.

I wish that for you all until sanity is hopefully restored onto the world.

Do We Stop Living Before We Die?

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

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

That was for my grandparents and the elderly.

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

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

Can it be that I’m old?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But didn’t it actually?

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

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

I think not.

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

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

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

YUCK! It wasn’t a pleasant realization.

Suddenly we were all talking about our health.

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

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

But something had happened to us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I suppose there are two ways of looking at this.

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

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

simply move forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what can we do to undo the damage?

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

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

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

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

A private tour company might be best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God is in the Oil of Olay

God is in the Oil of Olay

Shock and awe is a phrase often used to describe a moment when we can’t quite register what we are seeing. It’s usually reserved for those occasions that might render one speechless, like seeing an explosion in a building a few feet away or a smash and grab when you’re trying on clothes at Nordstrom.

So I’m not quite certain that what I’m about to describe would be considered shock and awe by some, but to me it was one of those moments and I have to say it was more shock than awe.

I recently attended an event where I ran into many of my friends. I was legitimately surprised at how many who I’d not seen since before the pandemic I actually didn’t even recognize.

It was as if some horrible time demon had waved his wand over everyone’s face and aged them a hundred years overnight. Oh that Satan can be tricky.

The friends I did recognize seemed so much older and their faces were sporting more lines than Costco the day before a holiday.

I was completely taken off guard since when I look in the mirror I see someone aging gracefully, and bearing an acute resemblance to the person I was twenty-five years ago. Am I being sprinkled with fairy dust at night I wondered? Everyone looked so old and yet I didn’t feel that I had aged that much.

I suddenly felt so bad for everyone and wondered if there were group rates on plastic surgery in Beverly Hills.

I mean if everyone my age looks so old, I must look that way too. So why is it when I look in that dreaded looking glass I don’t see old?

Although, and here’s the really scary part, I see my mother. I think that means something here, but I refuse to acknowledge what.

Are my eyes much worse than I know? Could it be that my brain is off and isn’t perceiving the world as it should be?

Everyone else is ancient and I don’t see myself that way. Should I grab my toothbrush and a cat and start picking out my mummy case?

Something weird is going on here and I’m determined to know what it is.

I check out a woman I know who had a total face lift years ago and her face is filled with lines; and I’m not talking about the lines in a soliloquy by the Bard. Must be the light. Is there some special light in this room that creates wrinkling on human flesh?

No way I think when I see another friend who has single handedly kept the Botox industry in business. Her eyes were sporting more wrinkles than an un-ironed 1000 thread count cotton sheet.

The men looked seriously older with tires around their waists and numerous lines around their eyes. Then there’s that thinning hair that seemed to be in a race to get to the back of their heads.

What the hell, I thought. Who are these old people and what have they done with my friends?

It was obvious looking around who had found the good plastic surgeons and availed themselves of their services, but did I look so old to everyone or was I Cleopatra in a state of denial?

I suppose it is true that you don’t see yourself as old until you look at your friends. Then suddenly reality kicks you in the butt like a goat you just stepped on and woke up from its nap. OUCH!

Ageing is painful and difficult to deal with without having it shoved down your throat…and speaking of my neck which sorry, I don’t even think I have the strength to do.

It seems no matter how much plastic surgery one endures, and I’m also talking about the pain of receiving the surgeon’s bill, Vicodin protects you from the other effects, the years are not kind to your face. No matter what, Father Time, that son of a bitch always gets the last laugh.

I know women who’ve had their neck done only to make their eyes look more wrinkled and hooded.

Then there are my jowls that make me want to go around saying… “So Buffalo Bob, who is on the show today?”

“Well, Howdy, we have a plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills with us. He’s going to fix those puppet lines on your face and give Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring a boob lift.”

I won’t even try on clothes in a store anymore. I can’t face the damn dressing room mirror. Those lights make me look like a chicken that was in the oven too damn long.

I search Google for testimonials by women who once looked a hundred and used a cream and woke up looking fifty. I can’t find a single one.

And yet there are ads all over with Oprah hyping gummy bears that allow you to lose fifty pounds in a week. So why can’t they invent a miracle gummy bear that removes wrinkles in a week?

We could kill two birds with one stone there; my craving for sugar and looking ancient.

Cleopatra killed herself with an asp to avoid being humiliated by Octavian. But did she really? Maybe she looked in the mirror and saw a wrinkle. Cleo figured despite all those jewels around her neck the hanging would soon commence. Let’s face it the girl was a serious narcissist. So instead of ageing she called the asp over and went to sleep. That’s one alternative to looking like an old crone. If you’ll notice there are no statues of Cleo as an old broad. Smart play, Girl.

I am certain that my friends don’t see themselves as old when they look in the mirror any more than I do. Oh sure we notice little things like those three additional chins and how our lipstick bleeds onto our nose. How can we not when we have to lift our neck to wash our chest?

But all in all, there is a certain sense of denial that comes with the years.

We actually see ourselves in two dimensions at the same time, where the young us and the old us combine, which puts us somewhere in the middle.

It’s a gift God gave women to make up for the whole Harvey Weinstein thing he knew would exist.

So there is really no way to see ourselves as we truly look because our brain inserts the youthful us into our eyes whenever we look into a mirror.

Sure, the Devil sneaks in sometimes and provides the magnifying mirror or overhead lights to cause some pain, but our brain always protects us from the harsh reality of youth’s loss.

Every woman would like to look as she did when she was thirty. Even if she was sporting her old nose and tiny boobs.

So because we can’t go back in time Benjamin Button style, we have to tell ourselves it’s okay. Thus we simply apply the make-up and creams with lots of hope and constant prayer. Isn’t it amazing how religious a woman can become when putting on her face?

My Howdy Doody Dumplings

I package of egg roll wrappers

canned salmon

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 8 oz cream cheese softened

1 cup of baby peas

¼ cup of crushed ritz crackers

¼ cup red pepper chopped finely

½ teaspoon of lemon juice

salt and pepper to taste

1 egg

water

Mix half the can of soup with softened cream cheese

break up salmon into small pieces and add I cup to the soup mixture

Add salt and pepper to taste and mix well into everything is incorporated.

Mix the egg with some water

Place a large tablespoon of the mixture onto the egg roll wrapper and brush the edges with egg mix and fold it in half and seal it well.

Brush the top with egg wash and place on a sheet pan with parchment paper that has been sprayed with oil.

You can either boil the dumplings or fry them in butter. I’ve never tried them in the air fryer, but I imagine they might work in there.

Use the leftover soup with a half cup of half and half and some salt and pepper as a sauce and serve with rice or mashed potatoes.

What Do You Do When There’s Nothing to Do?

What Do You Do

When There’s Nothing to Do?

“We are always the same age inside…” Gertrude Stein

There are way too many new realities to accept when you are talking about the laugh laugh golden years. One of these is that once you stop working and raising your children life changes.

So what do you do with all the extra time?

Despite claims otherwise ageism is the last and most accepted form of ism in America.

There doesn’t seem to be any downside to businesses or corporations that pass on hiring “older” people. No one would actually ever admit they weren’t hiring you for age reasons, but there are always red flags.

Years ago I interviewed for a newspaper job in Los Angeles with a business newspaper.

The editor was someone I had known and was very familiar with my work.

During the interview he asked, “would you feel out of place working among all young people?”

Hello, red flag warning and surprise of course I didn’t get that job.

I have a friend who is far past the retirement age for teachers. Due to tenure her job is secure and she can work up until the time she can no longer find her way to the school. I have no doubt that even after the state says she can no longer drive she will be Ubering to work every day.

I totally understand because she is absolutely someone who would be lost unless she had somewhere to go every day.

However not everyone is a teacher with tenure, so what does a person who is perfectly capable of continuing to contribute to society do to keep functioning?

I always think about Iris Apfel who now in her nineties and still running a successful design business.

Let’s face it, it’s easier when you’re in the arts and a creative person to keep rolling on, but of course you needn’t be Picasso to enjoy taking art classes.

I’ve thought about ageing a great deal and have spoken about it many times so obviously it’s bugging me plenty. I guess I get extra whiny on this subject.

Here’s why. When I was a kid in Florida visiting my grandparents, I’d see older people sitting on the porches of the hotels across from the ocean, rocking and talking and I never thought that could happen to me, but maybe deep down I did. And I’m not judging. If someone is happy sitting and relaxing it’s all good.

Yet I must ask…what can you do when you have nothing to do?

If the pandemic taught us anything it’s that one can fill their days and let’s face it we were shoved into our homes to face and fill 24-hours.

Still we all found ways to be productive and even enjoy the down time away from the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Eventually we all figured out ways to POD with our families, work streaming TV and find places from which to order toilet paper.

I’m reminded of how much our lives became reminiscent of when our children were young and a snow or rainy day came along.

As parents we often had to round up our kids and find fun and interesting things to do to fill those hours.

So now suddenly at this age we have become our own parent and we are the kids with nothing to do.

I guess we could bring out the arts and crafts boxes and cut snowflakes.

Paint T-shirts maybe?

After the pandemic I can’t even look at another jigsaw puzzle.

Cooking? Oh right, my cardiologist would be thrilled that I was in the kitchen finding new ways to fill my face.

Exercise? If I hated it when I was young why would I want to do that now?

I have friends who play pickleball and God bless them for it, but my feet start bitching the moment I step out of bed in the morning.

Of course there’s the tried and true older person fall back fun stuff like Bridge, Maj Jong, Canasta and anything that involves sitting at a table and intermittently reaching for the nearby bowl of M&Ms or nuts.

In a new world one would think there are tons of new options available for golden yearers. Is all we can hope for the same old same old and videos of us dancing with our grandchildren on Instagram Reels?

Despite the fact a majority of seniors avail themselves of the new technology playing scrabble online can’t fill a day.

I am fortunate in that I play Roblox, whatever that is, with my grandsons online. I have no idea what I’m doing but as long as it’s with my boys I’m happy.

But what about the rest of the hours in a day?

Can we still find ways to feel relevant and in control?

Time to shift gears to optimistic here.

I say yes.

I truly believe there are more opportunities now than ever before.

I have been able to do things and achieve goals now I couldn’t before because of my age. So from a certain perspective there is definitely an upside to this aging thing.

I needn’t list the enormous variety of options available to fill our days, but a new one is definitely leaf peeping and yes that’s a real thing.

I guess the list is endless actually, but it does take a certain amount of commitment.

It’s great to have a group of friends who will inspire and force you to make plans and join in the fun.

I don’t pretend any ideas are new or revolutionary and haven’t been used for ages. It does seem though that there should be some new ones out there and that’s just it, there doesn’t seem to be any.

The options for filling our days are pretty much set in stone and in this exciting and scary new world, one would like to think there are new places to visit and new adventures to be had.

Space travel which I believed would be an option by now is unavailable, so I don’t think I’ll be joining Flash Gordon on Mars anytime soon.

Like most of us I thought it would be different this whole aging thing, but life is pretty much as expected.

Youth, careers, kids, grandkids, and arthritis.

Nothing much new there.

So is life actually predestined? If we reach a certain age can we hope for nothing more than our parents or grandparents were able to experience? Costco, walks in the mall, various activities and of course constant doctor visits. Even if you’re well.

What did I expect? I thought new and exciting times would exist for us, but nope, pretty much the same.

We do live longer and feel better now than our parents, so being able to fill our days with fun things to do should be easier.

When I look at life it’s pretty obvious we can be as busy or as idle as we choose and it’s up to us to decide.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but when once our problem was how to find any free time now it’s about finding ways to stay busy. Kinda upside down so maybe that’s why I feel discombobulated. I imagine the important take away is it doesn’t matter what we choose to do with our time, as long as we enjoy what we’re doing. But that’s really what it’s all about at any age, isn’t it?

Crunchy Apple Pork Chops in Cream Sauce

6 pork chop tenderloins or chops with bone in can also be used, but cooking time will increase.

2 apples (your choice) peeled, cored and sliced

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

2 cups heavy cream

1 cup flour seasoned with salt and pepper

1 ½ cups panko crumbs

1 ½ cups dried apple chips ground up well

1 tbsp butter

1 tablespoon of oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Season pork slices with salt and pepper and set aside

Put apple chips in the food processer and ground up well, but not too fine. Combine with panko crumbs.

Melt butter and oil in frying pan and dip pork into flour and pat off excess. Dip chops into beaten egg then into panko/apple mixture.

Add to frying pan and sear until golden brown. Remove from pan and place in oven at 350 degrees until internal temperature of 150 degrees is reached.

Add apples and cider to frying pan and sauté apples until fork tender and then add cream. Heat over low heat until cream reduces by one third. Taste sauce and add salt and pepper if necessary.

Add back pork into frying pan and cover with cream sauce and heat through two more minutes until all is combined and warm.

Serve over any pasta or rice or with a mashed potato.

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!!!

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 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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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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What We Need to be Real

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