Latitude and longitude

This morning I asked myself while the mists of sleep still hung over me in a vaporous cloud as a reminder that my nights are broken in semi sleep and almost awakened sleep  I asked where am I. A potentially loaded question for so many reasons frightening in its immensity and emotional quotient. Break it down I thought save yourself, I know I’m in a child’s day bed in a largish room in a nearly two hundred year old home that is solid and protecting. Yes, I further thought within the bosom of my family getting unconditional love from two of my grandchildren every day even if sometimes I’m not the fun Bubbie but the custodial Bubbie who gives them the look and the point of the finger. I’m on a plot of ground that even in stripped bare February winter is beautiful, with plans for spring planting while hundreds of packets of seeds await their germination fates in a room below. This ground tended and farmed for two hundred years. I have only to look out these windows and see this New England scape with apple trees lilac bushes rhododendrons and oaks maples the expanded rose garden. Beautiful steepled white church and buildings facing the town bandstand and park. The townhall, library and catty cornered another old steepled white church. Historic homes old barns and streets with oldie time names, Sweetbriar lane, Village Green lane, Old Tannery road even around the corner Lovers Lane. Again, to myself where are you. Ok, I’ll be literal I looked it up I’m 41.334140. -73.206580

Latitude longitude. Still nothing remotely answering my first waking thought. So, it comes down to the philosophical question. Time frame? Should I go back to October when the metamorphosis began, further back, or perhaps just now this moment. I do a mental review an inventory. Yes, there is more  to smile about, even hug to myself. The stabbing pain is gone, I can’t deny the ache and somewhat lost feeling that lingers. The strong need for several of my fur babies, and the indignation and anger that is still hovering especially when dealing with the government, health care etc. my daily paper shuffling phone calls nightmare. I’m semi legal now, I have my real license, an address a bank account several credit cards in my real name, I receive mail and I have a library card. So existentially I now exist and once again belong only to myself. I own an aging and cranky truck, a Cubesmart storage unit that holds all my worldly goods, bits and pieces here in my room on the I believe West side of the house. My favorite mug sits on the drainboard in the kitchen under the huge picture window where every day and every evening I see the vista of nature. Establishing myself is still in flux, plans still in the want too stage, and the philosophical question remains to be answered. I’m still in two worlds, trying desperately to close one door with finality while the other portal not fully opened to me. I do know hopefully some of what lies beyond there’s a wonderful light and glimmers of a future there. As a Yoga teacher practitioner I know to look back is foolish unproductive yet I still question my decisions, actions. It’s normal healthy to review to decide what works what needs to change and then the biggest question where are you going. To go forward I need to know where I am? Or not. Maybe as I write this I’m thinking just maybe right now you let go. Let the future take care of itself until a plan unfolds. That my dears is the most frightening thought of all. Mind blowing actually. But, it is in itself a plan. As corny as it sounds I’ve answered in a roundabout way my question of where am I. I’m here in this moment here. 

Chop Suey Summer

Chop Suey Summer

by Michele Bernstein

Jacknowitz family picnics , I remember a park with a lake. Everybody came, there was food and more food. Grates on fire pits filled with aromatic sizzling stuff. Family, Great Aunts and Great Uncles, Aunts, Uncles, and cousins to the fifth degree. A loud yelling mass of people, all with an opinion. The loudest no matter how convoluted the logic won. Always.

The men wore grey slacks, the older men's were baggy, I mean down to the knees baggy with belts and suspenders. They had to, these men were the roundest most barrel chested men you'd ever met. All had pug noses and pugnacious personalities. It seemed to me they were Lumberjack thick with big ham fists and fingers. I would look at my Great Uncle Jacks hands with five sausages on one hand and four on the other. His thumb was missing a fascinating mystery to me. Bald, all the old ones were strands of hair away from shiny baby bottom bald. When they spoke their voices were gravely, deep, heavily laced with a New York-Queens dialect. All sucked on cigarettes and cigars constantly, while the woman sported cigarette holders. Some of these were down right funny looking, like sawed off chop sticks with rhinestones and fake seeded pearls embedded. There were real ivory exotic Marlena Dietrich styles and maybe a few tortoise shell and Bakelite. It was supposed to keep the face from looking like a smoked white fish, but they were a Kabuki sign language prop. Punctuations, Grunts and sneers, silent curses and poxes swirled from these smoking sticks as surly as Merlin swung a magic wand. Body language experts would have cried and thrown in the towel, the HOLDERS said it all.

Now, my G-Uncle Julius fit the physical description, although his body was softer and he hadn't the power. He was the artistic one. Everyone in the family marveled at his vision, his art, and they all made sure he could follow his talent. In this family of blue collar workers, with a pharmacist thrown in he was an anomaly. He had a light voice. Often he crooned little songs to us with a soft trill. His most memorable tune with lyrics of "al a lululu, al a lululu...Lu lu lu lu loo..." On rare occasions my Grandmother Etta was heard to croon this as well. It is my secret put the baby to sleep weapon, never fails. Julius told the best stories, I can remember half listening, my whole being drawn towards his pink tongue forming the words with a delicate swirl and flourish, he seemed to relish and taste every word. He imitated every character with vocal cues. Even his animal sounds had a special artful panache to them. This tongue, was a moist river bed of fissures and cracks. All the Greats had them. I wonder how many Doctors fainted when they exhorted,"stick out your tongue". I have one also, my fissions are small and relatively simple. I don't know if any other cousins sport this, I also have the family allergy to Cinnamon.

The men's ears were big as well, with wonderful lobes, rounded mounds, free from any attachment to the head. They were not handsome, their faces were strong and dogged, their intelligence shining through. Their bodies contained undiminished vitality, and you knew who you wanted with you in any kind of emergency or fight. When ensconced within the pack a feeling of safety, caring pervaded.

My family argued over politics, possessions, cards, money, the weather, food, anything. G-Uncle Julius argued always with his sister Great Aunt Eva. Everyone argued with Eva. She was the youngest. In a family of twelve youngest was something. Julius's voice would get higher and higher as they insulted and shouted at each other. "You're full of hot air, you don no what you're talking about, believe ME I KNOW. Wher'd ya hear that, you don know what..." He'd pleat and fold a napkin in the most intricate designs over and over as his pink tongue spit his words at her. His beautiful artists hands fingers tapered. He wore his nails just a little longer, the tips filed to a discrete point, they fairly quivered with sensitivity. When he was put out he'd open the napkin and smooth and smooth.

Julius and Eva were prodigious eaters as was most of the family, with a few out-law exceptions. G-Uncle Izzie, was a tiny thin man who shook with nerves. He had the kindest eyes, sweetest disposition. A gentle soul with a voice that any Cantor or Chazzan would cry for. Izzy's tiny body would render this enormous voice, his delivery had so much emotion it would transport you out of your body. His heavy Austrian/Jewish accent sounded so different. My Greats were Yankees, New York through and through. I listened carefully to his inflection and rhythm. My mother thought it crazy that I loved opera and Classical music, but it was G-Uncle Izzy who handed me that love.

My dad and Grandpa Herman out-laws both, wore smart cloths, pants with knife sharp pleats and narrow stylish belts. They were both tall and lean, each had a full head of hair. I thought them snappy. The others wore white shirts long sleeves. As a concession to the heat, or open fires, eventually they rolled the sleeves up. I never saw Uncle Izzies arms, not once no matter how hot.

The women were mostly beautiful, with their snub noses and lacquered hair. They wore nail polish and makeup. Thick penciled brows sometimes two shades darker, sometimes three shades lighter. This may have been a political statement, I was too young to fathom it. Like President Reagan parting his hair first to the left and then while in office parting it to the right. Mascara, was applied liberally out of a dry cake with lots of spit and swirling a stiff black brush around and around. Some of the women's hair had gone a funny reddish color, (my mom still a stunning brunette at this time) Many were fair a few even blond. Grandma Ettas' eyes were hazel, Aunt Pats' blue. My dad and Herman's eyes were blue the former Robins egg blue the latter a deep blue. The ladies all seemed to have extraordinarily wide tiny feet. These extra wide feet were in cased in the smallest and most up to date shoes. A few wore Granny type shoes but these were the rare unsporting ones. Poking out of the top of the shoes was the hump of foot that could not fit. Looking closely you'd see around the toes the outlines, of corns and thickened blisters. My Grandmother and her siblings trilled their threes, sticking the tip of their tongues out against the palette and upper lip. Then it would snap back into it's little house. My Grandparents did not have the tell tale accent. The Jacknowitz/Jackman (Anglicised) clan said earl for oil and berl for boil.

A few of the Aunts, in -law Aunts and Cousins, were soft spoken and serene. Most were liberated outspoken women who were given a birth rite and mandate to be heard (loud), often, and to not obey held consequences beyond Dante's grasp. My mother included. I do remember that Aunt Paulie and Uncle Izzie had a serenity and peace as a couple that was enviable. The others firebrands. Eva and Gertie never married as two of the brothers George and Julius stayed single. It is rumored that George had a clandestine relationship with a married woman. My Great Grandmother Mollie was I believed a force to be reckoned with and acid tongue when needed. These beautiful woman had a propensity to being heavy, the proverbial beautiful face etc. Aunt Gertie stayed slim all her life, after a surgery she developed a tiny pooch, that she fretted over. Pictures of my Great Grandmother show a tiny multi chinned woman hair scrapped back no nonsense, of strong mettle and a twinkle of humor. Etta was a true beauty, although matronly later in life she retained a regal and elegant look. With her light hair and her butter scotch gold jewelry, slave bracelets, chunky watches, and heavy bangles, she had a refinement and polish the others never acquired. I've been told the King of Spain Ferdinand, thought so too and chased her all over a trans Atlantic crossing to Europe.

Grandpa Herman and Grandma Etta were a matched pair both beautiful people, passionate, stubborn and very much in love. They were obsessed with each other, leading to a marriage fraught with tensions and problems. Pop was as handsome a man that ever crossed the stage or screen. Black haired, white skinned, pale blue eyes, a very natty dresser. He was a straight shooter, and a fabulous billiards player. Their arguments were legendary ah, but that's another story.

Gunny sack races, potato passes and men trooping off to play soft ball in their wool slacks. Heavily oiled mitts in hand, young boys in tow with unwieldy bats. The women would sit on the benches and beach chairs yelling and arguing their hands flashing with jewels, fingers at the ready to point or crook at an offending child. Always ready to climb the next verbal rock wall with relish.

Now Uncle Julius and cousins Davey and Toby would be sweating in the center of all this with a one mindedness. Tweaking and playing the fire like a fine instrument, on the top of which a great cauldron brewed. This year there was an addition of a great garbage can sized pot namely a wok. Mind you this home made colossus looked to me like the lid of a big metal garbage can. Julius' baby. He sweat over it as a doctor does a breach birth. With finesse and an almost balletic choreography, masses of vegetables were tossed sputtering and sizzling as slowly everything was added. Celery, onion, cabbage, carrots, broccoli, chicken, broth, cornstarch, soy sauce. Finally the most exotic of ingredients, bean sprouts. This was new it was fantastic, no big slices of meat, everything chopped all the same size with pains taking care. First this and then that. Nothing gedempted here, no Kugel grated oiled baked. No, this was science, and timing, all tossed together quickly. Thin bits of white meat chicken added to the melange. A tsimmis in definition if not in practise. Chop Suey, straight from Hong Kong.

I was really little, standing transfixed as I would later when a raw boned six foot two woman on T.V. wielded a cleaver like Uncle Julius'. Eyes round watching this new kind of alchemy, the smoke fires burning my nostrils, the sounds of chaos a din in my ear. I stood shuffling from foot to foot, pine needles sending up their resin dark smells underfoot mingling with Chop Suey. In the cauldron bubbled fluffy white rice, no hot dogs and beans. It was a gastronomic awakening, an epiphany.

My G-Uncle Julius figured again in my gastronomic awaking with his Fish Souffle. Mrs. Paul, not! My Grandparents took me often when I was also very young to a French restaurant, La Champlain, Ice Cream at Schrafts for afters. Lobster was a rare gourmet treat back then and I acquired the taste at a very tender age. Fresh squeezed Orange Juice daily, Coconut from Florida in winter and Perrier water a rarity in those days, were among the many things introduced to me on Maytime Drive.

We were handed bowls, and began to line up, so many Oliver Twists with great anticipation. Licking lips and sniffling the air I shuffled along with my bowl and large spoon. Julius and Dave stood aproned and hot mitted, with giant ladle's. Toby with her rice ladle first, and then the mound of gleaming vegetables with a kind of shiny blond sauce. Gently cradling my bowl, deftly stepping over tree roots, ant hills, twigs and pine cones to finally perch somewhere. My spoon dug in, hot, hot, hot, blow, blow stick out the tongue lick the bottom of the hot child friendly spoon and tilt it in. Flavors, not just onions, it must have been garlic, ginger, bless Julius' heart. Light bulbs in my head pop, pop, pop.

Now I was never a real fan of Chop Suey but my little road map tongue got the taste for something and was never quite happy with just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Velveeta again. Oh, as far as the rest of the family picnic, kids got spanked, and picked up from the dust, younger ones got rocked and passed around. Bottles of blowing bubbles were handed out, bubble gum blown and later roasted marshmallows. The adults yelled and insulted one another as they laughed and played cards, smoked their cigarettes and cigars, topped off with tons of fire roasted coffee out of giant enameled pots.

Eva always got the last word. Or maybe it was the mosquito's.

Baby doll jammy clad I dreamt of fires and cauldrons in the sticky heat of my room, and waited for next summer and a family picnic by the lake.

By Michele  Bernstein

Holiday thoughts

The winter holidays for me as a child were a kaleidoscope of pictures sounds and emotions. Personally I loved the message of Hanukkah, we fought for our religious freedom our right to exist on our land under our terms (religious beliefs). The forces that attacked us were huge compared to the few led by Judah Maccabee. Our eternal light that is part of the sanctuary needed to be relit. The oil purified and sanctified was just enough for one day, a Cruz of oil takes a week to make. The miracle was that the light lasted the week. We still celebrate thousands of years later. In the dark of winter we light lights to shine on liberty, to shine to warm us lead us to the highest possible level of humanity. We give sweets and little gifts one each day chocolates and eat foods that are cooked in oil commemorating the Festival of Lights. We at home did light the menorah without the prayers without the usual foods, the latkes. We didn’t receive our gifts then. At that time Thanksgiving was Thanksgiving no Black Friday no Christmas until December. So around the end of the first week of December garlands started appearing then electric lights. I loved those beautiful blue ones, I pretended they were for Jewish children. Charlie Brown houses weren’t a thing yet, most homes were restrained, elegant and festive. They were a feast for my eyes. Fall had just ended and winter put her cloak on, short days, cold rooms the very desire to eat things that were full of fat to warm the primal need for survival. My Christian friends shared Christmas Ribbon Candies, Candy Canes, chocolates and Chocolate Cherries. I watched them set up their trees and most decorated the night before Christmas Eve placing presents underneath. We had Christmas Stockings and we hung them on our mantle. Christmas morning we’d wake up and some presents were placed on the end of our beds or downstairs  in our wreck room . I’m certain that most Jewish families had rituals that were handed down for generations that were observed to the delight of their children as my Christian friends certainly did. We had a hodgepodge of loosely based rituals and customs and our gifts were sometimes sparse. I’m a total sucker for Christmas music, the lights, I loved that people were a little more kind a little more happy the excitement anticipation of the festival of the Christian lights. Santa Claus the legends, stories of love and compassion. So I observed from a distance the families who celebrated Hanukkah and those that celebrated Christmas. Those who’s families traditions included traditional foods like my Italian friends who’s Christmas Eve Feast of the seven fishes, other friends who I attended midnight mass with. my best friend in Jr. High/ High school, an Irish Catholic who’s family shared gladly with me. I never lost my love for celebration for seeing the light and love during this time of year. My wishes for all you are in my life is to fully embrace your family, warts and all, embrace your emotions, your love, your life, your traditions. I wish you all only that which is for your best and highest good. Health and love 💗Happy New Year 🎆 with love 💗 from the RGV

Written September 3, 2018

Labor Day
    For us Labor Day was a melancholy holiday. It meant the end of our pool and BBQ season, the end of Jones Beach #9, the end of Sunken Meadow State Park. If you didn't know my fathers BBQ's they were legendary. Not like Texas BBQ or smoked BBQ, but Harold's (latter Hal's) BBQ. After years of testing and tasting and gleaning off the cook books dad began to buy, he'd come up with a BBQ sauce to end all BBQ sauces. He kept a great big jar in the refrigerator adding to it each season. It couldn't go bad there was so much vinegar, sugar, soy sauce and who knows what, that it was self preserved. It was an Orange-ish, golden-ish, apricot-ish color. BBQ for us were hamburgers, hotdogs, ribs and or chicken. Macaroni salad, potato salad, 3 bean salad, sauerkraut and pickles. Sometimes coleslaw and in season corn. Dad would marinate his chicken/ribs over night in bowls and the the great big ziplock bags when they came out. He had two bbq's one gas one coals. He'd be there snapping his giant tongs, tending his meats in his bathing suit, squinting through the smoke opening and closing the lids on the grills. When he had a few minutes he'd throw himself in the above ground pool for a dip. All the salad stuff would be in their containers with the condiments placed on the glass topped dining table on our concrete block patio that he built himself. Those blocks were 6" thick and 4x4 each, he tinted each one a different color with a powdered dye as he hand mixed that concrete and poured it into homemade forms. He built them one at a time in place as they were too massive to move. With the redwood furniture they collected thought the years and the beautiful metal furniture from my grandparents our back yard was transformed into a resort. There was a Badminton net we also used for Volleyball and the "Fruit" trees dad had planted. Sour apples, Crab apples, Cherry, Birch by the patio, Silver Maple, Azaleas, Rhododendrons and his kitchen garden.
    The man was not lazy. Mom was. She didn't lift a finger but to go to her job, and occasionally food shop was her contribution. He did it all. Cooking cleaning entertaining, sewing and laundry (after we moved out). He was a born sales man not often successful, enough to keep us solvent but he had an uphill battle from day one poor guy. His skill set was terrific considering he grew up in apartments after my grandparents lost their Brownstone in Brooklyn to "The Crash". He could fix or Gerry rig anything.
    His father and mother were both bookkeepers, they were white collar workers who made good money for awhile investing et&c. They had become fairly wealthy when dad was a little but my grandfather was not a good businessman and it didn't last. My mothers family was a mix of blue and white collar. Several of my Great Aunts and Uncles belonged to Unions, some in the trucking industry, some in the garment industry. Their fortunes ran the gamete but if anyone needed anything they were right there for each other. with 14 children my Great Grandmother was quite the manager. Mollie also known as Mollish, ruled with a velvet hammer.
    When each child got a job they handed over their paycheck to mama and she doled out an allowance for them. That money made money and when each child got married there was bedroom furniture, kitchen outfitted and some cash to get them started. each one received the same provisions from out of Bubbies pot of money. Four of my Greats never married and they took that money and bought Bubbie a new house and they lived with her taking care of her. They made that home a showplace and the gathering spot for the whole extended family.
    My best memories revolve around those BBQ's, our holiday's and my Great Aunts and Uncles at Bubbies house. Our fall season began with our religious holidays, depending on the year anywhere from the beginning of September to October. So today, I have that melancholy feeling, although it's likely to be well over 100 degrees today, in my mind it;s the last day of summer. No BBQ, no sounds of my siblings and our family enjoying our last splash's and season in our backyard sanctuary. No more having my dad chasing us with the garden hose or snapping hos tings at us with his cheeky grin.
   

Written August 18, 2018

I Lived in civilization with a big C, cheek to Levittown, butt to Hicksville, jowl to Westbury. Our P.O. was Levittown, water Hicksville, school district East Meadow and I graduated from W.T.Clarke HS in Westbury. Part of my lifelong identity crisis, there are many other contributions to that particular neurosis, but having to say "I live in East Meadow, but my P.O. Levittown" was the start of an emotional snowball. I've just never fit in, always a toe or foot in different camps never solidly definable never relaxing comfortably in a label or group/posse/clique. Jewish but no real Yiddishkite ie formal education, special memories of rites and rituals , New York Suburban kid, Jewish, but far from it. Living in suburbia without really being in the true middle class suburban family dynamics with those rites and rituals. Best educated "class" during the height of the top education formula churning out the new Collage bound generation. I missed that boat because they missed my learning disabilities, word retrieval problems and finally my inability to pay for a higher education. I opted for an ill advised early marriage to get out of my home dynamic, from the frying pan etc.
       Medium height 5'3", Zoftig (dee groyss broost) gleaned from a Yiddish phrase book. now I look at old pictures and ask where was this fat girl, why did they nag and call me fat with a beautiful face, etc.yes,( in the time of Twiggy) with my nondescript brown hair, blue/green eyes, finally even teeth that I tortured for hours on end with my thumbs instead of braces. good skin and breasts that ensured my perpetual embarresment and a great deal of wardrobe adjustments and disappointments.
     My well to do grandparents seemed to be Hollywood stars to me. Elegant, refined, respectable. they went to Shule, my grandfather a president of their Men's club, starched and ironed white shirts, sheets laundered at the Chinese laundry. Matching everything, cloth napkins and table cloths for each meal and of course dairy and fleish. Civilized, Wall to Wall carpeted, not to mention the Steinway and Sons Mother Grand, quiet and orderly. You knew where you stood. True my Grandmother was a cold formidable woman but she took care of you with competency and just enough of a flourish that you thought she might just care a little. She was kind in a no nonsense pan faced thin lipped way. Underneath was a deeply fragile smart ambitious woman. She was a tartar and a great judge of character.
    At home as I've said before was chaos, in every way. I saw/lived with my clean well clipped, brushed, bathed, clean foot/hands in my Grandparents home and then was untended/disheveled in my mother's house. My Uncle  was four years older than me, he lived in that beautiful orderly well taken care of world. Beautifully prepared wholesome food at every meal, clean pressed clothing no holes in socks or underthings, pajamas robe socks slippers. Take your shoes off, wash your hands before you come up your ---- is on the table. Snacks with a glass of milk in a clean glass on a pretty plate on a clean place mat. He didn't roam the streets, my Grandparents knew where he was playing ball or riding his bike, they could fetch him in a moment. I roamed free range, by 4 or 5 I was walking all over the different neighborhoods at large without any supervision. If I was hungry (before the kitchen extension and backdoor) I'd call up the steps from the (w)rec(k) room. After the renovation I tapped the back screen door and a sandwich was thrust at me, or quietly foraging my self for a hunk of Velveeta, or a tablespoon of peanut butter. I'd eat on the front or back stoop. I spent a lot of time in the three out side seasons contemplating the world lying in the grass in my or others back yards, watching the bugs that buzzed walked or flew. Listening to the bird calls watching their soap opera lives, cataloging the different plants and eventually learning their names by looking them up in the Encyclopedia.
    Summer program at my elementary school I'd walk the three plus miles on Newbridge road all by myself, skinny little me while the traffic roared by. When I figured out how to get to Salsbury Park Drive through the neighborhood behind me, I went that way as well. Cutting through my backyard where they eventually put a sump was a great but spooky shortcut. That was the farmers old property and I'd miss that farmhouse everyday. Knocking on the doors of my friends to see who was available to play, being Jim Bowie and rescuing my backyard friend Missy as I climbed trees often in my genuine Coonskin cap. Unfettered wild mostly alone, avoiding being in the house underfoot under scrutiny, under siege. I could tell the time by the sun, when to begin the trek home dragging my scuffed summer Mary Janes or most often barefoot. my hair nearly shorn when I was a little older but wild and unkempt, standing every which way. No doubt filthy bedraggled big eyed and sad. I look at the photos of the past centuries the stern somber faces captured for all time, and I, either in black and white and later color stare out with the same mien. I see the silent plea behind those eyes no body else does.
    Reading, once I figured out how to, was my salvation. When i read books about the settlers, the farmers and people close to the land I felt it right down to my marrow. Whatever my DNA says, in my past lives I was of the earth too. My foot that's in the practical no nonsense McGuiver get "er done by the seat of my pants and the ever present "throw back" (my mothers words) self wars with the refined how am I supposed to be self. I think I wrote before about my friend who told me "you're a schlepper, you should be a pointer". Yup that's me. Yet, I long for the big old wood floored wide porches home with the kitchen gardens and flower gardens, the wide open windows and the sound of  nature in my ears. A roaring fire in the winter while stitching away on a quilt. The scent of dinner drifting on a breeze and my breads and pies cooling on a sill. Yes, the romantic side of me longing for a place where I am at long last at home in a home I can only yearn for. A childhood that I can mold and bend and fill up the emptiness the void. A place my children and grandloves can all come to, memories rich in lore and love. It exists only in my imagination, the place I default to when the void begins to yawn up through me. My secret world is cozy homey warm and loving. It's far from the madding crowd. I know it's rhythms I stand with both feet planted firmly and it's not a dream...

Après Tempus Fugit

The new editing system on this blog blows chunks so sorry if my margins spelling spacing
 etc. etc. I can't scroll or edit properly so it's taking me twice as long to write this, I may have to buy a stupid app! Anyway...

About my lessons they may seem to others no brainers or even a bit self couscous, self indulgent however these are my life lessons and experiences that are chronicled, cull what you like. 

I've made many mistakes mostly out of ignorance and lack of experience, some out of shear negligence and apathy, and the worst; from a deliberate kind of blindness choosing to think or act one way full knowing the truth. We pay for that in time, friendships and lost opportunities GRIEF.  My goals are to never loose that again. It's been my practice for as many years as I can remember, and I may have written this before but it's worth repeating that before I fall asleep, I review my day. If I find that I was unhappy, upset, anything that didn't work I resolve to find away to fix and never repeat this. Not so easy but do-able. My ultimate goal is a page out of my sister Pam's book, to be happy. If your not happy none of its good, nothing. This is not the momentary quick happy  but the deep long lasting abiding happy. It's a core thing looking deep in to your core, no more pretense no more persuading myself it'll be okay, or when blank happens...

DO NOT KID YOURSELF ON ANYTHING

Not sure how many lessons that is, but they are mine and I've got the medals and scars.

When I stayed with Margo and Rick awaiting the arrival of Niko in London, I saw a world so different than ours in the U.S. although we share common language heritage et. all. I'd been to the U.K. many times before as adjunct to Ira for work, or with Adam while he studied in Scotland. As a temporary resident of Hackney (five weeks), I could have been anywhere on the planet. In a six block radius we were in Jamaica, Turkey, Morocco, Africa, Asia the West Indies, India. More nations, dress, food, mores, dialects than I ever experienced in NY. I gawked at everything like a hick from a one horse town, it was all new and not necessarily exciting. I did feel threatened on occasion very out of place (says the wherra from Brownsville). There were no "Englishmen". Not unless you went closer to the city and the tourist areas, in the neighborhoods though they were a dead breed. Replaced by thugs and drunks. The local butcher shop was an oasis they were kind curtious and very English, olde school. The British culture as I knew it was supplanted and dead, I understood then when Margo came back to the states apart from needing to be closer to family, why they chose to leave.

Staying with them in Santa Fe was no less a huge change of venue. The clean piñon scented air, vistas of mountains valleys and adobe style homes a world apart. Everywhere you look is nothing like anywhere you'd been. The ride to Echo canyon, Chama, Albaqurgue was like changing channels on cable constantly. Whole Foods culture a world in its own, the food, people all of set apart from my  east coast, south of the iron grande coast expereiance. Thay dry Mt. Air a respite for the weary.          

When we were once all together in this new world it was my dream my ultimate birthday dream. Thank you Barry for allowing me to have the time with Niko, and for accommodating me in my 60th B'day wish. No blow out party high priced dinner with attending blow out gifts could ever have meant more to me. All that I received was gravy, the meat was being with you all, my plate could only have been fuller if all the machatunum could have been there...

Lesson#25 be clear and honest with yourself about what you really want and value, the being authentic thing is it. 

Now I can't change this blinkity blink thing back! Hate this. Okay more blogging later Oy!

Tempus Fugit

Gigi, I was talking about you the other day. I haven't seen you in years and yet I still think about your stories and the wild ride of a life you led. You were my secret coach, more than any other woman in my life, your story and adventures fired my imagination and paved the way for a massive  transformation in mine. It's true through the years I have met other extraordinary woman who have left little tid bits and wisdom like passing comets whos trails I was able to view after the initial planet disappeared. Yet in my mind I'm having the conversation with you, somehow you are still a presence and influence my emotional muse. Of course I take literary liberties with my lessons learned but they are all true all of these are  from yours truly hard taught and fought for...

Lesson #1 dress and groom for yourself look in your own mirror, decide who you are and live it. I am cute and sexy with a drop of comfort in mind.

 Lesson #2 if he isn't wild for you and treats you like his one and only with all the attending worship something is rotten in Denmark.

Lesson#3 moisturizer everywhere, scent and smooth limbs always a must. Not sure who said it but a girl who spends her last dime on perfume is a real woman.

Lesson #4 Learn to say no and reward with the occasional yes ( that's a tough one for a person pleaser)

Lesson#5 dirty dancing in the living room follows to the bedroom. Which is very different from the advise that my Grandfather gave me his was make every kiss a stolen kiss.

Lesson #6 take care of your man but remember you are not his mother

Lesson #7 The way to a mans heart may be through his stomach but there is an awful lot of listening commiserating and putting up with to keep it

Lesson #8 men and women can not be friends, if he brings his new friend home to meet you grab your pitchfork girls, and that include the quant new practice of texting

Lesson #9 everyday in everyway think cute and sexy even when your wringing the laundry in the slop sink after the machine refuses to spin

Lesson #10 give yourself a good stare in the mirror, congratulate, pet, smile and reward its likely the only time you will have such a bulstering moment in the day, a pinch on the cheek doesn't hurt either

Lesson #11 do and eat one thing that you want once a day even if it's just a shnibble, and ten minutes of screaming down the toilet bowl (highly recommend if you have 3 kids under the age of five) ( or the equivalent of one former bachelor husband who is obsessive)                                                          

Lesson#12 if it hurts fix it or high thee to the bleeder cause you shouldn't suffer in silence! Seriously

Lesson#13 hair grows in very weird places after 50 the eye brow razors and threading girls are your best friend, when in doubt just pluck and keep on a plucking

Lesson#14 if it's perky it will sag, flop, droop and end up somewhere frightful forget a retirement fund nobody can afford to retire start a droopy day fund and and in case of divorce looking great is     the best revenge fund.  Wish I had thought of this 30 years ago, gotta find out if they'll do a layaway                    Botox Restilin at the near by clinic

Lesson #15 you'd better have a lot more than mad money stashed away for ICE

Lesson#16 just do it cause you're going to be a year older next year and you'll have lost that time fretting over being too old, bull shit never too old!

Lesson#17 pick a guys who isn't afraid to fart, cause I promise you even if you've never farted in your life after 50 you will everywhere at anytime so if he's already turning purple trying to pretend he isn't he'll be over the moon when you start to so he can just let himself go

Lesson #18 being polite never gets old it just puts you in a good place no matter how gnarly the other person is you can just smile politely and pat yourself on the back

Lesson#19 learn to say your sorry or I don't know, It really doesn't hurt

Lesson#20 when the screaming or the freezing is over tell the person you love them it's vital

Lesson#21 seriously never go to bed angry part b to this is don't hold a grudge and hang it out to dry at every big argument air it out and be done with it

Lesson#22 make time for a special grooming day, even if you do it all for yourself set one day a month aside and wash wax and lube your chassis

Lesson#23 make a girls night out and keep it. I haven't done this and now when I do the fella gets all pouty and whiny even though he pretends to man up about it. He still makes me feel guilty on the  occasion

Lesson#24 pick your battles, and let him know that you are conceding when it is less important to you and that by gum he WILL conceed when YOU feel just as strongly. It's not about who's turn it is it's when you really need to hold firm, remember that in the heat of the struggle if there is one, that whatever you say hangs there above your head in italics. Once you say it you can never take it back. Tact my dears is under rated


More lessons later I think

When we first met I was a mother of three in a difficult marriage with someone who was not available to me emotionally or more often than not physically. It was a lifeless relationship that I kept alive in my mind by crazy deceptions and lies. You as many other of my friends saw this. With your chiding and gentle bullying you began my slow transformation. Pushing me to transform my physical self while trying to see me open the world around me. The day you told me "you look like a housewife, do you want to look like a housewife? Do you want to look cute and sexy? With that thick. French purr of an accent and your red lips pursed at me in disapproval your eyebrow raised (I   envy that emocon). You were beating the ball of your foot on the floor in a very French expression of pique as you tapped a brush over your palm, while I had the flibbety gibbets over the discussion of turning me blonde. Not a little highlight here or there blonde fing blonde. No dipping the toes in you turned me platinum BLONDE. No I wanted to be cute and sexy but I hadn't ever really had the power of feeling cute let alone sexy. A big busted shy girl with a tiny head and big eyes thin hair I just never got it all together in my head. I never felt that girl power, I should have looking back now I see that i was pretty and not the fat girl I saw in the mirror. The fat girl my mother talked about the clutsy             gawky big chested funny looking kid. I look at old pictures and see that there was unrealized     potential clay to be molded if i'd met the right person(s). Well I'll tell you it's never too late not ever.             I'm a slow learner but I got there!

So it's 1999, I'm three days from selling the house and moving to Spring Hill Fl. With two cats and a few belongings as I've sold the new home owners almost all of my furniture, and given away others. I was on my way to pick up cat food for the trip and decided on a whim to drive by your home I hadn't seen you in 3-4 years. You didn't know about the divorce, my taking in students to make ends meet. Adam and Margo away at school Craig graduating and getting ready to go himself to PA. I didn't just have empty nest I had everything vanished hocus locus and I was trying to put this Humpty together again. I had crawled into a shell for those few years of separation and subsequent divorce so it hadn't   occurred to me to seek you out. I knew for sure afterwards that that had been a mistake and lost   opportunity for both of us.

There you were going to your mail box still the figure of elegance and perfumed cute blonde older French lady with her shit together. When I stopped you squealed and we hugged.  The fastest catch up session ever, with you commiserating and reviling my now X. We were both moving on to FL. You'd sold your house and were leaving the next day, with your wonderful husband, the love of your life. I was traveling the unknown on my own but was truly happy and ready. I had lost a lot of weight through the years and you marveled about how cute and sexy I looked and that I should take chances and not give in to convention but throw it to the wind. And that my dear is just what happened only in a more conventional way, habits like mine die hard. I hadn't dated during the long haul of separation and divorce and I wasn't looking forward to the process when my feet finally hit the sand and red ants of Florida so the universe plopped Barry right in front of me. I'd been propositioned picked up and followed around and Id had no problem resisting all of these delights, and then there was Barry. Young cute never married obsessive with work dancing sports music, did I mention young? Gigi you wanted me to have an affair and find someone who would pay attention to me who would dance and     drink and listen to me. Who would make love to me like I deserved and blow my nose when I needed the help. Stage right Barry. So it wasn't a true affair with the attendant skulking and crazy French  underthings, intrigues and high adrenaline from all the drama. We were both unattached but there was a hell of a lot of all the rest of it. I'd finally reached my Parisian moment. I was dressing the way I  wanted (cute and sexy) learning to dance, going out at night, seeing shows having a life a real life, and there was a guy who was listening to me caring about me and we were growing together slowly but surely. Yeah bumps in the road and more trauma then I ever want again, lost fortunes but in the end,  okay, it was okay.          

Now thirteen almost fourteen years down the line it's good. Margo married to a wonderful guy and made me a bubbie, Adam also married to a fantastic woman, Craig happy with a terrific gal and Barry and I are an old married couple. When we first met you were 57, I think maybe I was close to forty or so. It wasn't the age difference though it was the life experiences that separated us. I'm 60 now and all though I'll never be able to match some of your life experiences I'd say for me I've come a long way baby.

We were all in Santa Fe and looking at old pictures I was a hot mess, heavy, sad, unkempt un loved. Two decades. Time well spent. So what did I learn? To love myself to put myself first and learn to say no, that frees me to be there truly for everyone without sacrificing myself. Not to put what I want so far into the future, I spend more time in the here and now not looking over my shoulder. I don't allow negativity in my life but surround myself with loving supportive people, I speak my mind frankly

Pointer or schlepper there's the question

I've written snipits of stuff to post only to shuffle all the papers around and then let them settle together in a heap. Several years worth actually some just started some half finished, my bad. I'm telling you time doesn't fly it down right vanishes as if it's just never been. Here one moment hey presto the next. I wrote a long nice blog after Margo and Ricks reception in Sante Fe and thought I published it and somehow lost it. Not sure how that happened so I'm going to do this in stages so I don't repeat that disaster.

I've got the snippet of one I wrote not long after my surgery that's almost 3 years ago, I wasn't kidding about the loss of time here goes...

The last few months have been interesting chalanging a learning process. I have a new hero, my husband Barry. Working impossibly long hours at work the holing up in his home office for innumerable additional hours. He brings so much resolve and passion to what he does, pressing forward with boundless energy. He does this with surprising goodwill and humor when I'm sure I should be cranky and out of sorts. Of the two I appear calmer the more moderate one, yet Barry has now acquired a more even temper with regards to work and it's pressures and disappointments. Maybe it's a factor of age, but I have less patience a more hair trigger reaction. It's a big change in our personalities and wonder why. I've noticed I am much more reserved and less able to share of myself. Regrettable really. Barry on the other hand has become quite open and more emotionally transparent. During my recent surgery Barry really stepped up to the plate. He was an advocate, partner, caretaker. With new patience and love he helped me through a brutal painful and long recovery. In my pre Barry days I had not experienced that level of partnership and caring. I was the one that was the giver-doer. As a friend of mine secinctly pointed out I was the schlepper. I wasn't raised to be the reciever the recipient . My first marriage enforced this and I, just kept asking not how high but how long. My friend and teacher pointed to me and stated that I was a schlepper and I needed to learn to become a pointer. "what do you want to be for the rest of your life a schlepper or a pointer". As a couple we have come to the height of our power, as individuals we continue to grow. Intuitively one would think that was askew. I think we were both ready to grow but starting at different points. As a young wife and mother it was all about everything/ one else, I didn't know who or what I was or wanted. I didn't have a single adult expereiance it was from my fathers home to my husbands no college in between. High school, work, marriage work kids, divorce. Barry did the college get drunk, pull yourself up, throw yourself into work thing. independent hardworking hardplaying non commit kind of guy. Then we collided. Barry's strength in learning to give has given me the gift of learning to receive.

The surgery was huge itself and difficult, it had been left too long because of my non existent health care. My surgeon was very honest and very up front but I truly thought I'm strong he doesn't know me I'll bounce right. Ack this is all crap. So, I wasn't prepared for the recovery, the shock was more than physical. I had to retool my psychology and accept help, a except that I am not strong as an ox a ballabuster. I had to learn to be gentle with myself to honor my needs, weaknesses. Rossana and Barry have made the process so much easier on me. I was glass I fought the feeling the rage of being glass, the inconvenience the sheer totality of needing someone and accepting their help, being helpless. That growth was painful as painful as the 6 inch incision running from the center of my sternum down to my belly button. Accepting my new limitations after the struggle of recovery was natural as I had a view to preserving myself as I had never done before. I am high (er) maintainance and that's ok, perfectly fine just dandy. Well, it is a process. The love and support I received from near and far sustained me and bolstered my newly found self esteem. I'm grateful. My humor and health restored my hero by my side, my best friend on the other it's all good.

Living in Texas is definitely different from anywhere. Living in deep south-east Texas is? In my earlier blogs I wrote about the politics, I am wholly offended and outraged that a governor my governor would ever utter the words session. Did I mention humiliated stupefied? In my lexicon that word sentiment is blasfamous treasonous and heretical. No true American patriot would ever spit those words out. We would swallow boiling oil first. Fair weather patriots with guns openly displayed, paper tigers! My son, dad and cousins great uncles etc who served and fought for this country should never have to know that the people they fight for would ever consider such an act.

As a post script to this I am astonished and amazed that the republican field of presidential candidates sports the name of Rick Perry on its ballet for this indignity alone.

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power" -Abraham Lincoln

Lovers Lane, Brownsville,

July 18, 2010

It has been again nearly a year since my last posting I am astonished, I thought surly I had gotten the writing/musing bug since. Time has really slipped by and I have not noted it, how strange.

Where do I start here, first all is well, we are on a whole moving forward and trying to keep a positive attitude in the face of the near annihilation of the Gulf of Mexico. Health care was passed although it was in my opinion put through the shredder, they left out the most important bits.

Barry works harder than ever with one Hurricane and a second Tropical storm under our belt early in the season. He spent a week helping out the much beleaguered Mobile, while they are freed up to forecast for the BP oil spill. We have not seen signs of the oil here, our water remains clean for now, even after Alex swept past us. This is a nightmare there is no waking from. I am speechless that there are still factions demanding that we begin drilling deep water wells immediately damn the consequences. I thought we had heard it all with the lies of our last Administration WMD's and the like. The ruthless waiving of our protections in place and backroom deals, of the King makers. But I am utterly breathless with the Gaul and callousness with witch the CEO etc. of BP have behaved. Rape, annihilation, crass indifference, of our ecology and economy are just a few words to describe what has happened and continues to happen. I have applauded this Administration for all of it's innovation and the alacrity of such, but boy did everybody drop the ball on this one. Even after injunctions to stop the spraying of dispersant's BP blithely ignored all. The loss of life will not be just the 11 souls lost on the platform and the honorable Captain who committed suicide, it will be untold for years to come because of the gross negligence of our overseeing agency, BP out right, and hosts of others who profit hugely from the recovery of oil from the earth. Pass the guilt around and none have stood up and done "the right thing". Read this in your head with a scathing bitter tone of voice and you might approximate the level of anger and disgust I feel.

So I take a deep breath and try to gather up all the news from Brownsville and our far flung friends and family. OK big sigh...

End of September I received the ultimate Happy Birthday gift from the universe. Going through a short cut, near the house I saw in the middle of the road two dogs. The female chihuahua had been hit and died the male mixed breed was protecting her and standing over her body. Frantically trying to get help for her. I pulled over and lifted her off to the grass verge. He followed and tried to nudge her awake, he was signaling me to help. I knew if I left him there he would run back and forth in the street and he would be a casualty as well. I walked a few feet away and called him when he dashed over I loaded him in to my truck and drove him home. He was panting and Mal nourished exhausted and traumatized, and cute. After giving him two doses of feline Frontline and feeding him chicken I spent the next few hours picking ticks and flees off. He let me groom and pick to my hearts content. Dr. Missy after responding to my SOS gave him a clean bill of health shots ET all, and made an appointment for three weeks to neuter him. Collar leash, etc. procured, Barry, Craig and I, came to an agreement he was to be Cesar. I wanted Leal, Loyal but love Cesar Milano the "Dog Whisperer" so...I do call him Cesar Leal in our intimate petting bonding times. Sometimes I see the sadness in his eyes for the pretty female who died. I often look in the area to see if any offspring can be found. He is such a sweet loving dog and he is as quirky as Pablo. They, are the best of friends and play and wrestle between naps. It is so much fun to watch these two interact, Callie also has taken to Cesar, although she achews the horseplay for some licky snoozy time with him. I thank the universe who heard me say more than once to Barry, I would like a dog...

Craig has spent a semester at our local campus of UTB and is working part time at Best Buy. His plans are to register in the Spring in Austin after the fall semester here. I am so very happy that he will continue with his degree process and have enjoyed having Craig again so close. I think he has a love hate relationship with the area, but I think it has been a very good experience all in all. in June Craig flew to London for a week with the Casados' and then to Paris for a week spending time with friends. He brought me home a beautiful gold band that was found in the park and it fits perfectly!

Goli, and Adam built the Town House we had a wonderful party there, ( I swear I wrote a blog all about this but maybe it's Deja vu). On second thought though, the commute has been very hard and they rented it out and may look for something in town. As I write they have left their visit with Margo and Ricki and have headed to Paris. Bon Voyage, and enjoy your Euro trip kids. Tyrion their pup is a delight and I think Sholeh and he are inseparable. I don't think he gets along with the resident cat, he sees her as sport, and she in turn does not like guerrilla warfare.

Margo and Ricki have been travelling between work. On their Christmas holiday they sailed down the Nile and toured Egypt. Thank you Isis. We are expecting a little girl early in September. That makes me a Bubbie and Barry a Zedie, I can't help it, I think it's very funny in this day and age but I am coming to love the monikers more and more. I know Carmen and Mel are over the moon and delighted. I am leaving for London on the 18th of Aug. and coming home tentatively Sept. 22nd Margo's birthday. I hope Carmen can meet me there and we can co-coach and cheerleaders.

Rossana and I have been up to no good as often as we can, and I continue to make lunches so we can gab to our hearts content. It is wild really we talk all day and or text all day and still have things to to share. We often muse what we would get up to if we were back door neighbors, pajama parties and tea in the wee small hours. I have a lot of thanking to do this year Yom Tov.

Barry and I are content, although we miss dancing and food and markets. We, US, are happy and bicker lightly or tease sardonically. And once in a while just to let the air out we have a bit of a toe to toe and it is all good. Because he knows that I am really right, LOL.

Clark, Barry's nephew continues to grow and I think is topping six feet. He is also one of the top students at the Barry school, and his musical prowess grows as he masters several wind instruments, Latin Hebrew and Spanish. I'm tired just thinking about it. All i can say is Kvell.

My nephew Harrison is gearing up for his Bar Mitzvah, and tells me all about the party my sister has planned and wow is it. He ends the description with a wink, this is my mom's idea of just a little something. He cracks me up. I can"t wait and will go dress/gown hunting ASAP. I think I may mail it up to N.Y. just in case...

Since the last posting I think I am even smaller, you can't see but I am now a size small-6. I haven"t been that little since I was a toddler, seriously. I spent about eight hours yesterday finally purging my closet and dresser of stuff, and the last of my big cloths. I made a big commitment here, I have given away the last of it. I think I am shrinking though, not just the weight. We used to kid about my mother being just a wisp of Platinum white hair over the steering wheel, I um think I am going to become a wisp of Strawberry Blond over my steering wheel seriously.

I continue to make Jewelry, selling some. I think in the late fall I will host a tea and show my line. I have a growing stock and as much as I like hording it's time to let go. My pantry will attest to my new non hording venture as I slowly use it up and refill very judicially. Turning over some old habits are hard, but we evolve so...


As always I am greatful for my friends and family for being such loves. And for the brilliant soul who invented spell check.

"It's easy to make a buck. It's a lot tougher to make a difference." - Tom Brokaw

QUE' VIVA

September 11, McAllen Texas

Wednesday was 09-09-2009, I'm not sure of the ramifications, number permutations et all, but it was on the whole a good day. I was able to get through a 30 min. Zumba tape without tripping over my self too much these last two days. The weight has stopped coming off and I am at a plateau, I need too firm up all the flesh that seems to be left. I tried on a few of my old dresses and pants and they are comically grande, xtra big on me, yet when I see pictures of myself I do not see any changes I seem to look as fat and tum tummy as ever! The proof is on the scales, and cloths sizes but not on film or my mind...

Rossana and I were invited to a special event in Matamoros for La Mesa Redonda Panamericana. It was the new officers induction, and our friend Victoria is on the incoming board. Victoria is a marvelous elegant multi-talented woman. Fastidious and trim, her ballet training is visible as well as the horsewoman posture and demeanor. She is a dentist par excellence, her dental spa with its pure oxygen filled room, special lighting, and two lasers have sold me on her high tech all natural approach. Victoria is very involved in the cultural center of her community and is on the forefront of promoting healthy living and lifestyle. No easy task in Mexico.

It is wonderful to be invited to such an August group, Rossana and I have to plan our outfits. Here in Brownsville it is very casual and with my large weight loss, cloths are a big issue right now. My better cloths are at a bare minimum, but I do have one pair of pant, if hidden by a longer jacket I can pin at my waist. I also have a box jacket sequined in an animal print, that will allow me to do this, so, I have it covered. We cross the border looking elegant and fitting the occasion. Rossana, in a black dress and ruby red silk jacket and thin red belt, looks like a jewel with the red set we pull from the jewelry collection. As usual the dynamic duo is early, the invitation says four we learn it is really slated for five. Having a very expensive lemonade at the hotel restaurant we bide our time as other elegant ladies arrive and also have coffee etc. Slowly woman from all over the valley trickle in, as well as those whose chapter is in Mexico. The Mayors mother as well as other VIP wives are so noted, and we are asked if we are VIPS. Well, no I guess we are only two nice ladies from Brownsville, rather ordinary in some way but very very special in others. Oh and the funny uncanny question comes up again are you sisters?

Vicky is part of the master of ceremonies duo so she is furiously working out the details with her other half and can not visit with us before hand. Seated at our table we watch the proceedings take shape and meet our fellow table mate. Victoria, has a wonderful speaking voice and is a terrific singer and performer this is a natural for her. A local high school color guard files in as well as the high school Mariachi band, they await the invocation to present the flag and play the National Anthem. I have heard it before at the beginning of soccer matches this is the first time it is so intimate. It really is very striking with the flags being presented and the band playing. Once started the ceremonies are formal and quite a bit different than ours. We seem so informal in comparison. Several times during the proceedings and speeches they repeat their motto in English "One for all, and all for one." As I recall Alexander Dumas coined the phrase for his Three Musketeers series. An interesting choice. As I understand it the lady who spearheaded this organization was from Texas with roots deep in Mexico. Among other things they sponsor full scholarships and this year there will be six.

The young woman on my left at the table is also a guest of Victoria, she and her husband own a "stamp" business. In Mexico an employer can give their employees bonuses and raises by way of purchasing stamps. These stamps are good at any grocery store, tax free to both the employee and employer. A very novel way of raising the standard of living.

Liquid Spanish flows and washes over me. I have stopped trying to self translate and just enjoy the sound. I have the luxury of observing the process, and the assembled ladies. Eventually a dinner of Mexican Meatloaf is served with bread and potatoes. I had been smelling the enticing aroma of Jalapeno peppers only to find the pickled variety on the table. Unlike Rossana who hates pickles and loves the pickled pepper, I love pickles and loath the pickled pepper. I eat at least one cooked or raw pepper a day. I swear it kicks my metabolic rate into high gear. The older traditional (eating) woman of the valley are slim, spry and very vital, it is only the succeeding generations that are so heavy and out of shape. It is the American diet of fast foods that have corrupted the traditional Mexican diet that is so close to the Mediterranean one.

It is dark and we are seconds away from the border, at this time of the evening crossing is a snap. I felt though that I had been decades away, while in Brownsville I am in the 21st century. It is when I cross the border I am transported back to an earlier more formal yet more leasurly time. The civility I find across the border is so pronounced, it feels like we are heathens and lunatics in comparison. Our collective ancestors, parents and grands are twisting and turning with appall at our new cultural icons and morays. We as a nation have been in a steady decline in so many ways, until now a thin thread of civility has kept us from being the proverbial Huns. This summer the veneer was stripped and we as a people have become nothing less than bores and truly the ugly American of repute. I am a relic. Without civility and manners we as a Nation are doomed as the Romans doomed themselves with excess, complacency and the attitude of superiority, and divine right. History always repeats it's self, where are the Egyptians, Spanish? What of modern British society, my daughter tells me, they are drunkards who have lost all civility, and culture. We fail utterly once we forget how to be kind, humane, courteous. The utter deceit and theft of whole truth (s) condemns us to a rapid decline and mediocrity as a people and a nation. Ethics, civility, and fidelity are dead words in our culture, it has become a very cruel world.

Here they shake hands, and everyone receives a kiss. Children greet/part with you, with a handshake and a clear eyed acknowledgment. Greetings are voiced, as are formal goodbyes given in the same way as the salutation. For a moment you are connected and welcomed in. Your parting means something. When someone passes by they acknowledge you and murmur Con Permiso, eye contact. Good afternoon/evening, charming, consistent, warmth. It survives here and reminds me of my childhood, the lessons of yes 'mam and sir. It is not all butterscotch and whipped cream. I find the disconnect here as well, but people are on a whole courteous. We need to work on the littering and disregard for property and my pet peeve replacing the shopping carts to the holders here, but by g-d people are nice and helpful. It is the little touches though that are charming. I am drawn to the culture, food and way of life. I would happily retire to Mexico given the chance, I hope that they can work out the vast problems of a poor nation, and take back the regions that are bedeviled by the drug cartels here. The Mexican people truly deserve better and a Fence is not the answer.

Did I mention once again I am writing at an airport awaiting our delayed plane for Albuquerque, I seem to do my best writing on the fly.

"Que' Viva," is taking us to New Mexico, Santa Fe. Nearly a year ago Margo and Ricky were married in Brooklyn N.Y. Now the family is headed for a party given by Rickys family. Converging from different parts of the compass we will meet at the hotel where the party is being held. It will be fast and furious as we travel today, party tomorrow and head back on Sunday with Goli in tow. If I look back a year I see myself sick and at the end of my proverbial rope. My knee and hip joint messed up and flaming with pain. This year thanks to the surgery and the shots in my joints I am new, reborn invigorated and waiting to dance at La Fiesta! Without exaggeration I feel the best I have in thirty years and that is a very long time. With VSL#3 containing my acute IBS, Prilosec OTC, I have a new spring in my step. A miracle was wrought and this Rosh Hashona I gave extra thanks, dues and praise.

So I sit waiting and hoping the storms skipping around will not delay us further. After months of severe drought we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, no cool front yet but we are just a few weeks away from a break. When we get back Goli will get a day at the beach. The bugs and mosquitos are back with a vengeance so as usual it's the good with the bad.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

We caught the new train from ABQ airport, the Road Runner, a meep meep sound as the door closes from stop to stop looses it's cuteness after the sixth stop. It was that way in London with "mind the step", as one accesses and egress from the trains. Margo and Ricky picked us up and transported us to the hotel. We dined at a great restaurant on true New Mex food. I had green, Barry had Christmas (green and red) salsa. I think he had Carne Asado rich and redolent but surely cooked with cinnamon. I had an enchalada y pollo and rice. Rickys sister Carmella is running to the airport to pick up Goli and Adam. Barry and I want to go dancing and we are trying to see who wants to continue the party. When we get back to the hotel, in the lobby are A.J., Goli, Mel, and her friend Melissa, they are wolfing down McDonalds to my chagrin. After chatting all around I realize that there will be no dancing tonight I have just hit the wall and no one else salutes that flag.

Saturday, September 12

We spent the morning watching the pet parade a yearly event on this weekend of burning the Zozobra. Costumed Children and their pets with parents costumed or not parade down the main street. There have been dogs, cats, rabbits, chickens a horse and ferrets. We all got very involved with some dog poop left to languish right in the middle of the parade route trying to warn off the unwary and comiserating with a few who ventured in. Eventually a gent with a plastic bag ventured over and spoiled the rather sadisitc fun we were all having with the poop. I voulnteered a peice of paper to cover the remains and Goli annointed it. Craig was clicking away with his camera so there may even be photo evidence of this "accident", on record. All in all this incident was the most entertaining of the whole parade cute outfits or not. The crowds are thick and festive and we are being carried along. Nine of us try to stick together and after ebbing and flowing in and out of stores, boutiques and galleries we split up with a plan to meet later at the sister hotel of ours in town. Barry and I wander around window shopping he has an eye for a new Bolero but the ones here are just too dear and I know we can get them in Mexico for less. I hate playing tourist, it's even more surreal when we find that most of the shop keeps are Middle Eastern, with few locals. Most of the new owners are from the New York metropolitan area. We are no longer a village but a global community. There is an unpleasant moment when one shop keeper refuses to tell me the price of a Jewish star (Mogen David) I have in mind for Rossana, he intimates that he won't tell me or sell to me because "Jews" are too cheap to pay. Yeah well, I won't even go there...

After that I am not interested in shopping for anything and we find a nice cafe for lunch. Taking the hotel jitney back, after Goli literally crowns herself on the door of the minibus we all split up to rest and get our best bib and tucker on for the evening.

The air has been crisp and clean with a wonderful sweet scent although high up in the mountains and a little thin, it is such a rare treat for us, Craig can't get enough after the stifling heat and oppressive nature of the air in Brownsville. We have been wearing long sleeves and the evening air is a bit nippy. The big outdoor fireplace has been glowing with coals and sends out the crisp autumn scent I have missed all these years. The last time we were in Colonial Williamsburg for Thanksgiving it was too warm for the braziers and fireplaces, the first year we went was truly cold and the bonfire was lit the town glowed and crackled.

The ball room is full of people, and as last year I marvel at my family how handsome and beautiful they all are. My dress is purple really purple and I have great new shoes on that fit like a glove. They are my new favorites, and as I dance on them later I realize they are now my new dance shoes as well, thank you Steinmart for all. Margo as usual has found a dress so Marilyn Monroe and fifties, a white top black under the bust line down with a cute black bolero jacket, I have loaned her my black and silver suite although she does not wear the matching earings a bit much for her. Ricky wears a lovely tailored suit, and my boys are smart in their suites and ties very dapper really, like my dad honestly. Goli is wearing a mod tiny floaty handkerchief thing that had to have cost a bomb as it molds to her in silk it hugs her curvy frame and she wears her sky scraper shoes. When you aren't even five feet, even with four inch heals your at a disadvantage. Barry looks so handsome in his starched silk black shirt shot with silver, black tie and suit. We really should play dress up more often. The single girls go crazy for his suspenders later when he removes his jacket in the heat while we dance. It's cute really although I think someone tried to pick him up ahem... It must have been quite a shock when he stated he was Margo's step dad. Mel and Carmen look lovely and chic, they do their best to introduce us around we are easily one hundred and fifty people. After a little bit Barry and I begin to introduce ourselves to everyone at the tables. Having gone around the room we relax a bit more. I am able to observe Margo and Ricky with his family and friends. Rickys father and his family, his mothers family, his Aunts and Grandmother are all dolls and it really does feel like family to me. His cousin made all of the beautiful corsages and boutineers, and an Aunt put together the elegant flower centerpieces adorning the tables and dais table.

Once dinner is over we file into a line and do "La Danca" kind of like a Rhumba line and Hora combined into one. Ricky's great Aunt is at the head and I am not sure who brings up the rear as the line is two rooms long. After I think six or seven passes we do an under the arms tent kind of thing, it is hot I mean hot and we are all soon soaked with sweat. The air conditiong is not functioning. A first dance is done with the bride and groom but Ricky has put his foot down no more wedding stuff, and so no ceremonial cake cutting, or champagne toasts. Rick is a shy man and he has hit his good nature'd limit for this kind of limelight. Outside in the wide foyer a huge group of people have gathered and are buying drinks at the portable bar. Word has spread that Rick is in town and all of his friends have come to have a drink and visit with their old friend. Those who were not invited to the more formal party are as numerous as those in the ballroom and it is a mob. I try to meet as many as I can outside the room and visit with these young people devoted to Ricky. It is a testament to my son-in-love that so many people have turned out to see him.

Dancing and enjoying the music and the excentric D.J. We are all on the dance floor Ira and his wife, the kids, B and myself Goli and Adam, Carmen, Mel, Melissa, Aunts, Uncles, the only hold out is Craig, I am working on him yet. Barry and I have sussed out the Salsa party being held downstairs and spread the word around the crowd that after the formal party ends at ten we should go down to the Latin dance party.

We find ourselves alone downstairs and I try to get our group together, but have no success so B and I dance and watch the Santa Fe latin dance crowd. The rest of the party is in the upstairs bar enjoying more drinks and family visiting, the kids have stashed plenty of beer in their suite as the cost of open bar and all night drinking can be a bomb. After we leave about 12:30 Margo tells me they all snuck in but didn't see us. It was a fun night and we really appreciated all the love and attention Mel and Carmen put into that party, and the whole weekend. We loved Santa Fe and would love to go back and connect with the Martinez and Casados family.

to be continued;

I to my fortune...

"And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
What then became of them, I cannot tell;
I to this fortune you see me in."

According to my bog it's been eight months since I last wrote. Wow eight months, a lot has happened and yet very little has changed. Adam and Goli's townhouse is done and they will be moving in any day now, Margo and Rick have been to Italy, and are heading to Spain this weekend and had another visit to Paris not that long ago. Craig, is no longer in Miami but starting his third week here in the Valley although a bit under the weather he is getting along.

I had surgery in February after years of not taking care of a seriously deteriorating condition we finally made the trip to Houston and I spent a week in the hospital. The tests I took were exhaustive and exhausting, but the results showed I have a strong healthy heart and no other red flags. When the surgery was done we headed home for a long and slow recovery, it was all worth it.

This health care debate is very near and dear to my heart. When I was divorced I lost health-care and frankly what I could get was ridiculously expensive and had so many existing condition clauses it was full of Swiss cheese. I finally had to let it go all together and pay out of pocket for a D&C and two lumpectomies that nearly wiped me out financially. Now that I am on Barry's plan I am making up for a decade of neglect and even had my first Dental checkup in nearly seven years. It is a sham and a crying shame that I and others like me had to suffer for untold years for lack of health coverage. Craig is now in that boat and still they say we are moving too fast, I'll tell you what let's take away all your bennies and see how fast you have to move with a sick child or spouse. Five months later and the bills are still rolling in and even with good coverage we are about the 3-4 thousand mark out of pocket for my surgery. Boy I do need my soapbox from time to time eh?

I also discovered through a very persistent friend a near cure to my IBS. I have been suffering for over thirty years with a progressively debilitating form of Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Well VSL#3 from the Mayo clinic has turned that around and I can say I am 97-100% cured. It is in a word a miracle. It works for IBS, Colitis, and Pouchitis. I sing it's praises and now take it every other day. Believe me I tried everything and anything spent thousands of dollars and this works.

Just after mother's day as a gift from Adam and Goli, I spent time with them at Sholeh's and enjoyed the break from Brownsville. We had a great time and I should have stayed longer but then poor Barry just doesn't know when to come home, and eat when I am gone. I do love the D.C. area, but didn't get out and see my other friends so next time I will do some dancing and visiting. Hey it is such a SMALL world. Jean-Marie graduated Temple U. Law school and Goli and I drove up to surprise them. Sitting in the Theatre I see a face so familiar right in front of me and boom I realise it is one of my dance friends from D.C. Her daughter became an over night dance sensation in the Hustle world, and it was Erika's graduation from Law School. Again Congratulations are due to a very pregnant Jean-Marie, lot's of luck to the upcoming licence boards. Goli and I enjoyed the dinner and connecting with the Dunn/Kane family.

While up in the wilds of the gorgeous North we went back to a favorite stomping ground of mine, Longwood Gardens. Talk about sensory over load! Lush lush lush. We met my former husband and his new, new wife of a few weeks Leeanna. This is Ira's third and I hope a happy marriage. It was awkward to say the least after the second wife debacle and her treatment of my kids. It was a wonderful warm sunny Sunday, and I think we all enjoyed the gardens. My life tends toward the dramatic without any direct drama from me. It does keep it interesting though. Hilarious often...

The wind is howling today the temps are about 97 degrees without the heat index so it's about 100+, and not a spot of rain or moisture. Wild fires have been burning in some of the surrounding counties and it doesn't look like any rain for the next two and a half weeks at least. I lost the French lavender and the new Jade plants. Nothing can thrive here but cactus in this drought. I guess I could zero scape but gosh I do need the green around me. When I was up in D.C./VA it was so lush so overly abundant with flowers blooming and so many shades of green. I couldn't get enough it was as if my heart was filling up with all that I have been missing in the last few years. I wouldn't be adverse to becoming a part timer up North again, but not in the winter uh uh, no.

When we first moved down I was going ape s---, cause I was bored. I went into a little beading shop and they didn't speak any English, yet I knew I wanted to learn, so a few months ago I dragged Rossana into another shop she remembered downtown. We took a lesson (translated for me) made a necklace and earrings and I have been at it ever since. It has been my intention to find SOMETHING I could do to make money and work from home. I am not technologically savvy so it had to be either with my head or hands, BINGO! I am delighted and a bit taken aback that I am now creating and making really beautiful high end costume jewelry. My sister Pam was always the crafty one, with her ability to sew, knit, crochet, really super beautiful stuff. I did do quilts many years ago and was quiet good but didn't keep up with it. Now zoom I am in love and obsessed. It is a very expensive obsession, so I need to start selling soon. I have very high hopes I can finally realize a source of financial stability for myself that doesn't rely on the great physical strength that has served me so well most of my life. I am limited to some of that physicality now yet I am healthier and stronger than I have been in a number of years, since the surgery. I am draging Rossana into the buisness so she can help me make my creations the name RoMi seems a good fit.

So many things to say about life (here) so many observations that I should have doccumented and that are gone now, I need to do this on a more regular basis if not for you than just for me. More stories to tell about the past and the players who are no longer on stage with us, before they are not even memories.

"I hope I shall have leisure to make good,
If this not be a dream I see and hear." Shakespeare's The Comedy of Erros

Anniversary in a Thumbnail

"The difference between a comedy and a tragedy is that in comedy the characters figure out reality in time to do something about it." Bennett W. Goodspeed

It's election day 2008. This election will be a mile stone in so many ways. My first election was during the Viet Nam war, I had registered the day I turned eighteen. If I remember correctly it was 1970, Oct.16. I had convinced my then boy friend Steven Kellman to register and then go and donate blood with me. It was some kind of rite of passage for me, and I thought it would be a nice bonding process as well. Poor Steven was forced to give up a pint. Both of us felt very fuzzy afterward and we ended up just hanging out for the rest of the day. I can't tell you the sense of pride and ownership that gave me, and one month later I exercised my right to vote. To me then, it was going to be the election and decision of a lifetime, I didn't envision today, this scenario. I never thought I would have had to send one of MY children or anyone elses for that matter into war again. In those days after protesting the war, voicing my concerns about the earth (Earth day). It was just my naivete that this was over and not to be revisited.

So I will get ready soon to line up again as I do every four years and put my stamp on history as well as honor all my past and present family members who fought to come here, who fought to protect our country, and who also with clear consciences walked the line to the polls. Five generations and counting now...

Well this is our one year in Brownsville anniversary. In the words of Barry's boss Nizzette, Brownsville is not that bad. It is nearly a year ago that I began this blog, out of sheer desperation and boredom. Boredom with a big B. We arrived Nov.10 after a grueling three days on the road with two cars, and as you recall with two howling cats and our few precious things as everything else went into storage. I didn't even have a bra, at the last minute we shipped our luggage and it didn't show up for a week and a half. I had a sports bra, sandals, a change of top and a sweat suit. Brownsville, was barren, brown and looked unpromising from my exhausted stressed prospective. We drove around a little got our bearings and shopped for food. We also visited the Island after raiding Dillards first thing Sunday morning for a few staples of cloths. It was windy and a little raw and the waves were rough and all I could do was gaze through the hazy mist and think straight across is Florida if I just head over and keep going I'd hit Naples? San Marco Island? Ya gotta let go of that though and take on the adventure, and know really know that this will be great, just another layer of living.

It's rained quite a bit this year so the area has remained green, flowers are still blooming and the WIND has not yet begun. Hopefully this will be a more normal year and it won't be howling constantly like last season. We love our new home it is a dream, with towering ceilings each a different Tray pattern with beautiful moldings all over. Huge shiny Porcelain floors, fabulous woodwork everywhere and great big picture windows. The pool we put in is just perfect. Truthfully, I was really reluctant to spend the doe re mi, but after it was all done with a tremendous amount of strum and angst, one day I turned in the kitchen and saw Barry happily, really, happily paddling around in it. His year has been hellish, and he has been uber stressed. I just couldn't hold onto to my money squandering fears in sight of such pure delight on the part of my beloved. He has destresed and detoxed in and around the pool, although it's been open such a short part of the season. It was funny to watch him Sunday in the 72' degree water. Don't forget we've got tropic blood now, he was nearly blue when he came out.

I had a Haddasah tea here the Sunday after Margo's wedding. I had out all my beautiful china tea sets and my silver. I hadn't done this in a very long time. We fixed lots of cute sandwiches, I baked scones, cookies, shortbread and pound cake. Rossana made her cucumber sandwiches, I made egg salad, tiny crackers with home made hummos and cilantro, and Kurisit sandwiches. The house looked smashing and the cats were confined to the den with the T.V. on for company. The ladies arrive, Elka starts the presentation... remember I mentioned the great big picture windows? Now we have a great big view of Barry in his bathing suite laying down on the chaise, walking back and forth cleaning the pool and doing what ever, with his great body like the cabana pool boy. All these old ladies are mesmerized by the sight of my honey "relaxing" by the pool. Forget my beautiful china, the house, the hit of the "tea" was Barry and his fab. bod.

The biggest part of our adventurous move way down in the Rio Grande Valley was the momentous meeting of the Bogorads. Geoff and Rossana are our brother and sister in so many ways. They adopted us, saved my sanity and brought a kind of friendship for me that I have never had, nor expect to have again. To say that Rossana and I look nothing alike is an understatement, not to mention my New York accent and her Cordobian Spanish accent, yet everyone who meets us thinks we are sisters and refers to us as so. It is true enough in the sense that we are Soul Mates. Funny really, how astonishing a relationship. Danielle, and Joseph are my surrogate children, nephew niece. Poor kids I give them the "talks" when they need them as if they were my own. Yet they indulge my need to mother, and we have a bond I think that is very special.

So as I always say it was Beshert, coming here where names like Tipotex, pay homage to where we lie on the map. Where a Sheriff in Jail for taking bribes in dealing with the border can run unopposed from his Jail cell, and people will STILL vote for him cause they like him and he's a good Sheriff. One Judge said he isn't the first and won't be the last as he lists all the other crooked politicians and public servants who've done jail time. Hey look this is the state that gave us the Idiot Bush, enough said.

We've been to the little local theatre for a few plays, attended some great live music at the funky art gallery 409, manned a table at the Boo at the Zoo last Thursday, gone to a few festivals at the beach and made a few friends. As always Barry and I love to entertain and we've had a few dinners and parties. We hope to get a group together for a dance night either here or at some venue. I need to get some Karaoke music for B's machine and do a night maybe with dancing. Lately we've been renting funky foreign films and watching it on our huge flat screen in the den. I am enjoying that very much and look forward to our next odd ball pick. Rossana as always is my partner in crime.

"Language shapes consciousness, and the use of language to shape consciousness is an important branch of magic." Starhawk, Dreaming the Dark

We cross over the border with regularity, and this is probably my most favorite activity of all. I am astonished how much I enjoy Mexico and the Mexican culture and people. Yes, food is always a motivating factor in my life and the food there has been great, but it goes beyond my stomach as it were. Here the people are sincere, polite and interested in talking to you. Yes, yes there are thieves and the poor and the near subsistence part of Mexico mixed in, but the spirit of the people is very fetching to me. I have come to admire the work ethic, community and close family ties. It is also harder to make friends as an Anglo or outsider but not impossible.

My Spanish is lagging along, although my vocabulary gets bigger each day I still am unable to make my self intelligible. Hilda comes once a month to clean she is a g-d send as these floors although beautiful are a lot of work with the cats. From the time she arrives she speaks to me full tilt with every hope that I understand her fully and that we are having a conversation. Often I do understand and can somewhat comport my self but often I run to the phone and Rossana for a clear interpretation. This amuses Hilda no end and each month I suspect she tests my mettle with more in depth conversations. She loves Pablo bless her and lets him do his crazy while she cleans, I often hear her laughing or quietly admonishing him. He totally responds to her and I think the key here is I need to speak to him in Spanish. He has become such an integral part of our little family. His misdemeanors are often hysterical and we fight hard to rebuke him. Piper is showing his age, he is very lean although he eats heartily his bones show a bit. Arthritis is slowing him down, and when Pablo wrestles him you can see how Pablo takes great care to not really rough Piper up. He kind of play tags and wrestles his old friend. Callie is just the sweetest, no words to describe my little girl. Pablo drives her crazy with his games of hide and seek, tag. Once in awhile she will super discipline him, but mostly she yells plaintively at him. She is so aggrieved at his sport it is funny, and again we have to work up a need to admonish him.

We are certainly not experiencing life in the fast lane here, but I have to say I am enjoying it. So yes Nizzette Brownsville is not so bad.

"Motion or change and identity or rest are the first and second secrets of nature: Motion and Rest. The whole code of her laws may be written on the thumbnail." Emerson

Casados

(Cas-AH-dos)

San Antonio, Texas



I met a veteran at the Dunkin Doughnut counter, I needed Cappuccino badly. The flight out of Harlingen was stormy, seems to me every time I fly now there is plenty of drama and electricity. Great flight very hard landing, all flaps wide open full throttle, drop her like a stone, and brake for all she's worth. Saves fuel but is hell 0n the passengers. Back at the counter, army baseball capped this gent has one of the heaviest New York accents I've heard in awhile. Queued up he turns to me, grousing, how he hates Krispy Kreme, here is the other indication he is or has been a New Yorker, we tend to begin conversations with perfect strangers. Kreme's have been closing their stores all over so I am informed "somebody played fancy with the money." He only eats Dunken, orders three, two jelly and one glazed, a cup of Java. Brooklyn, he confirms not New York, Brooklyn a Brooklynite. In the late forties he moved to Mexico, been there ever since. Lives in an ex-pat community in Mexico City, very safe no problems. He wants to buy me a coffee, I decline, we exchange news of goings on and shake hands before we part. There was a nostalgic moment when I mentioned Prospect Park, he used to live in view of it.

Wish I had my computer this is one long lay-over. Packing light meant leaving my books back home. The constraints of traveling today leave a lot to be desired. Something else has become apparent to me, I am unable to do "without" these days. Pills, cremes, ankle wraps ...stuff... Can't go back to the old days traveling Europe with a tiny case of feather weight undies, drip dry mini dresses and a pair of sandals. A life time ago, no three. Different girl, long haired brunette, features so young, unmarked rounded full cheekbones skin fair and smooth,blue eyes wide open. Now, I see ghosts, ghost of my mother, my Aunts. My face is not my own, it is a hodge-
podge of woes, tears, hope, triumph and knowledge and ecstatically, finally, more than a bit of the sage, a crone. I am very proud to reach the status of healer, earth mother, elder, crone. Just wish there wasn't so much sagging involved. The fullness of face has migrated to my neck where it gathers happily upon my jowls and under chin. Dabs and dobs of green creme erase tiny red capillaries that dot the landscape followed by cunning liquid cover ups. Blush tries to revive the all too pale mounds of cheek bone that are now flattening planes. Pink on lids that are now crapier, darker, lower. Cover all with powder guaranteed to Glow. I don't need to "do" my roots as often, grey is taking over, it looks kinda silvery blond. I look at old pictures now and see myself in the long gone faces of my clans women. A comfort, continuity.

I've been channeling Anita a lot lately, she comes through without warning. I hear the tone, words, and I know it's her. I've become more flippant and irreverent out loud. Stunning are my words, never before would I utter these things. Talking to my Gastroenterologist, above the screaming of a child in the recovery area, he closes the door to chase the sound away, while commenting on his dislike for children, he doesn't "do" them. I quip "does your wife know about this?" Oh boy inappropriate on so many levels, funny yes but oy vey ANITA. He laughs dryly and says "that's a whole other story", good grief, I just blink and we get back to the discussion. My friend Geoff found it very funny to my relief. Anita visits more and more, I tend to have less inhibitions less to loose in so many ways. So much of her moments interpose my own, I am astonished that Michele as I knew her exists at all. I consult her often, and more often out loud. My dad Hal has always helped me "fix" things, work the broken, and summon the strength when needed. Fantastic assets to be sure, now Anita and her incorrigible humor, the don't give a damn 'tude has found a new home.

Looking at my double nickles birthday in the mirror, it is wonderful to realize I have come home to myself, I've made peace with my life and past. It's also a relief not to hold onto or care about the trivial mundane inanities of life. The other side of the coin is I am crankier, and have no trouble saying so. It's the whole earning the right to be fed up with BS and a panoply of the insufferable flotsam and jetsam in my life. Middle age plus has it's perks, being frank and not suffering gnats and their pettiness is a biggy. It seems to me I am smarter, faster, sharper more alive in every way. Physically I am stumbling a bit, but I still have energy and drive to spare. My mental acuity, aside from the loosing of reading glasses and misplacing a thing or two is truly better that it's ever been. Admitidly my spelling is just as bad. My former policy of think it, don't say it, is on the very back burner.

Funny, to finally figure it all out, all of it. I need my 18 year old body back dammit. NOT FAIR. Pigs are not flying with or without lipstick, so I look ahead, set my shoulders, and lean forward against the often not gentle wind of life and set my course to the future.



Union Station, D.C.

I haven't been on Amtrack since mom died. It was the trip down to D.C. after the funeral for Adams G.W.U. Law school graduation. The whole week had taken it's toll and I arrived with Bronchitis. At the time he was living with Shepard and Tui. A.J. took me to a clinic, that turns out to be on the same block as Goli's clinic. They must have passed each other all the time, but it took the Internet and deployment in Iraq for them to "meet". Just the other day they put a bid in for their new home, a large place as they hope to start a family. When the question came up I acquiesced to being called Bubbie. If I ever get a face/chin lift and loose those damn fifty pounds it sure as heck gonna be Bubbles. Grandpa or Pop used to call me Cookie, I wouldn't mind that. Or some other language version of it. Bubbie just hangs there, I see the picture of Mollie my Great- Grandmother, tiny, stout, bust, waist and hips all melded together, multi chinned, heavy bye- bye arms. This mother of twelve children and legions there after, with her Austrian accent, no English, she was a Bubbie.

Neither of my Grandmothers were. Ruth Schick Bernstein was a mover and a shaker in her day. Big busted, tiny, plain, she regaled me with stories of her past. Modern dance classes in the twenties, reading and adhering to modern child psychology books, her disdain of formalized religion of any kind. She carried the first woman's drivers licence in NY, and in defiance of the law with great personal conviction she handed out diaphragms to the poor women in the tenements. She was a bookkeeper who was a working mother and until she had a mishap with a sidewalk at seventy five, continued to work. Slowly there after her life and strength began to unravel. The recipient of one of the first knee transplants, she suffered quietly as she relied more and more on television for her view of the world. Grandma Ruthy believed in free expression, women's rights and modernism. Grandma was no beauty, yet she had a spirit of confidence that was profound. When first married she blew off the Orthodoxy that both she and Herman were raised in. She refused to sleep separately from her new husband shocking her mother-in-law and distressing both sides of the family with her break from the traditional role of Jewish wife. We were often offered a Hanukkah Bush from Ruth, and my father although never mindful of the traditions of Judaism would not allow one in our home. Her father, Rabbi Bernard Schick of Hungary, was by all accounts a tough often brutal man. I got the sense that Grandma, blamed his awful temper and insensitivity on his fanatical religiosity. She was the youngest of sixteen children, Great-Grandpa had four wives and my Great Grandmother was wife number three. He emigrated a second time, to Palestine in his seventies to become a freedom fighter for Israel, married again and lived past one hundred.



My mothers mother Etta, no nonsense, aloof and beautiful. A woman of style and sophisticated taste. Another liberated, smart albeit quirky woman who was certainly before her time. She was a terrific cook but I always thought she would have been happier running a business. My mother used to call me the throw back, perhaps, I make no apologies for being a "throw back". I make no apologise for my talents. They do lie with the more domestic side of life, although there is the "woo, woo" as Adam coined, side of my nature. Do I throw back to Bubbie though, four generations back?



Margo and Rick will meet me at Penn Station, the bride wants to shop. I am just along for support. This will be my first face to face with my new son. Adam sprang Goli on me without warning. Jean Marie and I were besieged at Adams welcome home soldier ceremony by this diminutive, beautiful woman. I had no clue who she was, Goli, Goli? Who, when, what and why. Poor Goli my reaction of startled blankness, she thought I hated her on sight, she also thought my son had told me all about her! What a beginning and how typical of Adam. Jean-Marie somehow gently interrogated Dr. Shadlin Goli , my soon to be daughter-in-love. The shaky start to firm foundations. This drop dead gorgeous, brilliant, loving, down to earth woman has brought such richness and energy to our family. Now Richard Louis Casados, so loving, so patient, and talented. A perfect fit for Margo. Neither of my new kids are the old norm. Not from New York, culturally very different. Bringing change to our old European Jewish centric energy.



As my train pulls me closer to a new era in my life, a new child to love and worry about, a new family to embrace and meld. I note a sign welded to a trestle bridge spanning the river it gives me pause...Trenton Makes the World Takes. Is that still true? I don't even want to think about where we are going and where we are in the world. Not this weekend, I am taking a break from my running feud with the Idiot Bush and all that beleaguers the U.S. at the moment.



We had dinner at Adam's favorite place Marks Duck house at Seven corners. Nothing fancy but the best duck and great Chinese food. Probably the best South of the Mason Dixon line. Self proclaimed high brows need not come, we however enjoy it. Yes, this is a dig.



I need to feed upon Bagels/lox, Deli, real New York pizza, Pho and if we can Hungarian. Anita's all time favorite was Malkas. Indian is high on the list here, so much food so little time.



I miss my chanclas my feet haven't been in shoes well, in forever. I live in the tropics. I own chanclas of every color, high heels and all. Flip flops for every occasion. Now I am shod in break the bank loafers that gleam and shine and I pine for my Old Navy chanclas. Sexy bare toes with fresh really red polished toe nails a thin curvy line intersecting the big toe from the first toe, are black thongs for the feet. Stilettos are over rated, when bare skin with a strap of silver,or bronze, all colors of the rainbow show off smooth bare legs, and the satisfying smack, smack, smack, as I go about my business with rhythmic accompaniment, striding along Terra Firma all seems right with my world.

New York, New York

We three share a cab and ride up to my sister in the 80's. Things are the same the crowds, noise, construction, yet there are differences. Many old shops restaurants are gone, and with in minutes of being above ground I see that the city does look different. During the next few days I realize there is no going home for me. Margo and Rick mention that they realize that coming back to NY may not be an option for them. The cost of everything, the changes, they no longer feel at home. These are middle class young people and they don't feel there is a place any longer for them here.

Ricks smile is magic and his energy is fantastic, I fall in love with my new son and the sense of relief is palpable. No worries here, I just hope they aren't too stressed about the wedding and the "families".

After spending some time with my sister Margo and Rick run off to do their chores and check out the restaurant Le Barricou, where the reception will be held. Harrison, my soon to be eleven nephew, Pam and I head to the new favorite Hungarian restaurant. I have a dish I hadn't seen on Malkas menu, this place is in the same section of the city it's the German Austrian and Hungarian. I learned to eat and cook it as a mothers helper with the Shelly's in their Hampton Bays home eons ago. Mrs. Shelly was a Hungarian Jew, and that summer her mother was visiting. Heaven help my spelling here Rococumpli, is a dish of potatoes quartered, hard boiled eggs sliced and with sausage, or hot dogs if feeding growing kids, and sour cream with lots of good paprikash and browned onions. It can be made in a casserole, as I make it layered, or all sauteed together slightly browning the eggs and potatoes. Food real ethnic food can't be beat. Hearty with overtones of the old country it helps me to feel well less alien to this world I took for granted. Ten years in the south has changed my eating in many ways.

The next few days I spend time with Pam and Harrison with snippets for the kids. Friday we get together with Ricks mom Carmen and sister Carmella. What sweet hearts, I am sooo happy and relieved that once again my new family are loves.We have all met to do a girls medi-pedi with Annick, Mary Margo Carmen Carmella and myself. After the other girls return to work, We have a late lunch at Katz' deli. I have a personality disorder. Mild mannered, well mannered until I go home. At Katz' I really let loose, hey I am not chopped liver, I eat chopped liver. I think they(Carmen, Carmella) are in Jewish/New York culture shock it's a whole different world from New Mexico. There are lots and lots of food stacked up in front of us. Margo's nervous stomach and some chicken matzoh ball soup click just fine. She runs off, as Craig arrives. He eats and I take off for Pam's to dress and ready for the "Family" dinner.

Dinner is in a new Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. The owners are young and hip, friends of Rick's and Margo. They have a wood fired oven and a very eclectic menu. BYOB. It's on a dark and rough looking street, yet our welcome is warm and they take very good care of us. A few cousins, Aunt and Uncle on both sides, siblings and parents. We are a surprisingly big crowd and a hungry one. Beer and wine appear and we begin the process of introductions and renewing old relationships although slightly estranged. It's fun to see many of my other nieces, nephews and their "dates" after all these years. It's always a little awkward for me around my former husband and his family. This time I am so far down the "road," I let go of the old feelings and just enjoy myself.

Margo and Rick enter and she looks like Marilyn Monroe. How cute are they and Margo is just glowing. I want to take her home with me though, wrap her up in cotton wool and put her to bed. Those days are long long gone, yet my mothers instinct takes over. I don't think my mother felt this way about my first marriage, but I know my dad didn't want to let go. For daughters it is so different.

Saturday, and we rush out to pick Margo and all her "stuff" up in preparation to take her to the Chelsea hotel where she and Rick will spend the next couple of nights. Adam is her chauffeur for the day. He drives us first to our hair appointment. It's fun to see Margo in action, this is her old hairdresser, before she moved to London. They are all so happy for her it is infectious. I've been sick for days now and last night was the worst I've had in a long time. I am exhausted dehydrated and hungry but I dare not eat. I cab it back to Brooklyn, Williamsburgh where we are renting a two bedroom one bathroom. Adam, Barry Goli and Sholeh share the space with me. We are trying to not step all over each other. Poor Sholeh slept on a foam whatsit, and Barry and I tossed and turned on a double mattress on the floor. It's cheap and convenient. The neighborhood is vibrant with lots of mom and pop stores and restaurants. In the city the chains have taken over and only a few independent food places still exist. Here the crowds flowing by look like birds of every feather. The mixed DNA on the street is astounding after living in such small towns with a homogenized look for the last ten years. No where is like NY. No where is like Brooklyn. My fathers home town. The outfits so outrageous so urban are parading the streets with aplomb. Even Adam and Goli see such a difference from the conservative look in D.C. Barry remarks often about the dark somber cloths of the valley. Florida was all about the bust and legs. Here the dress is less sexually obvious. Pompis or butts are big here, but usually sheathed in black.

I can hardly walk, my knee is totally out and my hip is screaming. Using the subway and walking all the stairs this past week have caught up to my liabilities. I just want to get through this with a smile on my face and to truly dance at Margo and Rick's wedding. I have been Reiking myself like crazy, popping pills and keeping my fingers crossed. I run through the shower, makeup and extra glue for my false lashes. We look splendid. I look at my house mates and kvell.

Saturday September 20, Prospect Park Brooklyn;

It is a perfect fall day in the park. The air is crisp and the crowd is in a festive mood (as well they should be). People are busy doing, lovers are intertwined, the athletes are doing hip athletic stuff, strollers are consciously strolling and being seen, parents are taking their progeny out for an airing. We gather under Erica's balloons slowly working our way through various parts of the city and Brooklyn to be here. I must say we are a splendid lot. Although the witnesses are few in number we are in high gear and grand spirits. The Facilitator is lovely and funny as well, she puts us at our ease. The main street through the park will open soon as the street fair is winding down. Adam and Margo are stuck in terrible bridge traffic and so we all make our way to the little copse that will act as back drop for the vows. It is quiet and lovely well treed and enough off the beaten path. Margo's second reconnoiters the area letting the few non party members who are enjoying the solitude know about the upcoming nuptials. They watch for anything that might become a nuisance ready to pounce and clean up. Erica, Margo's dear friend and wedding planner places rose petals along a soft undulating course up to the "spot" In due course the text arrives that they are indeed making their way to the party. Ira goes to the top of the stairs to escort Margo, I mount the last set so that we can flank her in the traditional walk to the groom. Rick bless him has been calm and kidding with us. He looks all Carnaby street and very much the Handsome groom. I hear cheers and applause, Adam rushes down and after a minute over the top I see Margo she is glowing in the dimness of the late afternoon. Her shiny head adorned with a tiara, The perfect white stole surrounding her shoulders as she and her father begin the decent towards me. The sound of the Violin begins tentatively at first and strengthens as they come nearer, bless Erica and her husband who is playing intently. I can't take my eyes off of my darling daughter. She is perfect and I am crying trying not to disturb this moment. At some point I am aware that I must give her up and I need to steel my self for this. I am speechless and can only kiss her and place her next to Rick. The young man on the bench has stayed and is with rapt attention watching the proceedings. Another elderly man tries to linger just beyond not intruding but there never the less. The sun is fading but the light continues to glow. It is a magical moment in the park as Margo and Rick exchange their vows. Max bears the rings and Mary reads a confirmation of their love. Mr. and Mrs. Richard Casados.

All in all one of the most moving and beautiful marriages I have witnessed. What a shame that we could not all assemble there in the park as witnesses, but the rules and regs were beyond even Margo and Erica's combined powers.

I will remember the light and the halo that virtually surrounded Margo that evening. When Rick and Margo stood together, a wonderful green haze of heart love surrounded them. I see that same glow when I see Adam and Goli together.

The party was fun, all who attended, this small band of happy souls, brought together out of love and friendship for the Casados, made the most of the evening. When it came time to toast the couple we had a great deal of laughter and all with such love and sincerity. There was true warmth and careing in that room.

Sunday, Chelsea Hotel New York,

We are at the venerable Chelsea, unchanged without regard to century or mod cons. It is fantastic, fun, legendary. Those of us left in NY have come for brunch before heading back to whence we came (ok,ok). The best damn lox I ever had and some great bagels as I hand out Memosas, and Carmen passes around chili bread made by an Aunt in New Mexico, such an incredibly sweet thing to do. Carmella also has special cookies to share, very much like the ones here in Mexico. We all try to fit on the enormous day bed, in front of the huge bow window. What I wouldn't give to own that baby and have placed in my bedroom in front of that window, wowza.

I see my children kibitzing and laughing together, my three kids and my two new ones and I am at peace. I know that it will all work out and they will remain close and keep the family together. Barry has kept close to me he knows that I have been in emotional hyper drive with one thing and another. It's great to have his support his solid strength. His love and understanding of my children makes our marriage all the more precious. It was worth waiting for.

New Yorkers don't "do" tourist, but we were straining to catch every bizarre picture, every nuance as we left her highness the Chelsea. Going back to spend the night with Barry's mom and then fly home was comforting, a good ending for a whirlwhind week. It still astonishes me to say I live in Texas, more astonishing still is the happiness I feel when I come home.

Thank You, to all who could not be invited to this intimate wedding, and sent their love and regards. Muchos Gracis, to all who put this adventure on at such short notice, a big Bravo to all of Margo's and Rick's friends.

As a post script Rick flew back to London Thursday October 9 with new Visas in hand. Margo needless to say after a days fasting was very content to have dinner with her husband.

Casados Spanish word for married.