Curses Foiled Again

My body and I have always had a love/hate relationship. Especially when it comes to food and exercise. In other words, any attempt on my part to “do” healthy was met with contempt and aggression. And a lot of swearing, mostly by my body.

I know most people are thinking, I know she’s nuts, but to separate herself from her body, do you think she’s completely lost it?

Probably. And if you look at the world around us now, I believe it’s justified. But as usual I digress so back to gressing.

It seems that in all the years we’ve been together my body and I have never been able to have a Zen moment. To find a common ground for understanding, love and peace. Lord, I sound like the old hippy in me has returned.

It’s just so unfortunate that two entities living in such close proximity never got along.

No matter what the discussion an argument ensued.

Me: That Oreo cookie looks so good, but oh well. I can’t eat it I’m on a diet.

My Body: Like I care? Shove it in your mouth right now sister and add six more to the mix.

Me: No way I haven’t broken my diet and I won’t.

My Body: I will hurt you and I will hurt you bad if there is not an Oreo in my mouth in two seconds.

Me: Do not threaten I’m the boss here.

OUCH! A sudden sharp pain in my head.

Me: Stop it!

Another pain.

My Body: Want more? Cause I can keep going like this all day until I get that cookie.

Six Oreos later I heard the laugh inside my head of a demented clown.

Don’t even start me on the battles I fought and pain I felt when I even tried to exercise. I heard more obscenity than when I try to zip my skinny jeans.

So how is it so easy for your body to win and how is it so much easier now that I’m older?

Isn’t my body aging along with me? Or is it still young and feisty from winning all the time?

Perhaps it has a desire for world domination. Maybe my body is power hungry? Well, we definitely know it is always hungry.

So in an effort to keep the peace, I’ve decided to just give in. Yep, if my body wants to run the world, go for it.

If my body wants Oreos or a cheeseburger, I say hip hip hurray! No arguments, no fighting, just fill my mouth with all the yummy food I have felt guilty about eating and fought to resist. Fill my hand with something grand!

But then suddenly something strange happened. When I stopped resisting, my body became more cooperative. We were getting along much better. No pains, no threats, no swearing. It was as if the Dali Lama took over my circulatory system.

Never one to accept success gracefully, I began to wonder what was going on? I was worried that my body was too broken down to fight. Or perhaps it was up to no good. A ploy to lure me into a state of confusion? Either way I had to find out.

All the peace and quiet was making me antsy. I tried to be antagonistic. I threw away a whole bag of Oreos and still nothing. No response, no demands. It was as if my body had lost its voice. It certainly was fueled by enough chocolate and carbs so what could be happening?

Oh it was up to something, but what?

Like all great debaters every conversation is an opportunity to disagree. So as soon as I gave in, my body opted out.

What no fight left in ya, huh? Scared of me I teased? I finally wore you down. Yet, like everyone who has done perpetual battle, the victory is short lived. No more mountains to climb, no more battles to fight, no more fun licking the middle out of an Oreo?

I felt a certain sadness at the diminished spunkiness of my former nemesis. Like seeing your old car die before your eyes. All the years it drove you where you needed to go and now suddenly kaput. Sad really.

I tried to perk it up a bit.

Oh boy, oh boy that Black Forest Cake looks yummy, but I shouldn’t have any.

Hmmm, silence.

Wow! A whole new bag of M&Ms and only me to munch on them. But I do have to get into that new blouse so none for me.

Crickets.

I smell pizza so I have to leave the room.

Death.

Now I’m really concerned. I’m carbo loading like a prize fighter and not even gaining any weight.

This is quite disconcerting. I’m used to walking by a bakery, smelling the bread and gaining two pounds.

Wake up I can’t stand anymore, I plead. I’ll eat everything you want, just fight with me. I implore you. I can’t enjoy anything unless you battle me over every morsel.

I was becoming depressed so I did what I always do when the corners of my mouth curve downward. I ate. And I continued eating until I gained five pounds.
I jumped off the scale in a state of gloom, ran for the kitchen and baked brownies. When I burned my tongue eating a forkful right out of the oven, I heard a strange noise.

A smug laugh emanating from somewhere inside me. I dropped the fork and realized I’d been played.

Curses, foiled again.

I hung my head and threw in the dish towel. I knew I’d lost the war.

Are You There, God? It’s Me Again.

I have a friend I’ve mentioned before, but to protect the innocent I shall refrain from using her name and instead call her D.

D and I have always agreed on most things. We both truly believe it’s imperative one live in state of gratitude. Every day should begin and end with a big thank you to the big boss.

I make it a habit not to break this rule because the one day I do may be the one I need the whole grateful thing the most. Or perhaps the head honcho will take it upon himself to remind me about the gratitude thing in a very unpleasant way.

D and I are of like mind. She has always spent a great deal of time with the thank you part and added the please, please, please part as well for good measure.

Every time God took off his Bose headphones, which he invented to drown out all our bitching and moaning, D’s voice greeted him immediately with the D prayer specialty, please, please protect everyone I love.

When we were young the pleas happened a few times a day. Of course there were other things to do back then that took preference over the whole constant prayer thing.

We had diapers to change, children to raise, meals to prepare, laundry to do, phone calls to return and husbands to placate.

At that point God pretty much took the few exchanges in stride. I’m sure in a strange way he was comforted by the way she felt the need to communicate each day.

Fast forward and now our duties are far fewer. Our children now believe they are raising us, carry out is the thing and returning calls are now a great many texts instead.

As our tasks grew fewer, D’s pleas increased exponentially. Her Please God communications took on a more desperate tone.

Have you seen this world lately? We all spend a great deal more time now on the what-the-hell-is-going-on-here part of life.

Of course we always worried about our loved ones, but that was then. And this is now, and in no way are those two worlds even related.

When we were kids, life was the opposite of today. We didn’t even lock our doors. We stayed out playing until the street lights went on and we could walk to school or a friend’s house many blocks away on our own.

Now we not only lock our doors, we have them bolted, alarmed and a gun within reach. I’m surprised Gucci hasn’t come out with a line of GG Uzis at its store on Rodeo Drive.

No kid can play safely outside unless someone is watching on constant alert. In big cities like New York and LA a dog is no longer safe from kidnapping on the streets. I sure wouldn’t want to be a French bulldog!

So I understand well the desperation in D’s voice when she begs please, please, please watch over my children and grandchildren.

Although I am making light of this urge to beg the Big Guy to pay attention, I think we all know what happens when God turns the other way, for even a second.

At this age we have seen too much and cried too many tears when those pleas go unanswered and the worst happens. I lost a close cousin to street crime many, many years ago and it’s still always a part of my psyche.

We still beg and cajole for protection from the enormous amount of evil that has infected the world. Now more than ever before.

So is it possible to make any significant difference in what the future holds living in a state of gratitude?

After all many people live in other states. Places like the state of denial or entitlement or it-can’t- happen-to-me land.

Sadly the bad stuff happens to everyone. Some of course more than others. Yet even those who purport to be above such occurrences usually face the inevitable truth that they are indeed merely mortal like the rest of us.

I imagine in the end it’s all about coping. A protective mechanism that allows us to believe we have some sort of power over our destiny. That begging for help from someone or something greater than us may somehow stem the tide of evil.

Intellectually we know bad stuff happens whether or not we pray, beg or deny reality. Yet something inside still wants to believe we can enforce some sort of control over our existence and the lives of those we love.

So is it helping as the world grows more dangerous each minute?

In a strange way for some it is. The need to believe is strong and helps us get through a day. We cannot underestimate the power of positive thinking despite whatever proof has been offered otherwise.

Believing someone hears our pleas offers us a respite from the constant stress living in a harsh and frightening world inflicts. It allows us a partner to watch our back in case it is turned at an inopportune moment.

I guess we will never know for certain whether our prayers and pleas have deterred any evil from coming our way, but we must take some small modicum of comfort in believing they will.

I imagine as the world becomes even more scary the more God will need those Bose headphones. I’m always hoping he can still hear us through the Janis Joplin songs he’s blasting in his ears.

If we learned anything as we grew older, it’s that one needs to do what one can to get through the day. If it takes some gratitude and begging, I say go for it. Wasn’t it God or one of his spokespeople who said, “Ask and ye shall receive?”

Please Protect My Depends From Evil

Please Protect Depends from Evil

There is no doubt in my mind I’m not the only one who has to hire Hercules to open my packages nowadays. Does anyone but me say nowadays nowadays? Anywho I was talking about trying to open packages I receive from online and buy in stores.

It seems there is a movement underway to prevent anyone over sixty from accessing their purchases.

Not only are packages impossible to open, I can’t even understand how you would even find the right place to start anymore.

They come in convoluted boxes and plastic covers that are almost impossible to expose. Does it open on the side, the top, or somewhere in between? Is this a Martian ploy to drive us all crazy and move in?

The configuration is completely foreign to me. So I wind up slicing through the entire box until I find a crease that will produce the contents. Or just try to find a scissors strong enough to cut the container apart. Maybe Robert Downey Jr. will loan me his Iron Man suit?

If these newfangled and I’m not sure anyone says newfangled anymore either, boxes are a challenge, let me tell you about the bubble wrapped ones covered in plastic. They are built to withstand a nuclear holocaust and along with the roaches will be the only things left intact after World War III.

I have tried to open them with scissors, obscenities, knives, rocket launchers, a crowbar and a prayer. Nope, nothing works.

Some do allow access if you bend the entire wrapping backward. Then you can almost see a slight opening only someone who works out every day could even pull back.

By the time I open these damn packages, I’m too weak to use what’s inside.

So I must ask myself, is this a plan to kill off old people and lower the population?

I have heard of certain cultures that believe if someone lives too long, they’re outta there. So is this the new way of ridding the planet of those who are past their prime?

Ah, so I see, it’s an old people test of some sort.

Like a carnival arcade game.

Open the wrapping and prove you are fit to stay on earth.

Hmmm? If this sounds like some dystopian plot, have you tried to open those new boxes from Amazon that use the same glue as NASA on its rockets?

Not only can we tear every muscle trying to open up a new can opener or bottle of make-up, we can also go mad trying to figure out which end is up. Or worse slice our hand off trying to cut the darn things open.

I have spent a lifetime trying to figure out which end is up and now, just when I think I mastered the test, there are these boxes.

Ah but who is behind this evil plot? Is it SPECTRE? Or Austin Powers? Come back to us Sean Connery. Come back!

Just like there are senior friendly caps on prescriptions shouldn’t there be the same for boxes? I mean we could check a box on the order whether or not we are old. If that box isn’t too small to see of course. Then they could send us easy open containers.

I don’t want to get all Gray Power about this, but don’t seniors have rights? Shouldn’t we be allowed to open boxes as easily as a body builder? Can’t they test to see if anyone but Arnold Schwarzenegger can open these containers?

Even a bagel has a plastic support invention to cut it open safely.

I guess I have to ask myself, who are they protecting my face cream from?

Is there some type of corporate espionage we don’t know about?

Is Charmin secretly ordering boxes of Northern Quilted to copy their softness secrets? My ass is flattered they care so much. Perhaps Proctor and Gamble is protecting my Oil of Olay so that Chanel can’t steal its anti-wrinkle formula.

You would honestly think the key to Fort Knox was in those boxes. Well the joke is on them because the U.S. is so broke they will have to go somewhere else to find any money now.

I understand merchandise must be protected from shoplifters. But now that’s it’s all under lock and key can’t they ease up a bit on the packaging? I mean is Metamucil really in danger of being stolen by a herd of constipated elephants?

Can an eighty-year-old woman really shove a giant size box of Depends into her purse?

Is there a run on cases of Ensure in drug stores? And could an old person really lift one?
But are these products designed to be protected in the stores? Or as I am prone to believe, from anyone opening them post purchase? Perhaps they should return to using the blue dye attachments that spray your face?

Corporations spend a fortune protecting products with unopenable boxes each year.

Just a thought here. Perhaps the money would be better spent installing metal detectors in every school in America to protect kids instead of Ex lax? Just saying.

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.

Laughing Into Old Age?

I often try to find humor in the whole aging process, and I imagine that’s still the best way to deal with all its challenges. Yet I must admit I sometimes find myself waxing philosophical about what this getting-old stuff truly means. It does take a bit of remembering on my part about the past. And an attempt to find some humor or irony in today’s reality.

I find it interesting that when you’re young you have so many plans. The years ahead seem to spread out like an endless tree-lined, sunny, winding road. Filled with possibilities and dreams that excite and delight you.

Summer seems light years away and school vacations can’t come soon enough. The time seems to drag on endlessly until your dreams are realized. And our dreams constantly changed. They went from a new bike or roller skates to a car, then college and grew into more lofty achievements.

And on it went. Agendas filled with adventures to explore, people to love, babies to have, trips to take, strangers to meet and goals to realize.

Each new day brought the possibility of another exciting wish to be achieved. Mornings were shiny, new and fresh with wonder.

Oh sure perhaps I’m remembering through rose colored glasses, but if that isn’t how we saw life, sadly we should have.

It’s so easy to look backward and say I didn’t know then, I never realized, I was so foolish.

And I imagine we all are when young. For that’s the caveat to life isn’t it? Wisdom can only be achieved through living and aging. Yet what happens when we age? When all that valuable wisdom becomes part of who and what we are?

I shall present an analogy I believe most will understand. Aging is like selling your house.

You don’t immediately put it up for sale, but most people go through a period of should we or shouldn’t we move. Sometimes it is a fast decision like a job transfer or health reasons. But when you begin to think about leaving your home something changes within your brain. You are no longer considering redoing the kitchen or adding that new deck. Perhaps it would be better to buy that new sofa for my next living room?

Your sense of permanence is gone and you are now in transit.

Between two worlds if you will.

Your goals change as well as your plans and so it is with aging.

In your sixties you still feel a sense of youth. After all you’re not in your seventies so although you are a bit older, you are content to believe sixty is the new fifty.

Nothing old about fifty. You still have time to do so many of those things you planned.

You continue to move forward organizing your life with a zest and determination to get things done.

Then suddenly you’re seventy and there is a shift. You tell yourself seventy is the new sixty and there is still plenty of time to travel, take up that hobby and remain active and busy. Optimism reigns supreme and you set out to move a bit more quickly toward realizing your dreams. After all people are living well into their nineties now.

And if physically you’re slowing down a bit, you don’t notice because mentally you are still young enough to keep going. You plow through determined to make it all work and enjoy every day.

Taking advantage of every minute becomes your new mantra and you are using each moment to the fullest.

Just before you enter your eighties you notice a slight shift. Your energy level is just a bit lower than it was when you began this trip through your seventies.

Still, you refuse to slow down and ignore any complaining from parts of your body that won’t get on board. Mentally you are still enthusiastic and refusing to admit to any slowdown in your ability to make the most of each day. There is a contentment in accepting things as they are.

Yet something is changing and you are feeling the pain of losing loved ones whose time is up. Family members, friends, acquaintances leave the party. You tell yourself that emptiness they left behind isn’t going to slow you down, but make you more determined to live every second to the fullest.

But every loss exacts a price and weighs on you whether you are aware of it or not.

Now you’ve reached eighty and suddenly you face a harsh reality. There is no way to sugar coat this age. You are simply not young anymore. But you keep moving forward. Now your goals have changed and you’ve shifted into a new phase. Suddenly those things you were so determined to accomplish don’t seem quite so urgent.

You play golf, though not as often. Feel a need to nap more often yet still plan trips, but now perhaps cruising would be a better idea.

You change your mind about buying new furniture for the living room and decide to put the money toward more travel. You really didn’t need that new living room chair. You’ve reached the point where you realize yes, you are moving and that new deck is no longer necessary. You ignore the fact you don’t make long-range plans. You refuse to stop but keep going despite that bad knee acting up regularly.

Your limitations come flooding over you like a broken pipe in a basement, and now fully understand the expression, “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”

You talk with your friends a great deal about memories and constantly ask, where did the time go?

The world seems a much unfriendlier place and you see and hear things and people you never could’ve imagined would exist.

And although you are old, the world seems all new and different somehow.

So you embrace it and use your computer and cell phone, you jump into life with a renewed wonder of all that is now suddenly possible.

And you begin to realize it isn’t bad to grow old, even with its challenges you still feel lucky.

You live in a new state of gratitude at being able to enjoy your grandchildren and watch them grow.

Growing old becomes a good thing, a blessing and a gift. Sure we all wish we could stay young and vital, but would you really want to live it all over again? And no, we wouldn’t know then what we know now. That’s the cosmic joke played on us all.

But it’s okay because as long as we’re around to laugh at it, all is good!

Carpe Diem my friends, take a deep breath and soak in all the joy. There is still much more to come and many dreams to achieve.

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.

Redecorating My Home in Modern Pharmacy Decor

The other day as I was picking up my prescriptions at Walgreen’s and checking out the cane selection I suddenly stopped. Out of nowhere it occurred to me that I had accumulated more medical supplies than an Urgent Care.

The thought truly caused my head to spin with the knowledge how much of my home space was now covered in pills, pill holders, canes and a walker, which I hesitate to throw away in case my other knee refuses to work. My refrigerator is filled with gel-filled masks and under-eye patches, a freezer full of ice packs and bathroom drawers filled with pain patches, band aids, gauze, ace bandages to fit every part of my body, creams, lotions and gels for all and any ailment imaginable in the human condition.

And lest we forget the ready supply of heating pads, heating booties, around the neck microwavable heat pillows and anything that will warm and fit around all body parts. And heaven forbid we go to bed without our night guard to protect our fragile teeth.

Yet truly I’m healthy. Do people who are ill have to move into larger homes to accommodate all their medical supplies?

I never really noticed all this paraphernalia because unless you need it who pays attention?

But now that I’m paying attention, I’m asking myself, “What the Hell?”

Forget the cost of all this equipment, what stuns me is when did my life switch from English bone China, fabulous clothes, drooling over gorgeous jewelry and handbags to “Oh boy, there’s a two-for-one sale on Tums today?”

When did I stop shopping for relaxing spas and start filling my house with heartburn meds and probiotics?

When did my life change from Xbox to ex lax?

When does your husband switch from picking up flowers to picking up your prescriptions?

When did my stomach become less about Spanx and more about stool softeners?

So of course I had to take a beat to ponder about how much life had changed. How much the different stages of our lives can be sized up by simply glancing around one’s home and the items in abundance.

When you are single your closets are filled with high-heels, fabulous bags and the latest styles.

Now it’s about what shoes don’t kill your feet and a bag that won’t be too heavy to carry when filled.

In the children stage you had baby gear, then teen objects. Then when they left for college it was, oh boy room for more stuff now.

And what was the stuff? Tennis racquets, golf clubs, swimming gear, beachwear and lots of SPF creams. Suitcases for travel and brochures for Europe, cruises and proof of wanderlust.

Then came your grandchildren and your home was suddenly filled once again with toys, diapers and kid stuff.

It is apparent that there is a constant change of cycles occurring except for one sad fact.

The one where your house is suddenly a medical supply store won’t revert back to toys and travel brochures ever again.

You have become brutally aware that elasticity has nothing to do with your skin now, but something to wrap around a sore knee or elbow.

One of my kitchen counters now replicates my mother’s house and is filled with meds to take each day.

It happens so subtly we aren’t even aware it’s happening. Then boom, one day we’re wandering around CVS thinking, gosh I spend a lot of money here. And even sadder a lot of time.

So what are we to do to keep our age stuff from literally driving us out of our own home?

Would putting it in pretty containers hide its purpose? Would trying to limit it all to only a few select spaces in your home avoid having to see it as a constant reminder that the toys and high heel portion of life concluded while we weren’t looking?

Maybe there are some unique and clever ways to hide the “stuff” from our constant gaze. Perhaps we could make it look less intrusive and fill drawers instead.

Yet, just as when we were young so many of us had to keep stuff “just in case,” so it is now.

Sure, you don’t need that walker from your knee surgery, but what if you fall? You don’t need the drug store stash of stomach meds and wound healing equipment, but what if? I mean if you cut yourself are you going to run out and buy gauze at that moment? No, and that stuff was always in your home in case your kids scraped a knee, or you injured yourself cutting a bagel. Or that new pair of shoes was causing a blister on your heel.

Yet why does the, it’s just there in case, feel so unsettling when once it felt reassuring?

On the positive side all those meds we pop each day help us live longer and experience a higher quality of life. So why am I ranting about having it around?

I’m pretty sure it’s because it’s another reminder of Father Time crashing my party. I need a bouncer to throw his tired old ass out.

I know we need this stuff, but I guess I’d just feel a whole lot better if I didn’t have to see it everywhere.

Perhaps those pretty containers are actually a good idea. Might we feel younger leaning on a Prada cane or a Fendi walker?

Guess I’ll pull out some of the pretty dishes I’ve stowed away and find a new use for them. One must do what one can to feel young these days. All ideas are welcome here so if you can think of some please share.

While I’m at it I think I’ll smash the ten-times magnifying mirror. No good can ever come from looking into that evil invention!

Staying Relevant Isn’t Irrelevant Anymore

Staying Relevant Isn’t Irrelevant Anymore

Okay, so I had always believed as you age you gain wisdom. You get smarter and more savvy about the human condition and even stop making silly mistakes.

I am now extremely puzzled because it seems all those conclusions I had previously drawn, were sadly incorrect.

I now find myself in a constant state of puzzlement and confusion.

It turns out I’m not as smart as I’d hoped to become, and now instead I’m more befuddled than ever.

So many things I never thought I’d have to deal with and yet here they are. Mostly, how to stay relevant? I mean as we age it seems our lives change in extraordinary ways.

One day we’re speaking English to our grandchildren and the next they are speaking in tongues. Using words I can’t comprehend and the ones I do sort of recognize have taken on new meanings.

I guess it’s now a compliment among kids to say “you ate.” To them it means you did great or you blew it up. Another concept I always deemed rather negative. Blowing up something didn’t that used to mean buildings or something? And that’s good?

Also, if memory serves me saying, “you ate” would usually imply “wow you are looking bloated. I see you ate.”

Get my drift? Nothing positive there.

But now I’m supposed to be flattered when someone says I “ate.” It’s definitely a strange new world.

They say learning a new language is good for the brain at our age. Maybe learning teen speak will turn out to be a positive after all.

So besides understanding what your grandchildren are talking about how else can we stay relevant.

I have recently learned to play chess with my grandsons. Not too easy when you are trying to fight off a Queen with a King with arthritis and your brain screaming, “Hey take it easy I’m not as sharp as I used to be!”

Where I once watched cooking segments on You Tube my grandsons and I now watch a group of guys doing difficult sports shots and contests called Dude Perfect. They are super funny, but I never expected to be watching guys who throw balls out of an airplane trying to land on some target.

There is also someone called Mr. Beast on You Tube. I hear he’s richer than Rockefeller from blowing up Ferraris. Okay, I don’t get that one at all.

Trying to fight back I coerced my grandson into watching golf with me. I felt I had won one for the Gipper.

Of course I know that language and phrases change with each generation, but I don’t remember having to provide a translation book for my grandparents. From what I recall we pretty much spoke the same language and they were from Europe!

Or perhaps they didn’t understand what I was saying, but were hard of hearing so it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever the reason it just seems trying to stay part of the world today is a difficult task. Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok, streaming channels? Who am I, Tesla?

I adamantly believe it is social changes that do make it somewhat easier to remain relevant today.

After all, few women worked outside the home. Ultimately, they went from housewife to grandmother to caregiver.

Now many women stay productive and active well into their seventies and eighties, some even nineties.

Men still play golf and play with their grandchildren. Although many now have found pickleball to be a viable alternative or addition to their activities.

Grandmas, if they are blessed with good health teach cooking classes. And believe it or not many men have discovered the fun of culinary endeavors. Seniors join wine clubs and even travel to Europe on wine excursions. All I ever knew about wine was it was sweet and syrupy and we had it on Friday nights and holidays.

My mother hit the beauty parlor once a week for her manicure and hairdo and drove to my house daily to ensure I was taking proper care of her grandchildren.

That was pretty much her schedule until she rediscovered Maj Jong.

My father went to my brother’s business every day, and tried to understand and comprehend the complexities of the new world and heights to which my brother had lifted his former business. Not always easy for the two of them as they were speaking a different language as well.

Yet my father tried to be a valuable sounding board and help my brother any way he could.

This was his way of staying relevant.

For me it’s always been super important to be busy and discovering new adventures and challenges.

One of the most difficult acknowledgements in this process is accepting the fact that you may now be faced with certain limitations. If not mental than certainly physical.

Despite some who age amazingly well, many others face limitations. They are faced with the inescapable fact that they will never be able to run a marathon, walk for miles, even stay up past midnight without a nap.

The spirit as they say may be quite willing, but the body can fight you like you’re going ten rounds with Tyson.

I envy my friends who play pickleball or have the stamina to play eighteen holes of golf. Even those able to stand in the kitchen all day prepping and cooking without the help of Motrin.

So, I choose to engage in less physical activities.

I have now embraced TikTok, and with the help and support of my grandsons have secured over 101,000 followers playing something called Roblox, which is pretty much an online XBox or Atari.

Yes, I am a nerd and now I wear it proudly. On Roblox and Tik Tok I am exploring new frontiers and spending more quality time with my boys.

I’d love to be like Iris Apfel who died at 102 as an active and reigning fashion icon. Or William Shatner still actively seeking new worlds.

I really believe everyone has to define their own way to stay relevant. Still, I’m certain if one searches, they will find some fun and unexpected new adventures await them, whatever their age.

How Chocolate Will Keep You From Aging Revealed

Sorry, that headline is a lie. Chocolate won’t keep you young, but it will keep you happy. Since the word old is often used in a negative sense, implying ancient, outdated and decrepit, we all need some happy.

I’m starting to think someone should add my name to that definition list.

It’s just of late I’ve started to really feel my age.

True, there is the possibility that I’ve previously used rationalizations like I didn’t sleep enough last night or the weather is making me so tired etc. etc. But I have come to accept that excuses simply don’t cut the mustard. And by the way what does that expression mean anyway? I can’t imagine how old and stale someone’s mustard must have been to need to cut it before serving. But I digress, also probably a part of getting old.

Thankfully I believe my mind is still a teenager, but my body seems to be channeling Methuselah in his later years.

So what can anyone do to postpone old age?

Is there any way to regain strength and vitality?

If, as some claim food plays a part in the aging process, is it time to forego the snacks I’ve eaten and enjoyed my entire life?

I shall begin with chocolate. If I give up sugar will I feel younger, or will it just seem like the days are longer without that Cadbury egg?

Does diet really change the dynamic of aging? I have no idea so I checked into it and I will save you the trouble of having to google all that crap.

According to Cleveland Clinic these are some of the side effects of sugar; weight gain, acne breakouts, reaching for multiple snacks, mood swings and irritability, lack of energy, craving more sugar and tossing and turning and tossing at night.

After checking out the list I have to say that at my age acne is not enough to make me consider giving up Godiva. If you want me to give up mother’s milk you have to do better than that.

Okay, so I continued and it says reaching for multiple snacks. But it doesn’t say that the snacks you are reaching for are necessarily Cheetos. What if you’re reaching for an apple? So that would be a good thing, right?

Weight gain? Oh Boo Hoo. I’ll never wear a bikini again? That possibility ended when I discovered that there wasn’t a strap strong enough to hold up my breasts.

Besides I haven’t worn a bikini since 1971.

Okay, I’m still waiting for that magic bullet that will scare me off the sacred cocoa bean.

Hmmm, mood swings and irritability.

I thought that occurs because I can’t remember why I walk into the bedroom to find something and can no longer remember what it is. Or because it now takes ten minutes to straighten up after sitting in a chair.

Sure there is irritability when I look into the mirror and see my mother’s wrinkled face staring back at me. Who the heck wouldn’t be irritable, so stop blaming it on chocolate.

It also says that if you consume sugar, you crave even more. Let’s see. Allow me to do the math. You have a package of Oreos with three sleeves of cookies and you eat one whole sleeve. What are the odds you will wake up the next day and want another sleeve?

I’d bet my last farthing it’s one million to one I’m downing that other sleeve for breakfast with a cold glass of milk as a healthy side.

And now we get to the big one. Loss of energy. Funny I always thought sugar gave you energy. Yes, I know the comedown from a sugar high can be pretty brutal. Still after I’ve come down it’s time for my afternoon nap, so it works out great. At least I had some yummy chocolate while I was awake.

So far I’m not convinced food is the answer and we can blame sugar for all those things.

According to one expert, and aren’t they all, genetic factors and lifestyle choices, such as smoking, diet and alcohol consumption, can also impact aging. However, the expert said bad sleep is the biggest impetus to faster aging.

Okay I promise I’ll be diligent about sneaking in a nap every day. When I think how I fought against sleep as a kid I laugh. Now I’m in my jammies and ready for beddy bye as soon as I come back from the early bird special.

Some say exercise is the magic bullet. Tell that to my aching hip when I try to simply stand in the kitchen and cut up a pineapple.

And I have to say if one more expert says it’s all about fiber, I will pour a box of Fiber One down his throat with a quart of almond milk. Let’s see how he likes spending all his remaining days in the bathroom?

It is also written on the all-knowing google that you have certain aging spurts at different times in your life. Apparently, the biological aging process isn’t steady and accelerates periodically, and wait for it—the greatest bursts come, on average at 34, 60 and 78.

Yep, I definitely noticed I was feeling much older at 34 than at 33. It’s coming back to me now how much harder it was to chase around two children at 34. At sixty I don’t remember much about how I felt except damn depressed about turning sixty.

Facing 78 soon I’m thinking maybe there is something to that age spurt thing because I’m noticing a bit more resistance on my body’s part. Like when I say, “okay let’s go to the mall, walk around and shop,” my body hides the car keys. So maybe there’s some truth to that one.

Despite just the experts’ opinions there is the fact my friends are saying they are feeling a bit older these days. They claim their stamina is now successfully hiding somewhere in Greenland or Australia, but I think I’ve solved the aging conundrum.

Since I do admit to a slight sense of foreboding a week or two before my birthdays akin to what the Japanese must have felt as the atom bomb started dropping, perhaps we are overlooking the obvious.

The real culprit here is depression; that’s what ages us.

And no, I don’t want to hear all that malarky about you should be so happy just to be getting older.

That’s like saying, “Aren’t crow’s feet great? They really add a new dimension to your face.”

I’m sure we’re all grateful to be getting older and actually I’m not certain I’d have the strength to do this whole exhausting ride over again. Yet there is a sadness about watching the years pass.

And as optimistic as we’d like to be, birthdays are bittersweet.

We all wish we had the ability to run after our grandchildren like we did our kids.

That our metabolism hadn’t passed away ten years ago, and our feet actually could touch the ground without pain again. And the big one, that the loved ones we’ve lost could still be with us.

But at the end of the day, we must play the hand we’re dealt. I guess the truth is some of us age better than others. Is it luck, lifestyle or genetics and does it matter?

Still, it’s true old age isn’t for sissies and we must roll with the punches.

The only difficulty with that solution is how long it takes to get up after all that rolling.

But the good news is: You will never be younger than you are today. So just open a box of Godiva and enjoy the ride. What the hell, you’ve already paid for your ticket.

Frumpy to Fabulous-Just Get Your Brim On

Okay so you are having a bad hair day. But your make up is stellar. Your chins aren’t sagging as much as usual and that new cream is definitely helping your forehead lines. Your bloat is minimal and your confidence level is actually climbing above the tenth floor with a bullet.

And then suddenly, there it is; that horrible frizzy, root-tint needing, yucky haircut aggravation covering the top of your head.

Oy! If you look below your hairline you are fabulous, but lift those eyes and they want to roll back in your head.

The ultimate frumpy do. It screams bad hair day with a marching band in tow. What to do?

Okay, so I spent many years of my life pondering this quandary and settled for leaving the house with C- hair and an A made-up face.

Years ago I read a wonderful column by the late writer Erma Bombeck. She said every woman reaches a time in her life called the purple hat stage. It quite simply said that at some point it’s no longer worth the grief and to simply throw on a purple hat and greet the world with a smile.

I have now reached that time. I have far too little moments left in my lifetime bank account to spend it fighting with my hair.

However, I will not go gently or stylishly lacking into that purple hat stage of my life.

So I have begun to fill my closet with a cadre of fabulous hats.

Straws, wools, cloches, fedoras, but no berets or knit caps, not a flattering look on me.

I find most of them on sale and scout the better department stores to wait for sales until I pull out my credit card. After all it’s not like you need a hat immediately like a defibrillator.

Hats have changed my life.

I went from frumpy to fabulous, by plopping a fedora over my unmanageable locks.

No matter how horrible my do, I do not have to worry.

I simply don a hat and suddenly I am Greta Garbo, mysterious and intriguing and set apart from the crowd.

I am quite simply a woman of mystery. This is only because I live in America, in England not so much. They all wear them there.

The strange thing is that most women do look really good in a hat. I think it’s the way you wear it also that creates an aura.

A slight tip to one side adds some pizzazz. Lower on your forehead adds to the mystery. With a pair of sunglasses, the paparazzi will be chasing you down Beverly Hills streets.

I am not here to sell you hats of course. I just can’t believe what a difference they’ve made in my day.

You feel confident, unusual and glamorous and all without changing a thing about yourself.

I realize younger women with glorious, glowing locks have no need to cover even one hair, but at a certain age a woman’s hair thins and changes texture, and dare I say it, turns gray.

With my new hats roots are no longer a problem. Less time with goopy gobs of color on my head and more time to shop and meet friends, write, spend quality time with my grandsons and do charity work.

Hats not only enhance your looks, they add time to your life that is priceless.

Looking great is just a perk and one I’ll gladly embrace.

The real beauty of wearing a hat is that it allows you to be whomever you choose to be. Hats come in so many styles and colors you can change your mood with your head covering.

Shall I wear a wide brimmed model and be an international spy? Or perhaps a French cloche with a Coco Chanel vibe?

Or am I in the mood for a beachy, huge sunhat that protects me from any stray UV ray looking for a place to land?

I can wear a fur headband and look like I just left the slopes in Gstaad or a fun fascinator and look like I am headed for the Savoy for high tea.

Hats can take you from frumpy to fabulous in a matter of minutes. However, there is a caveat. You must commit to a hat for if you plan to take it off at any point in the day or evening, you’ll need a plan B. Hair will not be improved by the wearing.

But that’s even easy. Just pop it back on and you are fabulous again. So go hat shopping and find the particular style that enhances your features and creates the mood you are seeking.

Be all you can be and more and face the world with your brim on.

Easy Cabbage Casserole

1 head of cabbage

1 large bottle of tomato juice

1 can of tomato puree

1 cup of brown sugar

1 tsp sour salt

1 pound of ground beef

1 small onion

1 tsp salt

½ tsp pepper

½ tsp onion powder

3 cups of rice cooked

Wash and cut up cabbage and set aside.

Sauté onion in a tablespoon of oil until soft.

Add salt and pepper and one cup of cooked rice to raw beef and set aside.

Mix together tomato juice and puree. Add brown sugar and sour salt. Taste to ensure you have the sweet and sour taste you like. If taste needs adjusting add more sugar or sour salt until you are happy with flavor.

Spray deep casserole dish and place a layer of puree mix on bottom. Add a layer of cabbage and then ground beef layer and then top with puree. Continue until puree is covering top of casserole.

Cover with foil and bake at 350 for an hour or until cabbage and beef are cooked.

Serve with rice and Enjoy!

Published by normazagercom

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

We Got This. Or Do We?

Has anyone has ever noticed a person’s face eating an ice cream cone? Pure bliss and happiness with each lick. Ice cream makes everyone happy, but there is something different about ice cream in a cone.

Whether or not one realizes it, eating an ice cream cone is a study in contradiction. Despite the enormous pleasure a good ice cream cone can bring, and I’ve yet to meet a bad one, it comes with certain challenges.

The greatest of these is to ensure the ice cream doesn’t fall out of the cone. It’s a balancing act of sorts but the prize is well worth the effort.

Even eating an Oreo cookie presents scrutiny. Should you eat both sides at once, break it open and lick the middle or eat both sides separately trying to balance the amount of filling on each half? Yes, I know everything I seem to relate to starts with food.

So how do we make certain our precious scoop or scoops are protected from landing on the curb? Or eat an Oreo?

Okay, here’s the real point I’m making…in every moment of pleasure there is risk. Most of the time we just “got this,” without focusing too much. Choices must be made to ensure the best reward.

Yet why is it that the risks these days seem out of balance with the rewards? Something is off kilter and we are walking sideways.

Even something as simple as licking an ice cream cone must be done with care to ensure against loss. While we’re enjoying our treat, we don’t realize we’re being challenged unless we look down and ice cream is covering our shoe. Yet now we are suddenly aware we are teetering with cones or cookies.

Are we really aware of this delicate balance as we live our lives each day? Often dwelling too long in the mundane tasks that fill up our moments and became a part of who and what we are.

The things we’ve come to depend on for consistency, but truly mean very little to our well-being.

Reading the morning paper, sorting through laundry, making a grocery list no one sticks to anyway or playing Wordle. These aren’t earth shattering events in our day, but they give us a sense of continuity and a certain harmony.

We aren’t aware how much we need these habits until we find our world disrupted. Perhaps this is where the true challenge for human beings takes on a life of its own.

Despite our feelings of security, we are not. Yet this is something we all have learned to tune out, to ignore and lock away. We must or our entire day would be spent in fear and anxiety.

We need to feel whole and in control. The fact that one little shift in gravity would mean the entire world being destroyed doesn’t enter our mind. We won’t allow that to happen because we have set up a perimeter and bad thoughts aren’t allowed inside. The crime tape border of our well-being.

We are so certain the earth will continue on an even keel the fact it could spin out of control is irrelevant because “we got this.”

Yet suddenly we humans are facing a new challenge. One that is not so easy to ignore and is making us a bit antsy. We are a bit off kilter these days and searching for our sense of equilibrium.

Oh we fight that feeling every day and tell ourselves, I’ve got this, but inside we’re feeling off somehow.

Where our usual grasp on life was steady and in double digits it seems to be slipping and something is there deep in the pit of our stomach where foreboding lives.

So how do we handle the fact our steps seem wobbly and not feeling as safe or sure on our feet?

How do we convince ourselves it will all turn out fine, so we can go back to reading our paper and sorting laundry as though it mattered?

We humans don’t do well when faced with danger or life is lopsided. We’re not hyenas galloping through the Serengeti Plains in Africa, unaware we are about to become a dinner entrée for some lion. We’re a higher life form, we have a brain, well most of us anyway. Despite having the brains, sadly we don’t always choose to use them.

It is precisely when intelligence and logic is lacking and absent from our lives that we feel the most off balance. Suddenly nothing makes sense any longer and a weird feeling in our gut registers, “Danger Will Robinson.” So if Robbie the Robot is warning us, what do we do?

Despite all of our best coping mechanisms a strange sensation remains and it’s left to us to discern the solution. We know something is off, we just feel it.

After all this mumbo jumbo have I brought you here to offer no help? No, but I can’t be totally certain it will work.

For perhaps the first time in our lives our fight or flight mechanism is triggered all the time.

Flight is no solution for there is nowhere to run.

Now fight is the only way to get our balance back.

Let’s face it; we’re extremely bothered by the state of our nation and our world. Although we are only one person, in this we share a single goal. To restore order to our lives. To face what is confronting us every day and restore calm and harmony. We know life isn’t right, or the way it should be and we feel it continually.

We need to open ourselves to the reality of our situation and understand what is to be done.

As any psychiatrist will tell you, the first step toward healing is admitting there is a problem.

Facing that fact will help us get our power back.

It will force us to look for answers, seek out others who feel as we do, take the risks we must to restore our equilibrium.

Abraham Lincoln famously said, “You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”

We are not fooled by those who would disrupt and corrupt our world. We see them, we know them. How we stop them is the real question. We are only one person against a hostile world. How do we walk straight again? Sure, this time it’s trickier, but in the end it’s imperative that we got this. And we will!

Perhaps while you’re pondering the answer a double scoop ice cream cone might help you think.

Mel Brooks and the IDF The Greatest Jewish Weapons

Recent media would lead one to believe a Jewish man by the name of Oppenheimer created the most powerful weapon in the universe.

Okay, it was good or maybe not so good, but Jews have always had the most powerful weapon necessary to ensure their survival. A sense of humor.

Every family has an Uncle Saul who believes if he could get out of the family room and onto a stage in Las Vegas he’d surpass Shecky Green by miles. He always has the latest jokes, a comment about Aunt Rose’s brisket and he hides the afikomen so well no one has ever found it until the house was sold and the new owners remodeled.

It wasn’t important if you were laughing with Uncle Saul or at him, the point is there was laughter.

This has sustained the Jews and always will.

Just add the IDF to the equation and no one can defeat us.

In the Bible it is written that the army who carries the Ark of the Covenant before it is invincible.

I believe that along with the pieces of the Ten Commandments locked inside it, there is also Myron Cohen’s best Jew jokes from the Ed Sullivan years.

Now in a time of great pain and suffering for Jewish people and the risk of destruction coming from all continents on earth, is it possible to find humor in anything?

Can we laugh at the atrocities committed by Hamas who is now a big favorite with Jew haters all over the world?

Can we laugh at the fact our Jewish children are no longer safe in colleges and universities across this country?

Can laughter sustain us when we realize the country we have loved and supported our whole lives is now as welcoming to Jews as Nazi Germany?

Or the fact that one day soon we might all face a modern day Anatevka of our own?

So I suppose the question that has been on my mind is: “So where is Mel Brooks when we need him?” Is there a modern comedian today who can fill his shoes or even wants to?

Who has the guts to take on a Hitler, a Haman, a Hamas or a Torquemada?

Who is proud enough of being a Jew that they would sacrifice the ridicule from their antisemitic friends to stand up and make us laugh? Sadly some of these antisemites are actually Jewish.

World War II had weapons and even at the end one of mass destruction.

Nothing in history has been as great a weapon against the mustached lunatic than Springtime for Hitler. Dancing girls in Swastika formation marching and singing, every Jew laughed until he cried. And the tears were cathartic. Even now as we are trying to heal from these latest attacks on our people, we must not be afraid to laugh. Laugh so hard we cry and the crying cleanses us.

When Mel Brooks took an enemy down, he did it without mercy and he was our greatest general.

We need Mel now. We need him to take down Hamas and allow us to laugh at their insanity and evil.

Laughter and the IDF are the weapons that will ensure the Jewish people survive this latest horror and continue to prosper as a people.

Some may say it’s too soon, but is it ever? If laughter is one our greatest weapons, why would we hesitate to use its force against this new and imminent threat to our people.

I’m sure Mel would do a piece on the Hamas leader hold up in a five-star hotel in Qatar complaining about the room service not having any bacon for his cheeseburger. Perhaps he might have him flirting with the server and trying to convince her to join him for a costume party where he dresses up as Amal Clooney. Maybe Mel would have him posing in women’s clothing as a closet gay man playing with Barbie dolls and dressing them in Burqa bikinis while he tries on bras.

Or maybe he would have to move to a much larger hotel room to hide and store all the food and supplies he is stealing from the Gazans Israel is flying in to them.

I’m sure he would look like Dick Shawn in blue Jeans, a Campbell soup can around his neck and a flower behind his ear.

As ridiculous and stupid as any evil maniac should be portrayed, Mel could do this like no one else. I can’t even try to imagine how funny it would be. He could make us laugh at this monster and reduce him down to the size of a cockroach small enough to step on. And that is the point.

Jewish people must never get caught up in this new mentality that making fun of and with people is wrong. That laughing at ourselves is not a great way to deal with our flaws and that although the world is against us, laughter will still serve as our greatest weapon against evil.

It is the ideal way to point out the stupidity, horror and savagery of the malevolent among us and cut them down to size.

Evil has no sense of humor. Once someone exorcises jollity from their spirit, they align themselves with idealogues and maniacs that take existence and their own craziness too seriously. They can’t condone humor and only live to serve their own evil agendas.

Jewish people need laughter as well as the IDF. We need our comedians, even our Uncle Sauls who can put a bagel on his nose and sing a chorus of Hava Nagila without dropping it.

Humor is a gift meant to be opened when all else fails to work to keep us going. It’s the way Jews have survived the ages and will again.

I pray Mel Brooks comes to our rescue and if he is not able to do so, we must pray our new hilarious Jewish comics, and there are many out there, will be able to carry on. I’m certain Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David are up to the task and could fill Mel’s shoes.

And believe me those are some pretty giant shoes to fill.

I Have No Words

How many times have you repeated the expression, I have no words?

I seem to find myself using it more and more in so many situations. Far more than ever before.

It’s really a very versatile expression when you think of how much it covers.

It can be a compliment. After you’ve expressed every adjective in the book to describe how fabulous your grandchildren are, I have no words would cover whatever you’ve left out.

It can be used when one is surprised. “Oh you’re kidding. They ran away together. I never even thought they liked one another.” I have no words is the perfect follow up to express your shock.

Let us not forget how perfect I have no words becomes when you are disgusted and frustrated by politicians or some outrageous act by a government official.

Sadly, it also serves to cover your sorrow when a loved one or friend is suffering.

And this is my point. I seem to have run out of words lately. I suppose at my age that might be an age-related situation, but I can’t seem to find the right language anymore to cover how I feel about all the craziness I witness each day.

I wonder, is it me, or has the world seriously gone crazy and I’m left without the proper vocabulary to define this new insanity.

If that is the case, I imagine I can’t be blamed for a lack of language to describe the indescribable.

I’d like to believe my memory is as efficient as ever, although I know that may be a bit of wishful thinking on my part, but I do find myself at a loss for words more often.

Where once when a teen I looked forward each night at six o clock to hear Goodnight Chet, Goodnight David after the Huntley-Brinkley report on NBC News, now I recoil with fear at news reports.

There is no one to take their glasses off like Cronkite anymore. His way of letting me know he is about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

I no longer want to hear any of it. But when Cronkite said it, at least I knew it to be true.

Knowing I wanted to be a reporter at a very early age, I became a news junkie before most of my generation. When I got home from school there was very little programming to watch so I watched the McCarthy Hearings or HUAC the House Un-American Activities Committee.

Now I’m not implying that at eight years old I fully understood what was happening or what a red scare was, but I sensed the importance of what I was watching. The seriousness of the tone, the accusatory nature, the senators leaning over and whispering led me to believe there was definitely something consequential going on there.

I imagine that’s when I began to find journalism so intriguing. Reporters were in the room, they were commenting afterward on the proceedings, they had a voice. I wanted that voice.

So now that I have a voice, I can no longer find the words. They elude me at a time when it’s most important I am able to use them.

Use them to say how frightening this world has become.

How sad I am for my children and grandchildren.

How guilty I feel for my generation not doing a better job creating a better world to leave behind.

How horrified I am by the atrocities evil performs against the innocent.

How clueless and immoral politicians are while the country burns and they seek only their own selfish agendas.

How upside down life has turned until it’s almost impossible to discern right from wrong or good from evil any longer.

How truth has been relegated to someone’s own point of view, whether it’s right or wrong.

Where do I find the words to speak the horror I feel because there are no words to cover today’s world.

It would be so easy to say it’s unspeakable, but for someone who has valued language their whole life, isn’t that a cop out?

Isn’t it too easy to simply throw one’s hands up in the air and in defeat say, I have no words?

Yet in truth I have to admit words can no longer express what we are living, feeling or seeking to escape.

If we could find the words or invent new ones, would that even change the state of affairs we are distraught about now?

What can you say to someone who has twisted and turned truth into a pretzel of wickedness?

How do you communicate with someone who can’t discern good from evil?

How do you speak intelligently to the stupid?

How can you have a conversation with a zombie mind that has been brainwashed and indoctrinated to absorb insane, intolerant and hateful ideas?

This is what words have come to…a useless flow of language out of one’s mouth without meaning or substance.

A futile effort to relate to others who have been brainwashed in malevolence.

Where have the words of kindness and tolerance been buried?

How have words of compassion and love for another human being been erased?

How will the twisted brains taught by the immoral be undone?

With my voice I can now only ask questions. Questions for which I have no answers.

I still believe the world should be made up of balance.

Question, answer, that is how it’s been done up to now. What can rational good people do to get the balance back?

Has language been so corrupted and twisted good people will ultimately find it impossible to undo the perversion?

Is the planet to continue spinning out of control on an axis of hatred and wickedness?

Would that I could find the language to solve these problems. To restore hope and optimism into a beleaguered world.

Tragically, I have no words.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birds Don’t Sing in Beverly Hills

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ouch Monster Strikes at Night

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

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

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

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

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

So what happened during the night?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless one chooses to believe the mattress is attacking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Et tu Ouch Monster?

We Must Fight to Keep the Shopping Gene Alive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These things don’t happen online.

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

Our shopping gene needs visual contact with the merchandise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s a shopping gene? Puzzled emoji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LOLOL emoji sent back.

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

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

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things like answering the door for the cleaning service.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So take that Gluteus Maximus because Baby Boomers never quit!

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

Can You Cut the Line at the Pearly Gates?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But is this actually the reason for current world problems?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tripping The Light Not So Fantastic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And heaven forbid there is no railing.

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

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

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

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

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

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

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

Let’s examine this piece of sage advice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

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

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

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

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

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

Peace Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll and a

Piece of Apple Pie

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

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More than anything we need to love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Promises Promises! Where is my Beep Beep Rosie?

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

Where was our virtual reality when we were young?

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

So how does it feel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a video game on steroids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Heating Pad Myself

My Heating Pad Myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I disagree. And I agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like a party.

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

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

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

My back relaxes and my bruises start to purr.

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

I come in the house and I run to it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That seems to be how it lays out.

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

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

She was in rehab for one year.

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

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

I Saw Goody Proctor Consorting With a Tomato Worm

I saw Goody Proctor Consorting with a Tomato Worm

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Each person has their own pet peeves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, we are told human beings are quite adaptable.

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

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

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

Technology we can’t even understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do We Stop Living Before We Die?

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

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

That was for my grandparents and the elderly.

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

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

Can it be that I’m old?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But didn’t it actually?

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

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

I think not.

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

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

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

YUCK! It wasn’t a pleasant realization.

Suddenly we were all talking about our health.

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

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

But something had happened to us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I suppose there are two ways of looking at this.

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

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

simply move forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what can we do to undo the damage?

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

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

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

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

A private tour company might be best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s getting old fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you mean my latte isn’t ready?

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

It is unbelievable how spoiled we are.

Good luck to my neighbors with EVs.

So who is responsible for this bunch of cowering weaklings?

Modern science that’s who.

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

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

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

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

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

Lord I’m a helpless, lazy boob.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now Where’s That Damn Rabbit Hole Again?

Now Where’s That Damn Rabbit Hole Again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I say it’s not the same.

Today kids stay up nights worrying about global warming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now where is that rabbit hole again?

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

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago

As you, my readers know I stay clear of politics. Probably because nausea sets in whenever I am forced to deal with the insanity that has now become normal in this country. However, sometimes I can’t resist making fun of the stupidity of politicians who are so pathetic and inept the comedy material simply writes itself. Every so often the comedian in me just can’t be held down.

On the news today I heard that in Chicago the city is asking gang members to limit their shooting and killing to certain hours. I believe the bullets can fly from 9 P.M. until 9 A.M. I assume this is because innocent little children are constantly getting caught in the crossfire.

Upon hearing this I immediately realized how vital it is for those who live in or visit Chicago to know the correct time.

I mean if your watch broke or is even off by one minute you could find yourself caught in a gang war in the midst of a hail of bullets.

I mean what if Gramps is sitting on his porch on a summer night and he’s a bit hard of hearing? His wife yells, “Grandpa, it’s one minute to nine. Come on in the house.”

“What’s that, Dear? I can’t hear you.”

“I said it’s almost time to come into the house, it’s almost nine.”

“Huh, I can’t hear you. Did you say…”

“Grandpa, Grandpa…?”

If Grandpa’s hearing aid were working he’d be here to celebrate Christmas this year.

So, I was thinking maybe the city of Chicago should open up hearing aid centers and watch repair shops on every corner. Like Kiosks in a mall you could even have them chasing people down the street.

“Hey would you like me to check your watch, Mister. I’ve got a beauty here on sale guaranteed to work to the second. Gunshot proof.” And here’s a free sample of hand cream.”

It could be a great way to bring businesses back to the areas of Chicago people are afraid to step foot into anymore. I can see the businesses cropping up all over. ABC hearing aids or Save-a-life watch repair. My goodness the opportunities are endless for out of work Chicagoans.

People could go door to door selling watches and hearing aids like aluminum siding. There is definitely money to be made here.

Gang members would have to clock in at nine P.M. and out at nine A.M. to ensure they were following the rules. That would mean setting up time clocks everywhere. If a gang member is killed someone else could punch his time card. More business for time clock manufacturers. This could be a windfall.

If Paul Revere had had to ride through Chicago yelling the “Gangs are Coming!” we’d still be under British rule today.

Of course, parents would have to teach children to tell time before they could walk. Instead of learning their ABCs they would need to learn how to read a watch. In the cribs they could have teddy bears that sing and teach time. Maybe to the tune of Allan Sherman’s camp song, Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh.

“Hello baby, it is nine now. Run like hell out of the ghetto. Get to safety and speed your rolls. Cause Chicago politicians are big assholes. So hightail it far away. If you want to live to see another birthday. Your parents voted for a loser. So until he’s gone we’ll pray that you see two, Sir.”

So what’s your solution, Norma you ask? Rightfully so and I do have one. I think the Mayor should be forced to walk alone through the crime-ridden neighborhoods every night without any weapons or body guards. Oh, and without a watch so he’ll know what little kids are dealing with.

Odds are they’d have to get a new mayor more often, but eventually maybe they’d actually elect one that believed murdering children was a bad thing. A refreshing change of pace for that city.

Being from Detroit I saw a city die and fifty-six years later just begin to become safe and livable again. I never thought it would happen to Chicago.

We used to visit the windy city a great deal when my kids were young. It was close by and easy to access by car. The hotels, shopping and food was always great.

Strangely enough it’s close enough to Motown for them to have seen firsthand what happened when crime overtook cars as Detroit’s biggest export.

I made light of the horrible circumstances of that toddling town as Sinatra called it, in this blog. But hearing about children dying as they walk to school, play in their houses or on their front porches is more than any human being can bear. I just couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Maybe one day the people of Chicago will wake up and elect politicians who care about the lives of young people, but until then asking gangs to kill each other at odd hours just doesn’t seem like a very good plan. At least without checking your watches. So ironic that a city that boasts its lake wind is the Hawk is actually too chicken to protect its own kids.

I guess all we can do is eat, so here is my keto Chicago Hot Dog recipe I enjoy greatly and is easy to make. If you live in Chi-town, you can definitely get it finished cooking before nine.

Chicago Style Hot Dog Keto Style

One all beef hot dog

Chopped tomato about ¼ cup or sliced tomato

a spear or two of dill pickle

a hot pepper cut up

celery salt

mustard

a keto friendly tortilla shell, keto bun or romaine. lettuce for a wrap.

Prepare all and enjoy!

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

It’s nice to be needed by our children. We are both saddened and a bit relieved when our kids say, “Mom we’re all grown up now, we can take care of ourselves.” Mixed feelings there, at least for me. Like watching a politician being led away in handcuffs, exhilarating to see, but sad.

You love your children to need you, but a sense of freedom is a welcome change from all the years of being at everyone’s beck and call.

Yet now I’ve been seeing a new phenom, a new job or should I say new need I never expected; babysitting with my grand dog.

And I’m not the only one.

I have many friends that have been tasked with the new moniker of caregiver for their children’s dogs. And the rules are strict. Helicopter pets must be fed at a certain time. They’re on a tight schedule. The only animal I’ve ever seen with a stop watch is the White Rabbit who was always late anyway. Today’s dog’s get a report card from their doggy hotels. They are judged on how well they play with others, eat their meals, brush their teeth, bathe, go to bed on time, socialize or isolate and the potential for developing a Ted Bundy personality. If the report card is substandard do the pets have their television privileges revoked? Is there on-call psychiatric care for dogs who have separation anxiety?

I have a friend who forgot and left one of her grand dogs outside for a couple of hours in the yard when she left her son’s house and is still on puppy-care probation.

So I must ask myself, why do dogs today need a baby sitter when their family leaves ?

We always had pets when I was growing up, dogs, cats, bunnies. Our dog Lamb Chop seemed fine when we left home.

In fact, I sometimes wondered if he was having friends over for a party. Not that I could read his mind, well sort of, it was as though he was saying, Hey guys hurry up and leave, I’ve got my buddies coming.

Our cat Pywacket would look over as we walked out the door, yawn and think, thank goodness they’re gone now so I can get some real shut eye.

Well, it seems those days are over now. I don’t know why or how it changed, but suddenly when I’m dog sitting, my grand dog Blu jumps up and begins howling if I even leave the room to use the bathroom.

And he’s not the only one. I’ve heard from other friends their grand dogs have taken to howling when left alone for even a short time.

I’ve never been good at life. At understanding the whys or wherefores of this contract we sign to enter this planet and become a part of its energy. So explaining the unexplainable is not my forte. So much craziness, especially lately, I am beyond understanding how this all works when so much is upside down.

So if you ask me why dogs suddenly need baby sitters when their owners leave the house for a few hours well you are barking up the wrong tree for an answer.

I have tried to think of reasons dogs may be afraid to stay home alone these days. Are there roving gangs of dogs doing smash and grabs in all the neighborhoods? Oops nope, that’s humans.

Wait are they afraid they’ll be kidnapped in the streets while on a walk? Sorry, forgot that’s just English Bull Dogs.

Are dogs breaking into houses and stealing kibble?

Oops, people too.

Wait, maybe it’s a fear of having to listen to the dreaded news channel when you’re alone? Sorry, that’s a human thing too.

I know, it’s because someone told them they have to go back into work one day a week. Yeah, sorry, that’s a people thing too.

So what could be plaguing dogs and creating such fear responses?

Could it be a paranoia they are absorbing from their human counterparts? Are owners so stressed they’ve become babbling idiots with all the insanity one must deal with today and pets have caught the crazy bug?

Or is it because during the pandemic owners never left the house and pets saw how good it was to have their human with them all the time?

After all dogs weren’t watching when Dr. Fauci declared COVID over.

Are our animals merely a reflection of the fact humans are staying home more now? That people don’t want to go back to work, out to a mall or wander far from their base unit any longer?

Perhaps the answer is not in our dogs, but in ourselves.

It’s no secret pets have taken their cues from their owners since time began so why should anyone be surprised at this new dependance?

Dog Sitting? I guess it’s like when my grandson asked me the other day, Grammy what was it like living with the dinosaurs? All I could say was, you had to be really careful not to stand behind them when you took them out to do their business.

Most humans love animals and animals respond in kind by being loving and protective. Why be surprised when in this crazy world pets need the same in return just a little more than they once did. After all, don’t we?

Snoozle Puffs

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

½ cup peas fresh or frozen

1 cup ground beef or turkey

Add peas and beef or turkey to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheet

Roll over once and cut Roll over again and cut and repeat the process until all cut.

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

You can also bake them in mini muffin pan for an hors d’oeuvre or appetizer

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked through. Check mini ones periodically as not to overcook.

Can the Rest of Your Life Be the Best of Your Life?

Can the Rest of Your Life

Be the Best of Your Life?

I have spoken many times about the limitations inherent in the whole getting-old thing. Few escape the fun surprises of old age and the many sad days remembering those who have left the party before you.

So what can one do to lift their spirits during this whole aging process?

Let’s face it, most aren’t capable of beginning to train for a marathon or mountain climbing. Still, many can. Of course, it’s possible to do numerous things as we age despite the fact there are some physical limits to what we can accomplish. Yet, and go with me here…the wisdom we’ve gleaned over so the years can help to achieve goals that may have been out of our reach in our youth.

Wisdom doesn’t require exercise. It doesn’t need a 20-year-old body.

As we age and our presence seems to diminish, we grow less and less relevant and our footprint grows lighter and smaller.

So what is the alternative to this inevitability?

Women have known for years we don’t need an invisibility cloak after the age of fifty. It used to be forty but Botox has added a few years to our presence.

Most women are aware that as the years pass so does their ability to attract attention and many have accepted this fate.

However, with the advent of social media, seniors have raised their profile and possess numerous ways to remain in the game.

Coolness is no longer predicated on age or sex. So many have found fun and lucrative ways to add years to their social lives by starting businesses, becoming politically active and checking off items from their bucket list.

So is it boring to just want to live the days quietly and unadventurously? Visiting grandchildren and walking through the park? Baking our children’s favorite recipes and delivering them? Meeting a friend for lunch and living a serene life? Should we feel guilty that we aren’t still out in the world making a difference or leaving our mark on humanity? Is it a sign of laziness to want to enjoy a bowl of popcorn and a Mel Brooks movie festival on a rainy day?

Are we entitled to choose our path and is it a shame to opt for the quiet one? Does the quality of our life depend on how much we do with it? How exciting we make every day? Does it seem like simply living is actually waiting to leave life? Well you sure ask a lot of questions for someone from Detroit, Norma.

So I’ve asked myself many times, what should I be doing with the rest of my life? Is this a time I could be using to live out old dreams, accomplish never-achieved goals or perhaps set a new agenda?

There is that old saw after all about Grandma Moses beginning to paint at 78 years old.

Colonel Harland Sanders was 65 when he started Kentucky Fried Chicken and Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65 when she began writing the highly successful Little House on the Prairie series.

I’m thinking that since 50 is the new 40 that 75 is the new 65. With that in mind is there any reason not to jump in and swim to the shore marked unfulfilled dreams?

The new wave in education toward home schooling has led to a new thing called PODS where parents form their own group and hire a teacher. Sort of home schooling on steroids.

Now a teacher can even continue teaching in a new and different way if they choose.

There are so many more opportunities today.

Online work and businesses, influencers, and of course the tried-and-true activities.

Classes in art, painting. sculpting, wine, cooking, Maj Jong or Bridge and so much more to fill the days.

That being said there is a fly in the ointment; COVID slowed us down. Instead of making us race into new endeavors, so many I know have discovered they are content to be at home and puttering about the house or garden just enjoying a quiet life.

Taking into account the options are numerous and more than ever before is there anything wrong with simply choosing to do nothing? Is any guilt attached to slowing your roll and taking life easy? Is carpe diem reserved for those who feel they must fill up every minute of each day with another activity?

After living a life of running here and there, caring for your children and out and about constantly isn’t it perfectly acceptable for one to feel content in solitude? Simply enjoying sitting and remembering or arranging flowers from your own garden in a beautiful vase?

Do we have to be writing a book or is reading one we’ve put off for years enough? For some yes, for others the answer is obviously a big no.

I believe that’s the beauty of growing older, the choices are endless and entirely up to you.

No one judges whether or not you used your laugh, laugh golden years to seek a cure for cancer or you merely took a walk on the beach or in the woods picking berries and baking them into a pie.

Enjoying the crisp air and the beautiful colors of autumn is a right one has earned by virtue of a life lived in fullness and now the choice is ours. Should we do one thing or perhaps both. Do unlived dreams have a right to be brought to fruition just because they lie on our hearts?

Should we be mindful of the ultimate responsibility to ourselves to live life to the fullest? Yet isn’t that degree of fullness up to us to determine?

I suppose I’m addressing my own guilt feeling remiss to achieve what hasn’t been done. Or are some dreams simply meant to be just that…dreams? Not every wish can come true nor should we feel less than for replacing old ambitions with new ones?

I haven’t quite figured it all out yet but I do know I enjoy the quiet days as much as the productive ones so maybe it’s possible to do both. If one feels a desire to do more, they easily can.

Maybe you feel the same or have managed to come to terms with how you choose to carpe diem your life. If you have, I hope every moment is proving to be a happy one.

Here is my recipe for an easy yummy Thanksgiving dessert albeit a bit early.

Pumpkin Blueberry Mousse

With Pumpkin Candy Crunch Topping

1 cup pumpkin

1 cup fresh blueberries

7 ounces of cream cheese

1 ½ cups whipped cream

1 cup powdered sugar

1/8/ tsp cloves

1/8 tsp ginger

1/8 tsp nutmeg

1 tsp cinnamon

Mix sugar and cream cheese until whipped nicely.

Add pumpkin and seasonings

Mix well. Set aside and hip cream until peaked.

Fold all but 1½ into pumpkin mixture. Set aside rest of whipped cream for topping.

Fold in blueberries and pour into parfait glasses or martini glasses. Top with whipped cream.

Place in fridge to set.

Pumpkin Seed Candy Crunch.

Place two tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons packed brown sugar in non-stick frying pan.

When melted and combined add ½ cup of pumpkin seeds (Not roasted or salted)

Saute on low heat (watch carefully so they don’t burn) for about five minutes until seeds are nicely coated.

Remove from burner and place in fridge to harden.

When set and butter is hardened remove crunch from pan and chop up into pieces. Not too small but small enough to fit on top of mousse.

Bring mousses back out and top crunchies.

Enjoy!!!

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

Life is always nothing if not confusing, but when quotes from the Bible begin to make you wonder which way to go and what to do, it really makes me ponder the meaning of so many things.

For instance, we have often heard the quote, “God helps those who help themselves.” Okay, so I always took that to mean we must do for ourselves and then God will reach out and help us cross the finish line.

Seemed reasonable to me. I always tried very hard when seeking to accomplish any goal so that God would appreciate my efforts and drag me across the finish line to success.

Fast forward to many years of living and many life lessons when my best efforts didn’t achieve the desired results and the phrase “Let Go and Let God” became my new mantra.

Perhaps I tried too hard and God saw my efforts as arrogance, so as many say we must trust in the fact God knows what’s in your heart. If he looks inside it now he will see I’m totally confused.

So, what to do? Should I try harder or should I give up and let go and let God? I could be in trouble either way. Or is there a middle ground where there is a certain amount of effort required before the let go can happen? But how do I know how much is enough either way?

Does the effort depend on the power of the dream? How many dreams do we get and what about the ones that we didn’t dream but happen on their own?

Now you see why I’m so confused.

We all know that opportunities may come out of nowhere without any recognizable work on our part. It’s also true that many times previous work done on another dream can land us in a place never on our radar. It isn’t always or perhaps ever possible to know what leads us somewhere or what we might do to open a door we never anticipated might even be there.

Should we feel guilty when something just happens that we didn’t work for or is that the perfect example of the “Let Go and Let God” mentality? Something that happens in our life that we didn’t seek or fight for but shows up and surprises us.

If that is the case then we shouldn’t be disappointed when a plan doesn’t come to fruition even after we’ve fought hard to achieve the goal. That very energy may have gone toward a plan that we never dreamed but exceeds our expectations.

I’m still confused.

Begs the question, is effort ever wasted. And can something hard-fought for many years result in a goal achieved years later on another path?

In the end maybe that’s a part of the solution. Hard work and luck meeting down the line to achieve a dream you may never have known you possessed.

But what about the ones you do know? How much work is involved before one can throw up their hands and say, I’m done trying?

Is the fact we didn’t continue fighting long enough the reason a dream fails, or did we work too hard and too long and should have given that dream up to fate earlier?

I have no idea and there is where my confusion lies.

I realize now that many dreams may not see the light of day because they are not meant to, but is relying on destiny and blaming fate for failures just a cop out?

How hard do we fight? How much do we sacrifice before it is enough to make a goal happen?

Should we feel badly or resign ourself to the fact perhaps we don’t have as much control as we believed. That sometimes we must just throw our hands heavenward and rely on the fates to move us forward to wherever we’re meant to be.

Do we all wind up exactly where we think and if not perhaps somewhere better?

Is it a simple matter of some knowing instinctively where they should be headed when others jump on the wrong road and must be guided onto a different one.

No one can disregard the outside forces that may affect one’s chances for success. Society may say you’re too old or not enough of this or that or in the wrong place to achieve your dreams, but that cannot stop destiny from granting you success. So, what is the answer? If true energy attracts energy working toward your goal or any goal will increase the chances for achievement, even if not where you might expect.

So perhaps trying is the key and a bit of faith can’t hurt as well. If combined one’s dreams have a chance of seeing the light of day no matter how the outcome may surprise us in the end. And from personal experience those unexpected outcomes are usually much more than we ever dreamed.

My Closet Myself Hot Pants No Chance

My Closet Myself, Hot Pants No Chance

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

So, just in case…

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

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

Could it be any easier?

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

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

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

Okay, that’s better.

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

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

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

Although is that always the case?

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

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

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

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

Am I saying women are slaves to fashion?

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

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

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

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

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

So you see no chance at all here.

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

So why save all those clothes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Journalist and humorist Helen Rowland wrote,

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

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

Chocolate Pasta With Hot Fudge Sauce

Chocolate Pasta recipe

1 pound of 00 flour

2 cups cocoa powder I’d use 60%

Water as needed

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

Hot Fudge Topping

½ cup whole milk

1 pound of caramels

½ pound of good chocolate

½ pint vanilla ice cream

1-teaspoon vanilla

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

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

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No different with this old tired body here.

You replace a knee and bang the hip goes.

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

The maintenance is constant.

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

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

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

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

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

So obviously there is a penchant to restore the old?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially when your chin is now resting on your boobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lox and Bagel Bites

2 cucumbers

1 tub pareve cream cheese, whipped or regular

1 tablespoon finely chopped sweet onion

4 ounces approximately of nova lox cut up

Bagel chips

1 hardboiled egg optional

Fresh dill

Caviar

Cut cucumbers in inch thick circles

Hollow out seeds and pat dry and set aside

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

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

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

Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation

Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I must wonder where all this is coming from?

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

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

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

The Smell of Burning Leaves

The Smell of Burning Leaves

If one mentions the word Trigger it quickly calls to my mind a picture of a golden horse with a white patch responding to its owner Roy Rogers. Different strokes I guess.

The brain is a strange little computer. We respond to the senses and a smell, taste, sound or a glimpse can evoke the most intense memory and catch us completely off guard.

One smell that induces the most extreme reaction for me is the smell of burning leaves. If there was a candle that smelled like burning leaves I may be tempted to keep it lit all day.

Occasionally I’ll smell something that reminds me of a fresh spring day after a rain and feel that sense of contentment spring brings, but it’s the burning leaves that stoke my flame of happy memories.

Growing up in the Midwest, autumn was such a happy time filled with sights, sounds and moments captured by one scent—burning leaves. It doesn’t induce a single recollection, but a torrent of memories, happy and heartwarming that bring me to a moment in childhood special and revered.

Autumn meant the beginning of school, new clothes and clean saddle shoes. A trip on the first day of school to the corner drugstore to pick out supplies, including a new loose leaf, pencils and a clean eraser. The excitement of a new school bag complete with clear, zippered pencil case and a fresh box of Crayolas, tips sharp and shiny.

Coming home after school and changing into play clothes then going outside to play with friends and watch the neighborhood boys play football in the street.

I can still picture a leaf gently falling and covering the green grass after turning the most exquisite shades of reds, oranges and yellows. The pure joy of crunching the leaves while walking to school and then jumping in them after my father raked them to the curb. Of hearing him grumble because I messed them up and he had to redo them, yet he was never really angry. I always suspected he wanted to do the same himself.

For me it also meant the Jewish holidays were near and I looked forward to meeting friends at synagogue then walking to the bagel factory after services. The fun of Halloween and choosing a costume, begging for candy and rushing home to look through and see what wonderful delights the treat bag held.

The smell of burning leaves promised Thanksgiving and turkey roasting in the oven while we watched the Macy’s parade on television. Then soon came Christmas, Hanukah and the smell of latkes would arrive with vacation time.

No mention of autumn could be complete without invoking the smell of freshly crushed apples at the Cider Mill. The giant wheel mashing apples into submission as they released their delicious juices then paired with hot cinnamon donuts in a grease-laden paper bag. Followed by a ride on a hay wagon into the orchard to soak up the autumn colors or climb ladders to pick the ripe fruit off their trees. No memory would be complete without the crunch of a caramel dipped apple on Halloween.

Yes, that’s a lot to put on a single smell, but that’s why burning leaves are so powerful. I’m certain if you ask any Baby Boomer what smell evokes autumn for them it will be the same.

There’s a certain comfort in memories now. When younger I never thought much about the past because I was too busy living in the present, and of course when one is young there is very little past to recall.

This past year when I’ve been forced to come face to face with my own mortality and had little ability to move my life forward as I’d have wished, the past seems so suddenly important. It’s as if I pulled out an old scrapbook filled with pictures and suddenly recalled how precious each snapshot has become.

Nostalgia has been a big part of how I’ve coped with this captivity because although I wasn’t free to travel outward, I could travel backward at my leisure. I could reflect at will upon those memories that had settled into the nooks and crannies of my brain and become hidden from view. Whenever a scent or sight drew them out of hiding I luxuriated in their warmth.

There has been a great deal of sharing with old friends on the phone and of course Facebook, and recalling time spent in childhood schools, stores and hometown haunts. Remembering my favorite foods makes me long for a local deli, great burgers or pizza, Chinese food on Sunday or a trip to the DQ. The burning leaves seem to be the magic carpet that transports me to the past, flying over childhood and once again absorbing the sights, smells and tastes of my youth. Filling me with the warmth so desperately needed in these cold, scary COVID days.

Even now when I’m walking and come upon a small pile of fallen dried leaves I will crunch them under my feet and feel a sense of satisfaction as the sound hits my ears.

Perhaps it isn’t the COVID that has captured my imagination and yearning for happier times. It may simply be a side effect of baby boomerism. I can’t say for sure what has created this new desire to share memories with those with whom I shared my youth, but it is a heady and incredibly magnetic feeling.

The question “do you remember” could probably be translated as, “oh, how I miss.”

Whatever the reason I shall always love the smell of burning leaves and the wonderful feelings they evoke and in this uncertain world, of that I am certain.

Are We There Yet, Mommy? Are We There Yet, Daddy?

Are We There Yet, Mommy?

Are We There Yet, Daddy?

As every parent knows, the most annoying question bar none is, “are we there yet?”

How many of us have had to sit in the car and listen to that question ad nauseum from their children?

Okay my turn…Are we there yet, is COVID gone?

I am sooo over this whole hanging-in-the-house thing. I’ve been patient, stayed put watching Netflix, ate healthy and took walks.

Now I’ve morphed into shoveling in chocolate chip cookies and popcorn and spend more time flipping channels than watching programs.

Although I know the vaccine will be here in October, what will that mean?

The older generation won’t be running out to get stuck until they watch to see if anyone drops dead.

We’re too old to be guinea pigs and we’d rather watch from the sidelines than jump into the game. Besides jumping isn’t an option when you need a walker or cane and are still doing physical therapy for your new knee or hip.

So how will we ever get back to normal?

Aha! That’s the rub because even when we get out of lockdown, captivity or self-imposed quarantine the world we once knew is no longer there.

I feel like Burgess Meredith in the Twilight Zone episode when after a nuclear war he finally had all the time in the world to read his books unencumbered and he broke his glasses.

The pre-COVID world was a different place and especially senior citizens will have to accept that the world they knew is gone.

So what will replace the old world?

Well, COVID is not the lynchpin that created the changes, it only intensified what was already transforming.

Ever since 9/11 we’ve had to face the fact that the freedom of movement we’ve always enjoyed since the advent of air travel has been severely restricted.

Terrorism impeded our ability to run amuck along with our own aging bodies.

Sure we figured out a way to get that new hip, but we haven’t figured out a way to see London Bridge without a lunatic running up and stabbing people. Or walking through a German Christmas market without crazies attacking, attending a concert or sightseeing in Madrid or Nice or any number of insane events we’ve witnessed.

I haven’t mentioned Israel because terrorism is a way of life for them and something one accepts when they head there for a visit.

Yet impediments aside we’ve grabbed our passports, packed our carry on and bitten the bullet. We’ve become the “oh-well-what-will-be-will-be” generation and decided that our priority was to live, travel and see the world despite the obvious risks.

So what’s changed? Plenty.

We once believed that after those trips to London, Rome, Vienna or Prague, visits to Singapore, China or Viet Nam we’d return home to our safe perch in America.

Sure, crime existed, but we felt safe and secure in front of our televisions watching baseball and munching on chips and guacamole while running outside to check the ribs on the grill.

Guess that’s over. America is not the same country now.

After COVID most assume we’ll just go back to business as usual, unscathed and unafraid.

Sorry, we need a reality check here. Cities are burning, law and order is in flux and familiar sights and sounds in our communities are gone.

Neighbors who once disagreed over which football team would prevail now refuse to talk to one another over politics.

Families have separated, friendships been destroyed, cities are in chaos, favorite businesses closed, entire sections of communities burned and boarded up.

It’s like walking out of your house after a nuclear holocaust and into a city in ruins.

Am I exaggerating? Actually I’m not sure, but I hope I am. I’m also from Detroit where it took 53 years to bring back a city torn to shreds and resembling London after the blitz, so there’s that.

So many people I know have said they are through traveling and will be staying closer to home.

Yes, cocooning is the new norm. People will entertain in their houses, man caves and she sheds will become palatial and so well appointed the Four Seasons will pale by comparison.

Media rooms will be enhanced and back yards will feature the same elements as the most fabulous five star resorts.

Lush landscaping, pools and recreational games will fill what once was a grass-filled area.

In case anyone doubts that things have changed just do an attitude check on your own friends.

Everybody is just a little bit crankier than they were four months ago. Oh sure everyone is trying to be so brave and double chins up (that would be as a result of the COVID 15 pound gain) but we all know we’re totally over this and ready to break out.

Actually, that’s the irony. After the initial run outside to our cars, faster than a racer at the Indy 500 I’m sure, and that visit or two to the mall, lunch with friends and dinner out on Saturday night, one news story about a rise in crime and we’ll all be hanging in the man cave watching football and sucking down beers like it’s Superbowl Sunday every weekend.

I’ve promised myself I’ll travel more and have my destinations all picked out, but will my will be diminished by a new terrorist attack or perhaps a few new cases of the virus popping up? Or maybe by China unleashing some new plague from some bat they’ve been harboring in a lab somewhere?

The world has changed dramatically and although we all want to believe that once we can hit the ground running we will, our habits have changed and we may not.

We now order Amazon and watch Netflix on that new 80-inch smart TV, we love that new patio furniture and those plans for an outdoor kitchen like our best friends just installed.

Whether we’ve realized it or not we’re now conditioned to staying close to home where we feel safe and secure against an onslaught of insanity that permeates the outside world.

When the virus is gone, that will be gone, but it won’t take with it the other tragic changes we’ve witnessed in our communities and that is what will ultimately define our new lifestyles.

Are we there yet? Perhaps soon, but where we’ll be when we get there, now that remains to be seen.

Champagne Grape and Almond Chicken

4 chicken breasts or boneless thighs

flour for dusting

½ cup of champagne

½ cup seedless red grapes

½ cup seedless green grapes

½ cup sliced almonds

½ cup of chopped celery or bok choy

1 ½ cups of heavy cream

½ teaspoon of tarragon

salt and pepper

Season chicken with salt and pepper and dust with flour

Sauté chicken in a mix of butter and oil until done

Add celery or bok choy or both and sauté for a few minutes, but keep the crunch in the vegetables

Remove chicken and set aside

Add champagne and deglaze pan then add cream, grapes, tarragon and salt and pepper to taste.

Lower heat and simmer until cream coats back of a spoon. High heat will break the cream and ruin the dish. Always thicken cream sauces on a low heat and never boil.

Add back chicken and reheat then serve immediately with almonds on the top.

We Need to Watch Blazing Saddles Daily

puffychicken

We Need to Watch Blazing Saddles Daily

“Look at Jewish history. Unrelieved lamenting would be intolerable. So for every ten Jews beating their breasts, God designated one to be crazy and amuse the breast beaters. By the time I was five I knew I was that one…” Mel Brooks

I was about ten or so and I knew I was the crazy one when my fellow campers nicknamed me Giggles. I was often reminded of this designation by my father’s constant inquiries about my remarks and behavior when he asked, “What are you, some kind of comedian?”

Yep, Dad I guess I was. I learned at a young age that the only escape from the unpleasantness of life was Milton Berle, Sid Caesar and Jackie Gleason.

My escape always included someone saying or doing something stupidly funny. Milton Berle in a dress, Sid Caesar spouting some outrageous accent, or Jackie Gleason and Art Carney exhibiting their brand of the sublimely ridiculous week after week. Stupid equals funny always worked for me.

“Does anyone of our generation not laugh when they remember Art Carney’s attempt at addressing a golf ball, “Hello, Ball.” Or Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks as the 2000-year-old man or Jack Benny’s alleged stinginess? Perhaps you had your own favorite comedian on The Ed Sullivan Show; Myron Cohen, Richard Pryor, Jackie Mason, Flip Wilson, Jack Carter, Totie Fields, Henny Youngman, Senor Wences, Jack Benny, Godfrey Cambridge, George Burns, Bob Newhart, George Carlin and so many many more.

One could count on little in life except that there would be one of the world’s great comics performing on Ed Sullivan each week.

I’ve been asked countless times why so many Jewish people are comedians and the answer is not all comics are Jewish, perhaps they are just more obvious. Maybe their pain is more palpable than others. While many comics of that era observed the times, Jewish comics observed their own circumstances.

Laughing at their own existence is what made life bearable in a strange new world where so many struggled to feed their families.

For example Melvin Kominsky, AKA Mel Brooks was two years old when his father died leaving his mother with four young boys to feed. She worked tirelessly and suffered for her children and it would be impossible for Mel not to have been affected by his mother’s plight.

So many young Jewish comedians of that era found their release in laughter.

I can’t honestly remember any Rockefellers or Carnegie’s stepping on stage to tell jokes to the masses, can you? Not too many comedy clubs in Newport or Palm Beach back then.

Humor comes from pain and the greater the suffering the higher form the humor.

There is a legacy of suffering in Europe and throughout time that has forced Jewish people to look toward laughter to lighten their load. Humor is one of life’s greatest gifts that can be had for free.

The ability to destroy one’s enemies with a joke is an art that has been cultivated for centuries by Jewish and all people and must continue to be embraced in these harrowing times.

I won’t even get into the fact that anti-Semitism has had a great resurgence, suffice it to say we need our senses of humor now more than ever.

Yet, that is the conundrum we now face as a people.

The Jewish people have throughout time been credited for two healing discoveries aside from their other numerous accomplishments, chicken soup AKA Jewish penicillin and their sense of humor. I’m willing to bet the king’s jesters were the Cohens and Goldbergs in the kingdoms.

If nothing else the Jewish people discovered that laughter is the best coping and defense mechanism and have honed comedy as a method of survival. Sadly, today many lack understanding of the power of humor to heal and restore.

Great comedians like Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock and others have lamented the fact they can no longer work on college campuses because young people are too politically correct and according to Jerry, “Don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

This lack of a sense of humor and understanding the true essence of how to do funny has been seriously corrupted.

Today too many comics bring the mean in lieu of the mirth. There is an art to humor and just insults and mean spirited attacks do not “bring the funny” but only add to the anger filling up space. There is a way to punch a hole in what one feels compelled to destroy and letting the air out of a negative balloon.

Being critical and destructive is no substitute for humor. There is a path to hilarity in every unhappy situation in the human condition and true comedians can find and exploit it with wit and skill.

Despots possess no sense of humor but have honed the art of ridicule. Humor should never emulate criticism laced with cruelty and far too many comic posers can no longer discern the difference.

Aside from Mel Brooks, one of the comedians capable of taking someone to the distant outposts of discomfort is Larry David.

Yes, some of Larry’s humor can make you squirm, but if you get his joke it can also make you laugh harder than anything. Great humor must occasionally broach thorny subjects to achieve its goals, but without that bravery humor is only a superficial laugh and no more.

Great jokes dig deep down into your soul where pain lives and exorcise that ache to rid it from your life.

At times winning a war is not always enough to destroy residual pain.

Case in point, “Springtime for Hitler.” Come on, is there anything funnier than a bunch of Nazis singing and dancing about their attempts to take over the world with chorus girls dressed as beer and pretzels? Mel Brooks is the master at doing Hitler but he is not alone.

Charlie Chaplin created the little tramp character to imitate the most evil man on the planet and reduce him to an object of ridicule, and he succeeded beautifully.

Laughing at or mimicking someone plunges a knife into their bubble of evil and contempt puncturing the harmful effects and deflating the injury.

No one can be taken seriously when we are doubled up with laughter at his antics. Not too hard to figure out why becoming the class clown was preferable to becoming the class punching bag.

That’s why kids today miss the point. They mistakenly believe that by not mentioning it they can destroy the bugaboo. They are patently wrong. Hate cannot be eradicated by ignoring or legislating it out of existence.

If there is one thing I’ve noticed over the years it’s that comedy clubs are the great equalizer. People who are laughing together are not shooting one another.

No one screaming in pain at a joke is spouting hateful remarks toward others. Humor creates camaraderie among all people and bonds them in their suffering.

No society can exist without laughter and more than anything else I’m witnessing today that must give one pause is that the lack of humor is palpable. Laughing at our fears diminishes them while anger elevates. Everyone is allowing rage to fill his or her spaces in lieu of hearty laughs.

We need to chuckle together to solve many of the world’s problems, to seek out the tenth crazy among us to entertain with hilarity and we must chill out and let it all go. More than ever it’s imperative comedians bring the mirth not the malicious.

Every laugh lowers the level of hatred and pain, so laugh your asses off daily and encourage everyone else you know to do the same.

Watch Blazing Saddles, The Producers or your favorite comedy or comic and roar hysterically until you’re writhing in pain. If you do this I guarantee you’ll consume less calories and live a far happier and more positive life.

Puffy Chicken Apple Cheddar Bake

6 boneless breasts pounded until thin

Grated cheddar cheese

6 thin apple slices

3 strips of cooked bacon

1 box of puff pastry

Salt and Pepper to taste

½ tsp. Paprika

1 cup of heavy cream

Season chicken and place 1 slice apple, cheese and ½ slice of bacon on top and place inside square of puff pastry. Place egg wash around the square edges and cover with another square. Crimp the edges together with a fork. Brush with melted butter or if you prefer an egg wash and place on cookie sheet and bake according to the package instructions. Before serving pour cheese sauce over the top and sprinkle with grated apples.

Apple Cheese sauce

2 cups of cream

Grated cheddar

Salt and pepper

1 Teaspoon of apple cider vinegar

½ tsp. paprika

Grated apple

Mix together and pour over pastry or serve on the side.

Nostalgia Or Delusion: Was Childhood As Great As All That?

lellis

Nostalgia Or Delusion: Was Childhood As Great As All That?

Okay. I do it too. I remember the past, especially my childhood with enormous longing. Simpler times, great friends, peaceful, unfettered days filled with innocence and fun.

We join groups on Facebook that provide us with a non-stop stream of memories, many long forgotten and we commiserate about the haunts and foods of our youth. Sharing with others that lived the same existence adds a new dimension and warmth to the entire experience. It can also get impassioned when the topic of the best neighborhood pizza arises.

One post and the flow of incoming additions are abundant. I can almost picture the look on everyone’s face as they reminisce about the restaurant where they held their tenth birthday party. Or perhaps a favorite teacher that filled them with confidence or fear.

Yet, although I’m incredibly guilty of these moments of reflection, I wonder if perhaps there is a bit of sugar coating mixed in with the feelings of warmth and longing.

Do we remember the past wearing rose-colored glasses? Is it because we see life back then only in terms of abstracts and happy memories designed to cover up any unhappiness we might have once felt?

I remember growing up in Detroit as idyllic. Not in a fairy-tale manner of course, nor do I believe it was Utopia, but rather a peaceful and vibrant city filled with fun activities, great friends and no lack of great restaurants, movie theaters and tree-lined streets with manicured lawns.

Recalling youthful snippets flashing by like a trailer from a new Hollywood movie, I always choose to recall joyful images.

Going to the movies was a regular occurrence and my favorite was the Mercury Theater on Schaeffer. I’m afraid it spoiled me for other movie houses with its sidewalls lined with light-reflecting murals of the galaxy. Many times I enjoyed staring at the artwork more than the feature and sadly came to expect a great deal from any future movie venues I frequented. I also remember noting a giant banner under the marquis reading “air-conditioned for your comfort.” Bet my grandsons wouldn’t believe there was a time without it. Boy, am I aging myself here.

Yet it’s so odd that these memories seem to eclipse other more personal ones that were unpleasant. The high school mean girl who singled you out as her victim one day, or a boy you liked asking out a friend. Yep, guess it wasn’t all wine and roses.

Or is it just that at a certain stage of life we refuse to acknowledge time spent unhappily? Is there a great need to embrace those happy moments and hold them close before they may fade forever?

Whenever I tell people I’m from Detroit they look at me as though I’m packing a gun. This image was especially true during the more lawless years when crime was rampant before the rest of the nation caught and far bypassed the motor city. When I replied that Detroit was an awesome city in which to grow up, they were incredulous.

Yet, I’m certain I’m not dreaming when I remember Palmer Park ice skating, Livernois Avenue shopping, turning and seeing Smokey Robinson driving next to you on Outer Drive, downtown Hudson’s, the Eastern Market, great schools, amazing food and crossing the Ambassador Bridge or driving through the tunnel to Windsor. It was always fun to see the flags change between America and Canada on the tiles halfway across.

Now I wonder if it’s just age that makes us long for those simpler days, when the community was small and holidays seemed to be shared by everyone, or you could walk alone to a friend’s house five blocks away or play outside until the street lights came on.

People knew their Sanders, Awry’s or Good Humor deliveryman by name and when we heard the bell we ran into the house to let our mother know great goodies were available curbside.

Perhaps one reason those days seem so unfettered and blissful are the turbulent times we’re living today. So often I feel badly for my grandchildren in such a chaotic world, but will they also look back someday on their childhood with rose-colored glasses?

Is it merely that mankind keeps muddling the waters and the years fill with more chaos as they fly past?

Was it really so Utopian or am I choosing to overlook the cold war and neighbors building fall-out shelters in their back yards?

Forgetting hearing the bell in school as we walked downstairs to the basement of our elementary school to sit next to an asbestos-covered pipe to hide from an atom bomb? I imagine many more people died from that asbestos than an atom bomb, that thank goodness never came.

Am I forgetting the Detroit riots, eating my Frosted Flakes while watching a black girl my age on television being escorted into school by the National Guard, the McCarthy hearings or Viet Nam? Or watching Hitchcock’s Psycho and needing my mother to sit in the bathroom with me until I was, well, I still do, and believing it was all so stress free?

Or is this a result of the fact we are in the midst of true craziness where the world seems upside down?

It was easy when we were children to figure it all out. Good, bad, hard, easy, right, wrong; the lines seem so blurred now.

So I just sit and commiserate with friends about those simpler times when whether or not things were good, we believed they were. When life was less confusing and neighbors sat out on the porch on a summer evening to catch a cool breeze and smoke a cigarette.

When I rushed home from school to watch American Bandstand and we spent the weekends reading Archie, Superman or Katy Keene comics and exchanging movie star pictures cut out of Photoplay or Modern Screen.

After school eating a creamsicle on the porch watching the neighborhood boys play baseball or football in the street. Or jumping on the pile of leaves my father had raked to burn at the curb filling the air with the smell of autumn and visions of Halloween soon to come.

I’d rather focus on those good times than turn on a news report, or think about the fact I have to miss my grandson’s graduation or birthday party because an evil virus has created havoc.

As time goes by the years fly faster and any time not spent in the here and now seems so wasted. Yet if I gain some small modicum of happiness holding on to some pleasant memories where is the harm?

Many may say it’s more important to live your life in the present than dwell on the past, and yes it is. Still in these times when we are not able to create as many happy memories with friends and family I will default to the ones I possess. Someday we may even choose to remember how good it was back then, even in this very turbulent moment in time.

Lelli’s Like Minestrone

1 large onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
1/2 stick butter
2 cans (16 oz. ea.) Veg-All
2 cans (14 oz. ea.) chicken broth
20 oz. northern white kidney beans
1 can (14 oz.) whole tomatoes, chopped
1/2 pkg. frozen spinach (or fresh)
2 T. tomato paste
2 T. garlic powder
2 T. chopped parsley
1 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
1/2 t. basil
1/3 c. cooked small macaroni
1/3 c. heavy whipping cream
1/4 c. Parmesan cheese
a small amount of chick peas (optional). I never use these.

Sauté onion and garlic in butter
2. In a large soup pot, put Veg-All, chicken broth, northern beans, whole tomatoes and all liquids from cans.
3. Add spinach, tomato paste, garlic powder, parsley, salt, pepper, basil, sautéed onion and garlic.
4. Cook slowly for 1 1/2 hours.
5. Take 1/2 of the soup and blend in food processor. I use an immersion blender and it’s so much easier.
6. Pour it back in the soup pot.
7. Add macaroni and heavy cream.
8. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.
9. Stir.
10. Cook slowly 1/2 hour.

Driving in L.A.

Driving in L.A.

“Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.” Sun Tzu

Yes, life is a battleground. Or is it love? Actually I’d say both. I’m originally from Detroit and tough is part of what I am and why I have fought so hard to overcome the numerous obstacles we all find in our way when we are seeking another road to travel. Being born in Los Angeles is almost a handicap of sorts since it is a land of suspended reality.

But on to new roads that seem fraught with unknown debris and challenges, that at times seem almost insurmountable. And I suppose that is the point of it all, to move forward and slay greater and more illustrious and star-studded dragons.

In Detroit we build them Ford tough. It was never mandated in the charter of course, but for some reason in the DNA of Detroiters there exists a piece of its history. The toughness that created an industry that moves the world. Hard work innovation and steely resolve is what floated in the air and seeped into each of us.

There are days I wonder if even a great and wise warrior like Sun Tsu could navigate the streets of LA.

Sure the saying goes if you can make it in New York you can make it anywhere, yet I have come to believe New York is a city of pussies when compared to Los Angeles.

Navigating Lalaland is a metaphor for overcoming the trials and tribulations of life. The roadblocks, sinkholes, sheer volume of traffic preventing you from reaching your appointed destination, perfectly describes what we all face each day. Yet L.A. magnifies all the craziness that is the human condition, the joy, struggles, pain, passion and heartbreak. Driving in L.A. is an exercise is sheer determination and one that requires a strength and humor beyond human endurance.

So why you ask do I brag about my Motown roots? Selfishly I am sick and tired of telling people I am from Detroit and having them look at me like I’m about to pull a gun on them.

Of course we all look fondly back on our childhood homes and a part of us wants to run back and hide under our bed to make the world disappear. It seemed safe and cozy when we were young and even for a short time, innocent. So I imagine it’s the temptation to return to that time before we knew what life was really about and how badly we could be hurt that draws us home.

The mislabeling gods are hard at work trying to convince us that there is something called the golden years. This is a time in our lives when we’re supposed to be able to reap the benefits of a life long lived to relax and enjoy. But is simply filling our days living? Is it enough to keep busy finding ways to occupy our life and is filling our days equal to filling our potential.

Of course there are many among us of a certain age that would argue that they are happy indeed simply filling their days as they choose. Playing golf, taking wine classes, maj jonging, bridging or mall walking and lunching with friends. So many women in their golden years are alone now and many many by choice I might add, that the filling of days are far different from my mother’s generation.

I had always supposed the golden years would be spent in Boca where Jews once went to die while happily decorating the condo, fighting with the condo board and schlepping to early bird specials and out with friends.

But are the best-laid plans actually the best plans after all? Are the different parts of life the same for everyone and if we could choose a certain life does that necessarily mean it will come to pass?

When I was a child it seemed plans were easier to carry out. I saw my parent’s generation plan for retirement and achieve their vision. There was far less divorce, and widows and single women seemed to pair up with perfectly acceptable husbands in a very rapid time span so most weren’t alone for long. Today it is quite different. My single friends are still single. Cruises are filled with groups of friends traveling together and enjoying their freedom.

I suppose that begs the question what is freedom and is it good for everyone?

Because of the Feminist Movement it is now acceptable to travel alone, dine alone and generally live your life as you choose. Single women are not cast upon suspiciously as they once were and I will be the first to say I applaud the change.

Dating sites are filled with men and women who pretend to be looking for love, but are they really? Or are they simply trying to fulfill some ancient mating ritual that has outlived its usefulness. Men on these sites are like butterflies that flitter from one woman to another when a brighter one catches their eye.

When I first moved to L.A. a woman I met in a consignment store while I perused a divine pair of earrings said she would absolutely not become a nurse or a purse for any man.

At the time being naïve I wondered, are these the only two choices a single woman has? The options seemed as limited as the train schedule from Detroit to Cleveland

Is being alone as scary as our mother’s believed or is freedom actually preferable”

In this new age is a woman foolish to want to be unbound and free to choose how to spend her own time?

Is it ironic that in a time when the world is totally unsafe and scarier than ever women choose to plod about it by themselves? And if the old feeling of being protected by a man is truly archaic than what caused such a seismic shift in our golden year choices?

Navigating through life is much the same as sitting in the car with a husband that will not consult a map. Frustrating as hell as I recall, torn between winding up in some frightening deliverance scenario on an uncharted back road or becoming a nag of gargantuan proportions as you watch the road become more deserted and the gas tank move ever closer to empty.

Is it important to share your life with someone if that life is an unhappy one? Are too many women willing to give up too much of themselves to be with a man and if so is this a new phenomenon?

Questions, questions, questions. Is part of being a liberated woman the freedom to ask the questions our mothers never would or could?

Am I enough for myself or do I need a man to complete me?

Will my life be lonelier and emptier without my husband?

Can I live a rich full life alone or is it some ancient human instinct to bond and be part of a pair?

Adam and Eve I guess. After all weren’t they the first evidence of the fact that marriage is nothing if not compromise? Even after she opened the door to Mr. Snake and got them thrown out of paradise, Adam was willing to stick, although there were obvious perks for him in that arrangement.

Is it easier to compromise when we’re young and still believe we have all the time in the world to make things perfect and right? Or as we get older do we more readily accept the fact compromise in a marriage or relationship is as rare as a supermodel downing a giant helping of bread pudding?

If as Kris Kristofferson says “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, is it actually so much more to gain?

And what the hell does “Me Too” mean anyway? It’s truly a belittling phrase. It implies that someone comes before you and you are nothing more than a hanger on or Johnny-come-lately to the party. Much like a girl screaming at her big sister to take her along on a play date. Me Too! What genius concocted that one?

My generation called ourselves feminists and burned our bras. Well I confess I couldn’t burn mine because with my breasts I would have kicked myself to death. But I digress. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to say, Me First?

I have wrestled with the whole should I shouldn’t I become a part of a set again for years and as close as I’ve come to answering yes to that question something inside says run at the prospect. I’m not certain if that’s me, or just the new Los Angeles part in me talking, but I know it’s much easier here to be single. I can’t say how I’d feel if I lived somewhere else, but I don’t, so I needn’t worry about it. For the time being this girl is on her own and loving it.

And as Frankie Lyman once sang…why do fools fall in love? Sorry but you’re on your own for that one.

Having the Sense to Choose a Sense of Humor

Seems like we all need to laugh more these days. I feel lucky I am able to see the crazy side of life. It’s definitely coming in handy more now. Perhaps it is a choice, or…

I’ve made many mistakes in my life. Lots of bad calls, bad falls and bad choices. Sometimes, all at the same time. But when I was in heaven pre-birth picking out stuff I made one good choice, I asked the angel in charge of supplies about the sense of humor. It wasn’t on the sale rack, but I was willing to go the extra mile.

“Okay,” he said, “but that’s a big one, you have to trade in a few of the things you’ve already chosen.”

“Okay, what do I have to give back?

“I’ll need that perfect nose and oh, sorry you won’t be able to keep the all you can eat and not gain weight metabolism.”

“That’s a little harsh isn’t it?”

“No way, a sense of humor is a biggie and worth a lot. Oh, and sorry I need those blue eyes back.”

I grudgingly agreed.

“Just checking your list here and see you took your father’s height. Sorry”

“Wait, you mean I have to do the short and slow metabolism thing of my mother?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure a sense of humor is worth all this good stuff. I might have to rethink this one.”

“Well it is a choice you know. If you get all the stuff to make you gorgeous and thin, you really don’t need a sense of humor. You will however need it for the short, dumpy, big nosed and slow metabolism you.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “So you mean a sense of humor is really worth all this?”

“More than gold.”

“I don’t understand. Why do I have to give everything back?”

“Because having a great sense of humor will mean so much to you.”

“Doesn’t it mean the same to everyone?”

“Nope, it depends on your life. I see how much you’ll need it, whereas some others won’t as much.”

“Doesn’t everyone need a sense of humor?”
“Of course to a certain extent, but some need a small quantity to get through life, you will need copious amounts.”

“Great, that’s comforting.”

“Hey I’m only telling it like it is. Listen, I don’t want to be doom and gloom here so I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you keep your personality. It’s a high end one and it will help you overcome living without the other stuff.”

“You’re all heart. But I’m reconsidering. I mean why do I need such a Cadillac sense of humor?”

“It’s how you’ll overcome the challenges life throws your way.”

“Can’t I just duck and avoid them?”

The angel smiled. “I forgot you haven’t met your mother yet. No the sense of humor you have will be your savior in your life. Trust me on this one.”

“Can I share it with the world?”

“Yes, you could create comedy.”

“What’s comedy?”

“It’s something you do in show business.”

“So I will be in this show business with my sense of humor”

“Yes, and that’s where you’ll need it most.”

“So I need a sense of humor to share my sense of humor in this show business thing?”

“Desperately.”

“Does everyone in show business have a sense of humor?”

“No, that’s why you need to have one.”

“I understand.”

“No you don’t, but you will when you see show business up close.”

“Can I pass my sense of humor onto my children and grandchildren?”

“Absolutely, it’s yours to do whatever you want with now.”

“Well at least it makes me feel better that I paid a high price and got the better model. My kids will benefit as well.”

“What exactly does this sense of humor do for me?”

“Allows you to laugh.”

“Can’t everyone laugh?”

“Sadly, no.”

“What does this laughing thing do?”

“Extends your life. Helps you embrace joy.”

“What’s joy?”

“Joy is a feeling of happiness and contentment that transcends.”

“So that’s a good thing right?”

“That’s the best. It also helps you leap over the pits of despair and heartache.”

“Are there a lot of those around?”

“Many I’m afraid. They are parts of the human condition in copious supply. Humor thwarts the damage they can do.”

“What else can it do?”

“It brings you a sense of euphoria.”

“How does that feel?”

“It’s when your brain releases these little things called endorphins that make you feel sublimely happy.”

“I want to feel happy, right?”

“Right.”

“It sounds like this humor thing is the best thing you can have.”

“It is one of the best.”

“Did I get to keep any other good stuff?”

“Well humor usually goes hand in hand with a big heart. So you have that going for you as well.”

“So that’s a good thing right?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why no?”

“Because caring about others can be painful at times. That’s sort of a double edged sword I’m afraid.”

“Like humor, huh?”

“No, humor has no double edge. It’s the one thing that is completely good. It let’s you see the funny side of life even when life is sad and cruel. It opens you up to a way of thinking that you could never understand unless it’s a part of you. It brings only good into your life and the lives of those around you.”

“Sounds to me like it beats out skinny and blue eyes any day.”

The angel laughed. “You can easily survive in life without those things, but without a sense of humor you’d be lost.”

“Thanks for turning me onto it. I’m really glad I chose humor and laughter.”

“It’s the best choice you’ll ever make because it will make all the bad choices bearable. So enjoy!”

“Hey who’s that guy over there with the bright red head of hair?”

“That’s Carrot Top.”

“Did he choose humor and to be funny too?”

The angel shook his head. “That’s a matter of opinion, but that’s a discussion for another day.”

How about a cookie recipe to cheer you all up.

Lemon Drop Cookies

1 and ¾ cup all-purpose flour (spooned & leveled)

½ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

½ cup unsalted butter, softened

¾ cup granulated sugar

1 large egg, room temperature preferred

Zest of one lemon (about 1 tablespoon lemon zest)

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon lemon extract

2 cups of white chocolate melting discs work best

1 cup of lemon drops crushed

In a large mixing bowl, mix together the flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or a large mixing bowl using a hand-held mixer, beat the butter and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Add in the egg and mix until well combined. Add in the lemon zest, lemon juice, lemon extract, and mix well, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Slowly add in the dry ingredients and mix until just combined

Cover tightly and transfer to the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes to chill the cookie dough.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking mats.

Remove the cookie dough from the refrigerator and scoop out two tablespoon sized pieces of cookie dough onto the prepared baking sheets. I prefer to roll the dough into balls and then gently press them down a little.

Bake in batches at 350°F for 10-12 minutes. The cookies should look done on the outside, but still a little soft on the inside. Remove from the oven and cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling.

Melt white chocolate and spread a coating of melted white chocolate on cookie

Sprinkle with crushed lemon drops let harden before serving.

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Published by normazagercom

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