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.

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it?

“Grief is the price we pay for love…” Queen Elizabeth II

I have no earthly idea where I came up with the phrase you need to feel it to heal it but it’s stuck in my head. Like a flying shard of glass that catches you just behind the ear and you can’t see it to pull it out.

Anyway, so it got me to thinking about what this means in terms of how we come back from the bad places we’re forced to enter in life.

Lately I’ve watched while people close to me including myself have struggled to come back from a painful loss.

Begs the question, what is the best way to cope and is there really any foolproof way to deal with grief?

Does one magic bullet exist for everyone or does each person require a unique method of moving forward toward healing? It also made me wonder, what is healing? How do we know we’ve achieved it without the signs of a visible scar we can actually see?

I like to think I can cope with pain on my own and don’t require any medication to mask the effects.

I imagine myself strong, adept and able to cope without outside help. Then I’m reminded of that box of Godiva I keep reaching for at odd times during the day that seems to calm me with each bite. So, who am I kidding here? Because it doesn’t come in a bottle with a prescription attached is it any less medicinal?

Okay, I admit it, chocolate is my Zanax.

Others need an actual drug to quiet them enough to function. Without help masking the pain and its effects some are lethargic and unable to function in life.

I’ve witnessed this and it can be incredibly debilitating.

The question I’ve asked is how long is long enough to stay medicated until one can face life alone again?

How much Godiva will it take until I can get through a day and go through my normal routine without popping a few caramels and am I simply fueling my addiction to chocolate?

Is my need for sugar better than a Zanax or two to get through the day and isn’t it just as addictive?

Honestly, I don’t know. I like to think because eventually I’ll stop masking the pain with pralines it’s the better option. Yet whether it’s drugs or chocolate it’s still a crutch one uses to cope.

Returning to my original question, does one need to feel it to heal it?

Haven’t you heard people say that we must acknowledge and embrace our feelings to change them? That ignoring the pain merely adds time to its effects and we must go through the pain to get to the other side.

If we ignore pain can’t it burrow deeper into our soul until it’s almost impossible to find? Does it morph into a deep and festering wound that we are unaware exists and manifests itself in ways we don’t understand?

Is feeling and recognizing the hurt a way to battle it on our turf, like a home court advantage?

Know thy enemy is a phrase that never goes away and if we refuse to see what is attacking us can we rise to conquer an unseen enemy?

Sun Tzu said “Know the enemy and know yourself in a hundred battles you will never be in peril. When you are ignorant of the enemy but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal. If ignorant both of your enemy and of yourself, you are certain in every battle to be in peril.”

So we need to know the enemy and know ourselves as well to achieve victory.

What does this mean to someone battling to avoid the pain of loss?

I imagine we must know ourself what weapons will be successful fighting our individual war.

We know sorrow, but how well do we know what it takes to defeat it?

Is it as many believe that time heals all wounds and we need merely to wait it out?

Is it simply medicating ourself and hoping the effects of the drugs will delay the enemy until we are armed and ready to face it again?

Does waiting actually weaken our resolve and the masking create less will and ability to deal with and defeat our aggressor?

Or does time, no matter what we do step in to do battle for us and eventually close the wound naturally?

Can it be a combination of all these; or perhaps none?

Do certain wounds never heal but remain to be opened and felt again, like a battlefield where there is no resolution?

Do some wars never truly end and exist in a state of semi-peaceful coexistence?

I truly believe that grief is fluid. We may go through times when we are coping well and then suddenly a memory attacks from behind and you are caught off guard.

Many spiritual leaders believe feeling the hurt and acknowledging a broken heart is the path to true awakening. To function in the midst of chaos without panic is the right path.

Looking forward to future nicer times can for the moment give you a sense that there can be happiness ahead. This is one way to restore hope life will eventually reach some new normal state.

Does staying connected to loved ones through pictures, memories, birthdays and so many other reminders help and deflect from the loss.

Maybe there is no one way to feel the pain and get past it that works for everyone. If needed some should reach out for help as part of their journey back to wellness.

In the end we all fight our own war, grieve our own way and slay the monster with the weapons we find most useful.

Hearts break and time heals to some extent, or so they say. Just how much it heals is not universal and differs within us all and we know wounds can reopen.

So if you need to feel it to heal it and get past it, arm yourself for battle and slay that dragon. And if you need to call in your army of loved ones and friends to help you do battle, that may be a huge help as well.

UFO They Told Us So!

UFO They Told Us So!

“I would not spend one further moment on the subject of UFOs if I didn’t seriously feel that the UFO phenomenon is real and that efforts to investigate and understand it, and eventually to solve it, could have a profound effect‑perhaps even be the springboard to mankind’s outlook on the universe.”

J. Allen Hynek, UFO investigator Project Bluebook.

I have no fireplace. This seems truly unimportant since so many homeowners I know have opted to cover or hide theirs. This is something I’ve always had trouble understanding.

As I sit here writing I have on what I call my faux fireplace which is actually a video of a roaring fire on my television screen. I wonder that I’m so satisfied with believing I have a fireplace and willing to settle for a pretend one.

Okay, so it’s not ideal but it gives me the illusion. And speaking of illusion and perhaps delusion…

Watching the Congressional hearings on UFOs the other day I had numerous mixed emotions, delusion being one I might mention.

I believe my reactions began with What a shock, the government has been lying to us, for a change. It quickly moved on to, I’ve always had a feeling the millions who’d seen UFOs weren’t crazy, especially since they weren’t all from California. I might have had more suspicions had more of them been from the you-should-excuse-the-expression, golden state.

Then came the wow, there really was a Roswell and area 51 and somehow my emotions ended with, wait a minute why are they telling us this now? What are they up to?

I apologize but I haven’t trusted a thing the government says since Watergate. But I digress.

I remember in 1961 Betty and Barney Hill of New Hampshire had claimed to have been abducted by aliens. They blacked out while driving home from their honeymoon and woke up in their car somewhere farther down the road. After being plagued by nightmares they went under hypnosis and corroborated one another’s stories.

It is understandable that in an era when airplanes were still a new commodity that most were skeptical flying saucers were visiting earth, but the incident is still a popular search item to this day.

Now of course these new revelations lend far more credibility to the Hill’s story, but it also initiates many more questions.

I have often wondered with all the sightings documented across the world how many sighters chose to keep their personal experience secret.

After all who could blame someone for not wanting to be called crazy when they may have risked a prestigious job or place in the community?

So what will happen now? Will many who have been afraid to tell, now recant their own close encounter?

One must wonder why the government chose to keep the truth from us. Still, it’s obvious that human beings are not able to deal with their brethren on earth let alone aliens from worlds light years away.

On Halloween October 30, 1938 Orson Welles War of the Worlds was broadcast on radio depicting the H.G. Wells story of an alien invasion.

Since Welles portrayed it as a newscast many listeners were convinced what they were hearing was real and some became terrified and hysterical. Of course, was before Rod Serling and ET.

Odd that fast forward 85 years later and when Congress is briefed about the USA hiding alien ships and their little green men, who are probably robots, the world barely took notice.

This can only mean one of two things; either no one believed these experts because no one trusts anything anyone in government says anymore or perhaps the world simply yawned and said, “What else is new? Pass the Reese’s Pieces, please.”

I’m not quite certain which is scarier, the fact that Washington has zero credibility or that humans are so jaded even testimony that verifies alien visitors is ho hummed.

By the way, I’m not recanting my own what-the-hell-is-that encounter moment here out of fear no one will ever read my blog again; and my children will rush me into a nursing home.

Assuming aliens are here I must ask why? If they have been watching us all these years, shouldn’t they be high tailing it out of Dodge?

Honestly anyone who has observed human behavior in the last few years has to be convinced there is something off here in the gray cell department.

So why would the Greys want to be here on earth with a bunch of crazies?

Is it as someone has laughingly opined, they are here to make sure we can’t get off this planet and do damage somewhere else?

Let’s face it, humans are a scary bunch.

I can’t even count the ways I shake my head constantly at the insanity I witness from what now passes as civilized members of the species. Believing in little grey or green or whatever color men is the least of our worries on Planet Earth.

I am certain that the creatures are far advanced than us by virtue of the fact they have traveled light years to get here. And although those who deny the existence of life on other planets are incredibly egocentric thinking that out of billions of stars we were somehow chosen to be “The One,” facing our own vulnerability is indeed frightening. Yet one wonders if the Greys have ever watched The Avengers movies and that has helped keep them at bay. A few of the people at the theatre for End Game didn’t look so human to me.

If it’s all true than we’ve had company for many years who’ve chosen to remain on the down low.

I can however happily report this visitation confirmation does answer many questions with which I’ve wrestled.

Like the success of the Kardashians, where were they actually born?

Kanye West, so that’s what it is.

Gavin Newsom’s hair.

Madonna’s new face. Or is it really her…?

Prince Harry wanting to interview the Pope about fatherhood. Aha, now it all makes sense.

Donald Trump’s approval numbers and Joe Biden’s actual visits to another planet in the middle of his sentences.

I’m beginning to see more clearly now so I suppose it’s true that as Shakespeare writes in Julius Caesar “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

Or actually perhaps from somewhere among the stars.

Hey, what the hell is that spaceship doing on Rodeo Drive? Maybe they’re actually mystery shoppers. Wait, you can’t park there!

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

Life seems to be filled with questions. When we’re young we ask our parents, why is the sky blue, how do cows make chocolate milk and do I have to eat my spinach?

As we age the questions multiply, how many calories are in this chocolate cake, why do bad things happen to good people and will I ever get into those size six pants I’ve had hanging in my closet for two years now?

It’s true as we get older we also come to terms with the fact most of our questions pertaining to the important things in life will never be answered. We are doomed to wander ahead toward the inevitable knowing far less than we did when we were young. Probably because when we’re young we actually think we know all the answers, and well you know the rest of that statement.

I could make a list of questions every day that I am certain will never be sufficiently answered, but why bother? Certain things in life are best unknown and probably one of our greatest gifts is not knowing much pertaining to our existence.

However, I am especially annoyed when I seek the answer to a simple question. One that should be easy. Not world shattering like is my next-door neighbor a space alien or will there ever be an honest politician or where the hell did that thing on my arm come from?

No, I’m simply asking about energy, strength, endurance and where did mine go? My get up and go got up and left without a clue or a forwarding address.

I would have chased it when it stormed out shouting, “I’m done you’re on your own I’m moving on,” but I didn’t have the strength to run after it and beg it to stay. Look, it’s no secret my body and I have been at odds for years, but as long as I had some vigor I could do battle.

I could fight the wrinkles and the weight gain and those weird things showing up on my body but without energy body wins and suddenly before you’re even aware of what happened, there you are. Sitting in a pile of what-the-hell-happened-to-me without so much as an ounce of stamina to put on the boxing gloves and go a couple more rounds with Father Time.

I have no idea which direction it went so I have no clue what area to look in.

Not even Colombo or Sherlock Holmes can solve this mystery.

Yes, I watch those news stories too. The ones about the 85-year-old grandmother who ran the Boston Marathon. Or the grandfather who took up jogging at the age of ninety. Or how Ali Baba opened the cave door by just chanting Open sesame.

Clap if you believe in fairies.

There are many people that reach an older age in great shape. They can walk an entire golf course without losing a stroke, or having one, and many climb mountains or still keep up with their grandchildren. So yes, it’s possible, but what makes the difference?

Is it because they have always been fitness oriented, is it genetic or is it those nature’s pills they sell on tv with veggies in them?

I have no idea, but I assume it’s a bit of both combined with gigantic amounts of luck.

My mother slept most of the day and spent most of her life in a nightgown. Yet, my Dad, despite aches and pains golfed and still enjoyed going into work into his nineties.

Aging like most things in life is predicated on how you’ve taken care of your body; or is it?

I know many who lived healthy lifestyles and suddenly were afflicted with a fall or an illness that changed it all for them. That robbed them of their ability to run, move about and enjoy life as they once had. So, is it really providence, as so much in life is that determines how we age?

I refuse to listen to those who say there is no luck and you make your good fortune. Really, then tell that to anyone who was born a Rockefeller or Prince William.

I imagine the search for my strength will come to naught since I don’t even know where to look, so I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be running a marathon, or climbing mountains. I will however be incredibly happy keeping up with my grandsons or a few hours of retail cardio at the mall. Although tempted to sit more, I fight the urge and force myself to move. When my body screams, “what the hell sit your tush back down,” I rather impolitely tell it to shut the F up.

Getting older is a mixed bag for sure. We want to age, but we want to do it on our own terms, or feeling the way we did when young.

I guess it doesn’t always work that way.

A friend of mine who was a doctor used to say, “If you wake up over the age of forty and you don’t hurt somewhere, you’re dead.”

Perhaps today it might be fifty, but the older I become the more I realize the key words in that sentence are “wake up.”

No matter where my get up and go got up and went, I hope it’s happy there. As for me I will continue to schlep myself out of bed every morning, moaning and bitching, and ignoring my aches and pains. And to whomever has my energy, I’ve upped the return reward to 500 dollars no questions asked. Hope springs eternal.

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

I seem to spend a great deal of time since my brother died focusing on the past.

Constantly seeking to return to places and experiences that were happy and fun, I dwell in the land of memories.

So, what does this say about me? What does this constant need to go backwards toward places that remind me of better times mean to my present life?

Yet this need to ride the reminiscence train is not a new phenomenon for those who have reached the so-called golden years, yet I find more and more it’s become an accepted and even organized practice.

There are entire pages on Facebook now dedicated to the past. Websites one can visit to look up old haunts and old friends and the desire to share childhood experiences with friends that lived within your world.

As the world gets smaller one may feel overwhelmed with the crowding of our lives. Where once we could imagine vast spaces in which to travel and explore, now one only need turn on the computer to walk through the streets of London or Paris and experience the sites.

We’ve become accustomed to a different type of satisfaction that comes with going from the exciting and unknown to the I saw it on tv the other day.

The world has lost its mystery and now the familiar no longer seems to appeal as much.

That may be one reason we choose to travel backward and reexplore the adventures of our youth that brought us so much joy and wonder.

A need to recapture wonder is a byproduct of the familiarity of this world now fraught with negativity and danger. So why wouldn’t we want to trade it for one where we looked at the stars and saw a Milky Way instead of a potential war zone between rival nations?

When we see pictures of our hometown and the streets and stores we once populated it brings back feelings we can never get from watching cities now burning and overrun with crime.

Is it any wonder we choose to climb aboard the DeLorean with Doc Brown?

I know not everyone is frozen in time, but as an age group we all enjoy sharing stories about childhood as if these tales will transform us back to simpler times and also back with loved ones now gone.

It seems very reasonable we’d be tempted to spend time in the past, enjoying nostalgia and embracing old memories. It feels calming and comfortable. A sentiment it’s almost impossible to capture in today’s world.

So I, as most of my contemporaries find myself time traveling more and more, like a drug that begs addiction.

Yet, for some reason today I suddenly realized this need is really a way of giving up on life. Saying to oneself that all the good memories are in the past and the future holds nothing for me any longer. This desire to return to past places that hold happy memories for me is it a positive or negative move?

I saw a study today that said most Americans actually believe the best times for our country are behind us so is it surprising I feel this way?

I get it, I understand very well the temptation to dwell in the past. To talk to friends and family about the wonderful times we shared. About how the best years of our lives were spent raising our children instead of watching the news and wanting to dig a tunnel and hide from the negativity and evil surrounding us.

So, I guess we have a choice, past or present which is it?

If I continue down this path am I actually saying, I give up, there is nothing to look forward to so I must look only backward for joy?

Am I selecting a future for myself that is laden with old memories instead of creating new ones?

Do I feel that it’s too late to make happy times count for anything and the past is my only option?

Should I not appreciate a new Indiana Jones movie because Harrison is no longer young and agile? Or should I be happy that one of my favorite movie franchises continues to delight and provide great entertainment?

Are the moments I’m creating really for me now? Or are they actually for my children and grandchildren to enjoy when I no longer can?

Isn’t it selfish to avoid new quests and give up on the excitement of what lies ahead?

There is no doubt the world we knew was safer and more inspiring than the world we now inhabit, but this is where we are.

Yes, it may be a bit more difficult to capture the excitement and mystery we once felt when embarking on new experiences, but more than ever we must try.

We are all becoming too complacent in our avoidance of living due not only to our age, but the pandemic that held us captors far distant from the world.

As life flies by we need to explore more aggressively new chapters and travels that will fill our days with the seeds of new recollections and use our time to best advantage.

Only by living can we fully fill our lives with happy hours.

It’s a battle Baby Boomers must fight and ultimately win to fulfill our destiny as the generation that touted peace, love and rock ‘n’ roll. Have we forgotten the immortal words of Jiminy Cricket when he sang “When you wish upon a star…your dreams come true?”

As the great philosopher Jerry Seinfeld once said, “To me, if life boils down to one thing, it’s movement. To live is to keep moving.”

Okay now I’m going to try and stand up from the couch. Moving? Right! Now where is that damn heating pad?

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.

How to Lose Your Mind: Just Watch the News

Hot Off The Can You Believe This One News Service

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cows Ask: Where is the Real Stench Coming From?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

President Joe Biden to miss King Charles III Coronation.

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

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

Buckingham Palace could not be reached for comment.

And finally hot off the presses this week…

Angry Baby Boomers March on Washington

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snoozles

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

1 ½ cups peas fresh or frozen

2-cups ground beef

Sauté beef and season with salt and pepper.

Add peas and beef to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheets

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

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

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

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No different with this old tired body here.

You replace a knee and bang the hip goes.

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

The maintenance is constant.

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

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

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

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

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

So obviously there is a penchant to restore the old?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially when your chin is now resting on your boobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lox and Bagel Bites

2 cucumbers

1 tub pareve cream cheese, whipped or regular

1 tablespoon finely chopped sweet onion

4 ounces approximately of nova lox cut up

Bagel chips

1 hardboiled egg optional

Fresh dill

Caviar

Cut cucumbers in inch thick circles

Hollow out seeds and pat dry and set aside

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This planet is bats..t crazy.

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

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

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

Russia and China. Okay, sounds familiar right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We knew our neighbors and we acted respectfully toward everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Seriously, Does it Cost This Much to be Me?

Seriously, Does it Cost This Much to be Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What to do When Your Dream Comes True

What To Do When Your Dream Comes True?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

No Queen Elizabeth, All Americans Aren’t Meghan

No, Queen Elizabeth, All Americans Aren’t Meghan

With so much attention these days on the royal family and no millennials, I’m not talking about the Kardashians; I’m feeling immense sympathy for Queen Elizabeth. Why you ask, would Norma Zager feel sorry for the Queen?

With very good reason actually. She is a queen it’s true, but she is also a grandmother. Incidentally a very involved one since Harry and William lost their mother so young and it fell to her to become the female authority figure in their young lives. It must be very difficult for her to watch her grandsons unhappy or making bad decisions, just as any grandmother would.

William seems to have towed the party line. Despite his enormous pain at the loss of his mother, he rose to the occasion and selected and fell in love with a woman who in all aspects reflects a royal demeanor. Kate not only won William’s heart but she succeeded to win over the English people and the world. Her grace, refinement and charm have succeeded in creating a mate for the Prince that most deem highly appropriate and positive for a future queen.

Harry as we all have seen, has not dealt well with his position and tragic history. The loss of his mother took a large chunk out of his soul that he has been unable to repair and of course could never replace.

His behavior has been erratic, embarrassing and decidedly un-royal, but the public forgives his weaknesses and trespasses because he is loved.

Enter Meghan Markle. Oops! Now we have a new wrinkle in the royal laundry.

From all accounts the Queen Grandmother seemed to be welcoming because as we all know, what makes our children and grandchildren happy, is fine with us.

Yet, things quickly took a negative turn when Meghan’s family exhibited the signs of, how shall we put it, less than classy and talked to a hungry press about their dirty family secrets.

However, instead of placing the blame where it belonged with the Markle clan, she chose to deride the royals. Poor pitiful Meghan no one stood up for her as she was being attacked by her own family.

I’m sure it hurt in fact I know it does, but what was her reaction to this unpleasant piece of Markle business?

She became defensive instead of understanding that it would never do for the Queen or Prince Charles to come out swinging at anyone.

It is simply not done.

Meghan believed that because she is an American, she can open her big American mouth, as we all do and state her opinions. So sorry Honey, but you’re not in Kansas anymore.

Perhaps the press might have reacted more favorably toward you had you not been so obvious in your distain toward all things royal. It is what it is, get over it.

The royal family lives by a far different standard. Oh, of course they are well compensated for their lack of ability to speak their minds at all times, but sweetie get a grip. A crown is not free and comes with a cost.

Obviously Kate understood this truth and it’s why she’s a beloved member of the royal family.

While poor Meghan was crying into her Hermes handkerchief, she was also slathering her negativity upon Harry. Hasn’t he been through enough? And hasn’t the Queen?

Few people can resist the pomp and circumstance of the royal family. They are the reality television of England and watching their foibles and fashions is a guilty pleasure shared by countless Americans.

The viewing audience for the Kate and Wills’ wedding was astronomical and of course we all sat transfixed to the screen as yet another Windsor regaled us with the possibility of an English happily ever after, despite the grave feast of disappointment offered up by Charles and Diana.

Americans were nostalgic at how much Kate reminded us of our own royal Princess Grace, and aside from the gowns and uproarious chapeaus donned copiously on that royal day, I was struck by something perhaps most overlooked.

Of course as a grandmother, I see things differently and through the lens of all things grandchildren and

I was surprised to witness the fact the Queen of England seems to feel the same way.

Although the wedding was beautiful I managed to escape teary moments, romance aside, until for one split second I found myself face to face with a grandmother’s love and then the tears flowed like water.

Yes, right there in St. Paul’s Cathedral as William and Kate stopped after their nuptials to bow in respect as they headed back up the aisle, the Queen bowed her head and I saw the Grandma lip quiver as clear as day.

Oh she caught herself of course as any self-respecting and quite contained royal would do. Elizabeth more than most is dedicated to composure as the monarch, yet for one brief second she couldn’t contain her grandmother’s love for her grandson.

Her lip quivered and she looked down to hide the rush of emotion only a grandma could feel watching her beloved grandchild heading out into life, a married man, a new wife and a new life.

I imagined it must have been especially difficult for her as perhaps a fleeting memory of William’s pain at losing his mother washed over her and forced her to stand staunch against the tide of emotion attacking from all sides.

And of course Elizabeth in her well-practiced and inimitable way retained composure and caught that tear before it escaped her eye to fall onto a careworn cheek.

Yes, despite all of our differences at that moment we bonded as grandmothers, and I knew for certain Elizabeth is quite human after all. She has her weaknesses and one of them is William.

Her façade, her inner strength, her public persona all fell away when faced with the emotions of grandma love.

Shame on me for my utter surprise when so many of her grandchildren have praised her devotion. Princess Eugenie for example recounts how, “Granny would take us raspberry picking, and we’d have the raspberry jam that we picked that day on the table for tea.”

Kate first meeting her was surprised to learn the Queen played video games.

And yes part of my surprise does relate to the reputation of the English for being more affectionate with their dogs than their children.

I now know I was wrong and proven so by a quivering lip.

Imagine my surprise when I realized that indeed the Queen of England and I, an American cousin, have so much in common.

We are both no more than grandmas and that is a powerful and positive bond no matter who or what you are.

Now as her new great grandson, Archie, is removed to a country far away I’m certain she is saddened. A face-time chat is only second best to holding your grandchildren and great grandchildren in your arms and coochy-cooing them in person.

Since we can’t always choose our loved ones’ partners, even royalty, it’s more evident than ever to me that life doesn’t always turn out as we planned for any of us, even if you’re the Queen of England.

Dieting Becomes Her: And by Her I Mean Grandma

Dieting Becomes Her (And By Her I Mean Grandma)

Dieting comes as natural to most grandmothers as lying comes to a politician.

I find a small bit of comfort in attempting to discern which of the old wives tales contain a small scintilla of truth, not only for the obvious reasons, but to pass them on to future generations.

Many believe that if you eat standing up, the calories automatically drop to your feet and at worst your size sevens will become a half size larger. Okay, I concur there is a bit of sense in this, gravity and all that. But, try as I may, I can’t get it to work for me. Sure my feet get fatter, but so does everything else. There is definitely something wrong at the very core of this theory.

Eating while standing serves no purpose other than to get less exercise by foregoing pulling out a chair that must work off a few calories. It is also more labor intensive to walk an entire cake to the table than to rationalize standing and eating said cake over the sink. Eating upright leads to the evening off process, leading to the shoveling of more bites into the mouth process, which ultimately leads to the you’re a fat pig result.

I shall explain.

You grab a cake or pie out of the fridge. You must be somewhere in twenty minutes, so you say to yourself, “I have no time to eat. I’m in a hurry! I’ll just grab a piece of this and run. I’m so busy I’ll work these calories off in no time.” (Let me know if any of this sounds familiar).

There is something very strange about eating cake or pie with a fork sans knife. It is difficult to cut perfect pieces. The grooves of the tines seem to stay in the food like fingerprints on a victim’s neck. Screaming SHE ATE CAKE! SHE ATE CAKE! OINK!!!!

My overactive imagination? I think not. Otherwise, why would everyone go to such great lengths evening off the piece they ate. Making certain to cover the fork marks and make the edge smooth to the eye. This eliminates any evidence and usually very little cake or pie for the next person. By the time you cover your tracks, one of two things has happened. Either you’ve eaten an extra five hundred or a thousand calories during the evening off process or there’s so little cake left you’re forced to finish the evidence and tell everyone you had to throw it away because it got moldy or the cat walked across it.

Oh sure the story would stand up in court because who could prove otherwise? Except on the scale and when you are bulging out of your pantyhose. So, if you think I’m telling you not to eat standing up, no way. I know you will, but I guess it’s okay if you’re eating while running around the block three times or jogging cross country or, oh for goodness sake if you’re a jogger, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place!

Of course there are also those who claim eating food from someone else’s plate is best since the calories stay with the initial owner of the food and do not transfer to the interloper. I have yet to prove this theory, but will continue to probe further until satisfied if it be truth or legend.

To add a positive spin to my diatribe, I must admit as we age our appetites do decrease. Ergo the sharing of the sandwich when out to lunch in lieu of a whole one, smaller portions and filling up more quickly. I suppose one must find comfort in this revelation although the fact our metabolism seems to move in a turtle-like fashion must offset this happy occurrence.

I am not one to judge since my metabolism and I have been at odds for years and it is the Rip Van Winkle of the metabolism world.

Or as my friend Yolanda so often points out, she now has the metabolism of a corpse.

So I shall continue to downward dog and Tai Chi my way into some semblance of fitness hoping against hope that my Grammy pants remain loose and I can keep up with my grandsons. This of course is the best form of exercise and I embrace it fully.

Chicken Paprikash Soup

4 large Chicken thighs

1 onion

2 cans chicken broth

2 heaping tablespoons Hungarian paprika (more may be added if your tastes run to spicy)

Salt and pepper

Flour for dusting

¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper or ½ teaspoon hot sauce

½ cup each of sour cream and half and half

½ cup crumbled crispy bacon for topping (optional)

Season and dust chicken thighs

Sauté chicken in butter and oil mixture (Easy on the fat is okay)

Add chopped onion and sauté until translucent and soft

When chicken is browned drain excess fat and add chicken broth to deglaze the pan

Add paprika and cook until incorporated

Add salt, pepper and cayenne or hot sauce to taste

Temper sour cream until room temperature and begin to slowly add to broth and chicken. When creamy, add half and half.

Finish warming and serve with a dollop of sour cream or crème fraiche or crumbled bacon pieces. Chicken may be served on the side or shredded into the soup and spaetzle may also be added to soup before serving.

I am Grandma Hear Me Roar

Grandmas just know stuff. How? Simply because through the very process of living and problem solving we have become quite creative about solutions. Are we oriented toward inventive fixes? You bet. I am always surprised by the things my friends will do to solve a problem.

Speaking to my friend Harriet today about the grandchildren and how to navigate the unsure waters of the precarious daughter-sea-of-rules and regulations, she surprised me.

Blue jays were busily chomping on birdseed in her yard as we spoke.

“Don’t you have a problem with the squirrels eating all the seed?” I asked, conjuring up memories of squirrels hanging upside down from my constantly empty bird feeders.

“Oh yes,” she said. “But I sprayed Pam on the wire and now they don’t come anymore.”

I laughed out loud picturing squirrels dropping unceremoniously to the ground with a thunk, then climbing back up, sliding and falling again.

“How long did it take them to get the picture?” I asked.

“Don’t know; just know there is no more squirrel problem here.”

I am constantly amazed at how inventive Grandmas and moms can be.

Although our daughters, and I say daughters because no mother-in-law in her right mind would offer anything but money or gifts to a daughter in law, are garnering a lifetime of their own creative solutions and also share the sheer frustration of keeping all the good advice to themselves.

And that brings me to the Grandma dream.

Yes, there is a Grandma dream. Here’s how it goes.

My daughter calls and says, “Mom I need your advice.”

“Yes, Dear, anything,” I answer.

“Mom, you know how you always made us those special sandwiches when we were in school? How did you keep their shapes?”

I answer citing the extra small baggie trick.

“Thanks, Mom,” she says. “You just seem to know everything about these things.”

I hang up gratified a piece of useful information has been passed down.

Not to be lost in the annals of time, floating above the earth, begging to be used and cherished. It shall be committed to memory and praised as a part of a Grandma legacy.

Okay, so it’s a bit over the top and it’s not a cure for the diseases that plague the world, but a dream is a dream.

I am not certain why Grandma’s become more inventive as they age. Perhaps it’s simply that time enhances creativity, Through the process of living we find ourselves faced with more challenge and therefore become more astute at finding solutions more easily and quickly.

I have found a few of my own to be helpful and yet so obvious after you think of them of course.

When buying greeting cards to keep in the house, place the card in the envelope before storing in the drawer. This saves having to check every envelope to see what fits.

Use a mouse pad to open jars, grips great and is sturdy enough to get the job done easily.

Keep sheets inside matching pillowcases when storing and entire set will be easily at hand when changing the beds.

Plastic candy box inserts make great earring holders and they keep your drawer smelling like chocolate. A win win.

Use a spray bottle to oil your salad. You use less and get much better coverage. The spray bottle also works well when spraying any liquor on a cake.

If glasses lose and screw, stick a safety pin or a twist tie (take the paper off and leave the wire) through the hole where the screw was until you have them fixed.

I’m sure you’ve also discovered tons of timesaving tricks. I’d love to hear yours. Please share them with us in the comment portion.

Stuffin Muffins

1 Challah

2 small New Yorker onion rolls

1 cup mushrooms

1 medium carrot

1 stalk of celery

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons oil

½ small onion

2 eggs

5 or 6 cups of chicken or turkey stock

Salt and pepper to taste

1 tsp sage

½ tsp thyme

½ cup of slivered almonds

½ cup of dried cranberries

Sauté veggies until soft

Add almonds and cranberries and combine with veggies

Cut up breads and add veggies. Add stock and beaten eggs. Mix well and press down into well-buttered muffin cups.

Place pastry leaf on top of each muffin when serving

Bake on 350 for 25 to 30 minutes until done.

Pastry Leaf

Roll out pastry and cut leaves. Bake at 350 until lightly browned.

Color with food coloring. I have also used ground sage to color them.

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