Travels with my aunt...

I put on my lipstick...and there are tears...”you have to wear lips”...my late, dear Aunt Harriet’s voice in my head...memories flood my heart...my yearly summer visit...a week at Lake Carmel with my beloved cousin, Jennifer, and aunt and uncle...the daily adventures...the late afternoon chase in the car after that Good Humor truck...giggles way into the night...then, paintings at the MET...oh, yes...Harriet and art...paintings throughout her home...her beautiful oils of ballet, bullfights, portraits...then I am 15...and she takes me to my first ballet...Nureyev!...the music, the lights...the climbing in to our seats after the light are out...always late!...and all those wonderful, spirited discussions...with bagels...with chocolate...around tables...in my grandparent's house...in Vermont...in Florida...and of course, Montauk...she was so intelligent...the best sparring partner...she was one of the strongest people I ever knew...I do not know how she kept going when life hit her so hard...maybe, it was for the pure joy her grandchildren would give her...and for the love and life lesson she would give them...now if I pause...I can hear them all laughing and yelling around that table...Harriet...my dad...Sharyn...my dear Uncle "Boss" (Godfrey) and her beloved Nicole...all those giggles tossing the waves of Montauk...rest in peace and love...

heart of darkness...

I read the news today, oh boy...here we go again...you know how it goes...you turn on your phone...or the tv...and today's disaster du jour greets you...I'm beginning to hate my phone...and this new tragedy demands a response...in  a twitter second...sadly, we are a numb society...we try to put back pieces in rote movement...we hang on to our own sanity by very frayed threads...but this morning...my mind raced and kept going back to the same thought...how could one person be so evil...was he always like this...how did it remain so invisible to those around him...or was it there, underneath, too ugly and terrifying to confront...I truly believe that when we climb out of this cesspool of despair in Vegas...that it is imperative that we focus on the heroism of every day men and women...do not glorify evil but elevate the good...and when this becomes another horrible footnote in our new narrative...maybe it's time to examine...to carefully and quietly examine the heart of darkness of twenty-first century mankind...after all...if we do not find the root of this disease we surely cannot survive...and I want our survival to be that film that leaves me crying tears of hope...not some over-budget, bloated disaster burning a hole in my pocket and leaving me empty...and now as I prepare for a cavalcade of faces...those lost in an early October night raining bullets...I say for all of us...rest easy, the faithful departed...and viva Las Vegas...

behind the curtain...

I hope there is never a "Hurricane Sherri"...I mean many of you reading this may have already had your name associated with horrible storms...days of destruction and endless news coverage...but it could always be worse...imagine dealing with a name like David Berkowitz or Charles Manson...you get it...and this is really not the focus of the blog...but anyone over 50 reading this knows what focus is like for those this age, especially early morning...and it is always early morning because we don't sleep...and this morning...facing a New Year...days of awe,...thankfully, once again...my mind is all over the place...but today there was this image...a memory of me as a young girl in the 60's...Brooklyn...watching my father praying with other men from our neighborhood...upstairs...behind a curtain...removed...at a distance...both beautiful and perplexing...religion has reluctantly, and not always successfully, reflected strides women have made in society...for those following ancient paths, not bending to be inclusive...religion is as it was...a higher calling...women just hearing it through a filter written by men...in the early 70's...when embarking on a path to becoming a bat mitzvah...I stopped...a response in two parts...one, to wanting my faith invisible as a response to cruel anti-Semitism from children parroting what they probably heard at dinner tables...and two, deciding that for all my studying and effort...would I be viewed as equal to my brother, or any young man, as I approached the bimah?..it was the emotional logic of an eleven year old...it was a conclusion in rapidly changing, and confusing times...I have long since reconciled those feelings...perhaps with a sigh of regret when I watched my daughter become a bat mitzvah...but the pact I made with my G-d, years ago, does not permit judgement of the "what if's" but only love of what I try to do with my heart each year...and so, when I peel back that curtain this year...my silent wish will always be for the sweetness of that honey dripping in my tea...on this Rosh Hashanah, 5778

houston, we have a problem...

I once wrote a poem...after the terrible tsunami in Japan...it was about water...the power it possesses and the devastation it unleashes with too much...or none at all...think about it...before the frail egos and weapons of mass destruction...what did it...no, actually what does it really still boil down to?...land and water...just ask the women and children dying daily in countries we cannot even pinpoint on a map...the middle east...even Syria with that tempting port...it is hard to watch the news these days...Harvey's story is not over as I write this...and September starts tomorrow...we are heading into deep hurricane territory...already behind the shouts of Harvey is the whisper of Irma...and many more names...we scramble to help our fellow citizens...and because it is too much...we carefully avoid the evening news...or should I say world news...that sliver of a half hour that airs after the local news and relentless tales of train delays, child abuse and political corruption...that half hour that shows human misery in India, Nepal and Bangladesh...1,200 lost here...so many more to come...relentless flooding no end in sight...makes me think of that brilliant documentary title following Katrina...trouble the water...here's praying for all those in Texas, Louisiana and around the globe...and if praying is not your thing...just ask Mother Nature when you seek that quiet moment...ask her to cry somewhere else next week...like maybe over the barren lands of Africa...oh, but first...drown the warlords...amen

gentle on my mind...

1968...the year starts with the TET offensive at the end of January...MLK assassinated April 4...RFK, June 6...the Chicago Convention Riot August 28...and Glen Campbell's voice soothed us on the radio with the release of Jimmy Webb's beautiful "Wichita Lineman" in October...I was only 8 then...probably didn't quite get the lyrics...but I had no doubt that every word was measured and heartfelt...such was Campbell's delivery...music is so often the backdrop of our lives...we hear a song and we are instantly transported to another place or time in our lives...sometimes bittersweet, melancholic...other times pure joy...there were many other hit songs from Campbell...many marriages...a scandalous for the time affair with Tanya Tucker...many children...awards and accolades...but his denouement...tragic and a reminder that the playing field is level in life...disease knows no class and no one is exempt...so rest easy, rhinestone cowboy...rest in the knowledge that your music brought a smile or sigh to so many...and as we avoid the news these days...anxious over egos and trigger-happy fingers, I wonder...are Bieber and Daddy Yankee going to croon me to sleep?...oh, Glen Campbell, yes, we're gonna miss you...

the unicorn always rings twice....

this past May, at my annual, my gyno told me I was in the 1%...at 57...if you're not sure what he meant, let's just say that yes, for a few days a month I still could probably get away with most homicides with a predominantly female jury, sprinkled with some terrified males...as he said it to me...1%...I thought to myself, you had to be an over-achieving shit at this?!?...but then when I listed some new complaints his smile disappeared...a few weeks and many tests later and there I was in surgery friday...the secret of a somewhat youthful glow erased instantly...which begs the question...what really does it mean to be a woman?..why is age not revered in our society?..who sets the bar and determines our worth?..and ultimately, had the true essence of who I am been wiped from the slate?...now, granted, up until Friday, I really had a long crazy ride well into my fifties...and actually I've been walking a tightrope of the before and after for endless months...but today, as I write this...as I stare at the computer screen waiting for divine inspiration...occasionally fingers flying on those keys, avoiding the matter at hand...I contemplate the road ahead...and while always hoping for the best...praying for the strength for all else...I think this journey of womanhood is really a helluva roller coaster ride...it's a one ticket deal with no second chances...and so I'll continue on...ascend that next hill...eyes open...arms up in the air...yes, even with that, ahem, arm jiggle...screaming, laughing, stomach through the floor...the bracing wind of life through my hair...writing the next chapter...then probably forgetting it the next minute...but mostly, hoping to see you all with me...strapped in beside me...coasting those hills, off to the horizon...

achtung, baby

when I was a little girl, I loved going to see my Dad at work...he was a salesman in a high-end men's retail establishment...everything seemed so big and vast and when I would spot my Dad it was evident to me he was the most important man there...all his co-workers would shake my hand and I can still smell the fresh fabric on display...flash forward and I am 25 starting a new job and as fate would have it, I will be working in the same building as Dad...and so, when I could, I took a mid-afternoon break, forfeiting the traditional lunch hour, and met Dad for bagels and coffee at a hole in the wall next door...Dad never took a lunch hour as that is when his customers came to see him...and I am sure many of you reading this can relate...your dads were factory workers, lawyers, teachers, policemen, firemen, and maybe doctors...but, in the sweet recess of these memories, do you every recall your dad turning to you, saying, "hold this scalpel, dental drill, police revolver, or fire hose"??? Such, it seems to be with Ivanka Trump. Let's get some facts clear. Almost 50% of you didn't bother to vote, so sorry, you really need to sit on the sidelines for the next 3 1/2 years and shut the hell up. And for the rest, I don't care who you voted for really, our election process concluded that Trump is President...if he can't fulfill his duties, the runner-up Pence steps in, and Lord help us, after than Paul Ryan. So Ivanka...well, your dad is not a monarch, in which case, traditionally, the next male would step in, you know Junior...then Eric...Barron...or in some cases, the queen, and finally you, the princess...I don't recall your name on the ballot...anyone else?...these are violent times...the summit in Germany takes on weight as never seen before...please, Speaker Ryan...the learning curve was over when that hand was on the Bible...maybe Constitutional Crib Notes?...Democracy for Dummies?...Ivanka, you said you were not interested in politics...concentrate on the new fall line...and remember the sleeves....