Just the Thing for Those Winter Blahs
As most of you know, I’m a Ari Seth Cohen fan. Each day I get a picture from Ari’s Advanced Style blog of an older woman or man, usually a New Yorker, who’s style is remarkable in some way. I often forward the day’s picture to a friend, usually with a comment on what I think of the wearer’s choice. Even when I nearly get nosebleed from one style note or another, I always applaud the wearer for not falling into the trap of thinking that aging means we lose our love of self-adornment. As we get older and watch our bodies and lifestyles change, there is no better time to take risks our self-consciousness or conservative bosses wouldn’t let us take when we were young workers, homemakers or community activists. Imagine your school child’s reaction if you showed up for a school event dressed in orange from head to toe: MOM!!! But now, who’s to stop us? I’ve always liked wearing more than one necklace, an oddity that happened accidentally years ago when I couldn’t decide between two necklaces, putting them both on and then forgetting to take off one of them. When I got to the the restaurant I popped into the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and decided I liked them both and kept them on. I don’t always wear two necklaces, but when I do it makes me happy even if it puzzles others. So, if you thinking it’s time to cull that closet and think about adding a piece or two to get ready for another spring and summer of being you, be bold and think about how much fun dressing yourself can be if you simply love the body you’re in. If you feel you’ve never been creative in any particular way, there is no better canvas than your very own body. Enjoy. Smile. Be happy.
Movie Review: August: Osage County
I’m exhausted. I just saw August: Osage County. What is it some of us love about dysfunctional families – except, of course, our own? I knew what I was in for because I’d seen the play with the marvelous Estelle Parsons as the mean-spirited Violet Weston, but the movie was claustrophobic in the way a stage play can never be. Of course, this feeling is helped by a hot, dark and brooding house that seems to tell its own story, almost as a backbeat to the dialogue. The opening scenes with Sam Shepard’s beautiful, worn out face foretell the weariness that will overtake us all as we watch the truly horrid Violet – aptly named for missing only the n to tell us what she is – eviscerate every member of her family, and the smarmy boyfriend of one of her three hapless daughters.
Welcome to the Poetry Café. Whether you love blank verse or are a solid devotee of iambic pentameter; or love sonnets but aren’t that enamored of the ode; and, if you get Emily D. but wonder what e. e. cummings is trying to tell you, you’re in the right place. Share your original poetry or your favorite poems.
Kaddish for Mom
My mother died and I am so surprised
that I am so surprised.
This singular event like no other,
except perhaps my own death or the death
of my children or grandchildren.
Mom’s shiva candle will go out tonight.
Seven days since she died.
Where to put her picture?
It doesn’t matter, nothing does,
except that dad died and then mom died
and I am no longer a daughter
of anyone in this world.
Gail’s mother died February 27th, 2007
My Sister is a Potted Plant
It was a major personal breakthrough.
I’m the oldest of three girls born of the same parents and raised in the same Middle-of-America town. An adventurer by nature, I enjoy new ideas, different flavors, and meeting novel people. If there is an opportunity to learn, move forward with my life (and shed an old skin), or try out a different restaurant, I’m game.
For me, routine is fine so long as it isn’t a rut, and my idea of being steadfast is modeled after an ice skater; Moving, leaping, running and twirling but in complete control of her center of gravity. I like stability in motion.
My youngest sister, on the other hand, is a potted plant. Nine years separate our ages and at times throughout our lives together we have been at odds in our perspectives. Each of us still gets confused about how the other functions in – and views – the …
My Coffee Thing
In my late twenties, I discovered French press coffee. I don’t know exactly when or how, but it became a sort of obsession with me. Regular perked coffee, are you kidding me? That was for the uninitiated. I was a coffee connoisseur. I used what I thought were the best coffee beans; whole bean organic, hand roasted at a local coffee specialty shop.
When prepping my coffee at home, I would boil spring water, measure out and carefully grind my beans in my coffee grinder, pour the grinds which were not too fine into the clear glass and stainless steel French press, add one inch of hot water, wait one minute, fill the pot with within one inch of the top, wait six minutes, then press. Back then I drank my coffee with heavy cream, slightly warmed, with two teaspoons of organic granulated sugar. Ahhh, it was heavenly.
Fast forward more years …
A Virtual Class Reunion
Here is what Facebook is good for: virtual reunions. As with so many other things, we Baby Boomers seem to have co-opted FB from our offspring and turned it into our own little electronic meeting place in the “clouds.” Thanks in large part to the work of two people from my high school graduating class, one who started the “reunion” page and one who seems to be working tirelessly to update it with nostalgic pictures from our yearbook scanned with his I-phone, we have spent the last week or so reuniting with people we haven’t seen in the flesh in almost fifty years.
Fifty years! Is it possible? We were the graduating class of 1967 from Overbrook High School in Philadelphia, PA. If that name means anything to you, you might associate it with one of our younger graduates, Will Smith.
There’s an old saying: “Want to make God laugh? Make plans.” Boy, has that been true for me recently. I have spent the last 6 years in a job I do not love. I’ve always invested myself in my work. Even in the most menial jobs I’ve had in my life, my work mattered; I always managed to find something, some little thing, that lit a fire within me so that I would work through lunch, or come in early in order to stay with the project. Not this job: I arrived on time, took exactly one hour for lunch and left on time. No investment here. In addition, no one in my personal life even had my office phone number or email address. I kept the boundaries very clear! But I figured I would hang on until December of 2014 when I turn 66 and can claim full Social …