Heart Beats

My dear friends came over for dinner last night. Her mom had passed away two weeks before. I knew her mom and loved her. She was very special and still vibrant and living life to the fullest at 91. Two weeks before she died she was playing golf. Her death come suddenly and quickly. If there is a best way I guess that's it. Because my husband and I share a very special and loving relationship with R. and her husband and because enough time had passed R. was able to reflect on some of what had gone on regarding her mom's funeral. She started this way. We were at the table and she looked across at us and said, "Never die in Florida." She started with the funeral director who called her "Hon" and her brother M. "Buddy". Oh, and since the funeral guy (I think I'll call him "Putz" - non-Jews, ask your Jewish friends what that means) didn't want to travel to R.'s mother's house to make the funeral plans he reluctantly agreed to...

Okay, I know I've already got the interest of some of you! He was a perfect stranger. (i wonder why we always say "perfect" stranger?" Anyway I have no idea if he is perfect or not. But I was quite taken with him or more accurately with his view of life...or still more accurately his view of his own life! We met at an auction. I'm a total auction addict and although I buy stuff to then sell online, I truly have discovered that I love to research antiques and collectibles and especially art; I love the excitement of bidding, winning...but I'm digressing. I sat down and then an older gentleman sat down beside me. We got to talking in between bidding. I'd noticed he was buying a lot of stuff and seemed to be so happy. I also noticed that while he jotted down the items he won just as I did, unlike me, he didn't note the amount he was paying for each item. Now we're not talking thousands here. Mostly not even hundred. But I was taken with the cavalie...

I'm not vain. Really, I'm not. Okay, I'm not totally devoid of vanity. But, honestly, I've never been one to scrutinize myself in the mirror. But I don't close my eyes when I'm brushing my teeth, putting on some make-up, combing my hair, etc. And when I'm getting out of the shower I catch a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. I'm emphasizing glimpse because a glimpse is enough for me to say to myself "who the hell is that woman staring back at me in the mirror?" I swear I don't know her. And whoever she is, well, poor thing, she's really let herself go. I'm not going into detail. For my own sake as well as yours. Besides, I'm sure a lot of you know what I'm talking about. I'm guessing a lot of you have your own stranger living in your mirrors. But let me move on to this stranger's face. What are those little brown spots? I'm pretty sure they're not freckles. And those eye lids. Sad how they are star...

Today is my son's birthday. It's his birthday and yet...well, I was thinking...really, shouldn't I, the mom, be the one that should also be celebrated. I mean, really all you mom's out there, weren't we the ones who lugged around our ever growing bellies over nine months of pregnancy? Aren't we the ones who couln't sleep on our stomachs for many of those months? I, for one, couldn't see my feet for the last two months. I felt like a beached whale for the last month. I watched the stretch marks spreading across my belly. I spent endless times racing for bathrooms because my ever growing fetus was fighting a battle with my bladder and the fetus was winning. And then...oh boy...and then...LABOR. Let me write that again. LABOR. I spent almost eighteen hours (my husband says I exaggerate this but even if it was 12 hours, I'd like to see him have breathe-catching contractions for 12 solid hours!) And I was doing it NATURAL, the Lamaze way which meant I was...

When does vanity stop? For about a year I decided I was over it. I was tired of the battle between looking good and eating stuff that tasted good. Don't get me wrong. I've had this struggle before... dozens of times. I shifted sides so often over the years that there were times I was confused which side of the battle I was on. About a year ago I decided I had chosen sides. And I was going to stick resolutely to the eat what you love side and damn the bulges. I thought a lot about about Ginger Rogers. Maybe you don't remember Ginger but if you do you remember her from movies of the '30s she was this willowy actress/ dancer who danced fantastically with Fred Astaire. She's no longer with us. But I caught her in a movie when she was well into her seventies. OMG! She was fat. I mean seriously fat. Now I'm not saying I was willing to be seriously fat. I'm not so devoid of vanity and I do have a desire to stay in good health  so I don't mean I was willing to l...

Who took it? Where did it go? It's so bad I'm wondering... Did I ever have a mind? I can't remember. It didn't hit me at the traditional ladies birthday lunch today. We ate, we laughed, we did a thankfully brief riff on our latest ailments and mostly, mostly we talked about our kids, our grand-kids, our own childhood. Don't get me wrong, it was fun. I had fun. I think we all had fun. Well, maybe some more than others. One of the ladies did try to bring up something else, something a bit more...serious. Problem was she could only remember a part of the name of the politician she was going to bring up for discussion. I was impressed. I couldn't even remember that much of his name. And so it was back to the usual topics. Did I ever have anything deep to talk about? Beecause....seriously, I am having trouble having a serious conversation about well, anything serious and I don't know if I'd feel better knowing it's always been this way or if I'm l...

My friend told me that he was seeing one of his many doctors and in the office there was a sign on the wall - What happened? And that's precisely what I was just thinking about as well. For years I have listened to older friends recount their endless round of visits to doctors. There was the cardiologist, the endocrinologist, the rheumatologist, the orthopedist, etc. Then there was the physical therapy, the occupational therapy. They would complain that their days were suddenly revolving around doctor's visits. It depressed them. It depressed me. What happened? Yesterday I went to see my family doc because I got an attack of asthma. To cut it short I'm now taking a bunch of new meds-yuck. And while I was there I told her my planters fascitis was still bothering me. Next thing I know she's booking an appointment for me to see a podiatrist. And I was sent off to a physical therapist who wants to see me TWICE A WEEK for 3 weeks. It's happening. OMG, I'm beginning...

I've been on a journey. Like all journeys there have been ups, downs and someplace in between. This journey definitely has had an effect on writing my blog. Sometimes I think there's too much to say, sometimes I feel there's really nothing to say, and sometimes I felt like I was experiencing writer's blog . Part of my journey has been sorting it all out. It began during my vacation daze. Vacations combine fun, new experiences, excitement, relaxation etc etc. This was a particularly great vacation. Lots of fun and joy. A feeling of closeness with my husband. A wonderful realization of how lucky I am to have a partner who either loves to do the same things I love to do or at least is willing, in the best of spirits, to go along with things I want to do and I do my best to reciprocate. Everything about this vacation was so good. And yet...I couldn't help compare myself as a vacationer now and when I was young. As much as I don't focus on it, with age comes...well, ...

So the other day a friend commented "I used to fantasize about Harrison Ford but now he's too old for me." (Sorry Harrison if you're reading this). Now this friend who is pretty close in age to Harrison opts to fantasize about a younger McDreamy. I realized my own McDreamies have gotten younger, too. I did a totally non-statistical survey and this seems to be a common trend. Now when I was in my teens I actually fantasized about Cary Grant - not the Cary Grant who was then doing movies but the gorgeous suave actor whose movies I watched on TV from the '30's. Then as I entered my twenties I started fantasizing about actors closer to my own age. This seemed-well-"realistic". Matched age-wise we could meet by chance and given that we were compatible age-wise well, it could happen - speaking purely in fantasy now since I was and still am happily married. But if I was going to have fantasies back then I wanted them to be realistic!  Like my friend I ...

Okay, it's been a while. I've been working on a new novel but but the real reason I haven't been blogging is that the snow's been getting to me. But not too long ago I saw a photo of my granddaughter wearing her new snow suit sprawled happily across a mound of snow and I got to thinking about when I was a kid in The Bronx, being so gleeful about having a no-school snowy day. This meant my friends and I would all get out our now old-fashioned wood sleds, drag them to the hill at the corner of the block and spend hours and hours climbing, sliding, climbing, sliding...until the moms showed up and dragged us off for dinner. Then there's an old photo I have when I was a teenager with an old beau cleaning off his car. And we were both smiling and happy. It's time to ditch those Snow White blues. Okay, so I'm not a skier or snow shoer or...well, snow has its place and I have mine...which is indoors in front of a fire! But it's been a long winter and it's ...

I'm a worrier. My mother was a worrier. My kids are worriers. It's been going down the line. But the other day while riding in the car with my daughter, son-in-law and their kids some potentially worrisome topic came up and my daughter commented "I have too many other things to worry about. I don't have room for that one." And then my son-in-law said "Your worry queue is filled." An image immediately came into my head of a line-up of worries stepping into my head until my head was full and the rest of the queue simply had no room to enter. Like "queuing up" for a bus and the bus arrives but it's crowded and only a few people can squeeze in. And I got to thinking that it would be quite a relief to turn my head into a mini-car rather than a bus. There would be so much less room for worries. And if ever there was a time, I thought, to limit the space in my head for worries it would be now. Worries take up too much space and I feel as I get o...