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Posts Tagged ‘Memoir’

It’s day 35 of the Great Government Shutdown. Threatening to be the longest in history, this Senate stalemate hits food assistance programs like SNAP, federal workers including TSA agents, and the general economy. Have you felt its effects yet?

It just so happens the Love Bug’s 8th Grade Washington, DC trip was last week. The teachers had to change up their itinerary since Congress and all the Smithsonian buildings were closed. They managed to visit most of the memorials, including the Vietnam memorial and the Holocaust Museum. Welcome to your nation’s capital, a metaphor for death and dysfunction.

And what was our fearless leader doing? Tearing down the East Wing to build a huge ballroom in his honor. Renovating the Lincoln bathroom with marble and gold. Oh, and throwing a Great Gatsby Halloween themed party at his FL residence; why stay at the White House and try to resolve the shutdown after all?

And speaking of parties with a small “p,” Martha Stewart’s original big book, “Entertaining,” is about to have another moment. It’s being reissued by Penguin Random House 43 years later. Truth be told, I didn’t buy it then, nor did I buy her book, “Weddings.” At the time, I was deep into motherhood, pregnant with the Rocker and living on the edge of a bird sanctuary in the Berkshires. I had given up trying to cook like Julia after almost burning my kitchen down making coq au vin! There was no one I wanted to emulate, except maybe Erma Bombeck.

But back to Martha, Martha, Martha and me. My idea of a perfect dinner party in the 80s was two words: Pot Luck! Usually we’d buy lots of wine and I’d cook one entree – a meat in one form or another. Better yet, Bob would barbeque it. Your guests supply all the rest. Genius! It was a time for farm co-ops and breastfeeding babies on the side of a mountain, not trying to impress others with opulent place settings and marble bathrooms. We feminists looked askance at Martha Stewart, what was she trying to prove?

Betty Friedan had published “The Feminine Mystique” in 1963. The problems she addressed are still rambling around our collective consciousness today.

Looking back, Stewart was bridging the gap between two generations of women. Like my 1966 high school yearbook – the girls with bouffant hair and the long, straight hair crowd. While purporting to glamorize home life, she was simultaneously building an empire and losing her farm and family in Connecticut. It was almost Shakespearian. I must admit feeling sorry for her when she was convicted of insider trading. She didn’t deserve that prison sentence. Men had been trading secrets for years after all.

Still, I admit laughing at satirical articles about her magazine. I’ll always remember a full page layout of the different types of DIRT! Four pictures across and four down of different colors and textures of DIRT… it was just near enough to the truth to catch you thinking it might be real.

And here’s the real dirt on our government shutdown – President Obama’s signature Affordable Care Act happens to be on the line. Yes, Republicans don’t mind starving Americans in order to tank affordable healthcare. Can I repeat that – REPUBLICANS are responsible for this malarkey! Don’t let the smoke and mirrors fool you. Mr T is absolutely tone deaf and would rather watch women swinging on stars in sequins and fringe like it’s the 1920s.

And Martha, bless her heart, (age 84) is also living in denial. She’s fighting reality with all her might. Post-plastic surgery and a Sports Illustrated cover, she is still reinventing herself with Snoop Dog and stating she was the original trad wife! I almost threw up in my mouth when I read that.

Here is my meticulously curated collection of cookbooks; The Silver Palate for pesto and Applewood and Motherpie for carrot cake. And Ina, always Ina! Mostly I use the NYTimes Cooking App! The Flapper would be proud.

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We’re back to the hazy, hot, and humid South. Southern summer soup!

I woke to heavy condensation on our old house windows and the possibility of storms in the afternoon. What surprised me most was the constant chatter of insects! You may have guessed, the whole Nashville family went to visit our California branch last week; to play with the Twins and give them their first swim lesson. Almost five months old, our baby girls had an abundance of arms to hold them and proved to be excellent travelers and doggy paddlers.

Recently, the Bride asked me about our Spring/Summer sojourns to Martha’s Vineyard with our friends Lee and Albert when she was a baby. She was talking with a girlfriend who had a family home on the island and told me she didn’t remember where we stayed… But I remember dancing in a cowboy hat, meeting Carly Simon in a dress shop, buying fish straight off the pier, digging up clams on Menemsha Pond. I remember the wooden carousel in Oak Bluffs. I remember riding my bike all over the island, past the pink rosa rugosa hedges with her blond curls tickling the back of my arms from her baby seat perch. We didn’t wear helmets then.

“Gay Head,” I said. We’d stay near the colorful clay cliffs on the wild side of the Vineyard.

But Gay Head hasn’t existed for over twenty years, which is why my daughter’s friend never heard of it. The name of the town was changed back to its Native American “Aquinnah” – home of the Wampanoag people. Which led me down the path of investigating the island’s history. At about the same time in the early aughts, the tribe had voted on whether or not to allow gambling, in the form of bingo, on the island. The vote was NO.

When we packed up the crew to drive from LA to Malibu, I was reminded of packing up a caravan for our trip from the Berkshires to the Woods Hole Ferry. Only this time it was the Bride making sure we had snacks for the Bug and the Pumpkin. The Rocker and Aunt Kiki timed the trip to coincide with the babies’ nap schedule – they had tiny swimsuits and sun hats and even sunglasses. Our Grand’s newest cousins were hitting the pool with all the right fashion notes.

I hope Bob finds the photo of me holding our dog Bones’ leash with one hand and the toddler Bride’s hand with the other waiting for the ferry. She is wearing one of her favorite twirly skirts and has kicked out one leg mid-pirouette.

I am determined to visit the island again that populated my dreams for most of my life. My BFF Lee and her husband Al live on Vineyard Haven full time now. I imagine we attended the Summer Institute last week together to listen to NY Times journalists Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey talk about their investigation into Harvey Weinstein and jump-starting the #MeToo movement. https://vineyardgazette.com/news/2025/07/13/summer-institute-opens-journalists-who-inspired-metoo-movement

After all, it was Lee who encouraged me to write and submit an essay to the Berkshire Eagle. Back when the Bride was a baby and I was hanging diapers outside in the sun, she believed in me, always, and I adored her, my Convent of the Sacred Heart kickass/fellowJerseygirl/lawyer/friend. We picked ticks off our dogs together and didn’t mind the heat and humidity at all.

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Minnesota, the land of 11,842 lakes. Where the children are all gifted but the lakes don’t freeze over quite so much anymore. When the Flapper was living out her golden years on Lake Minnetonka, I loved visiting her in the summer and seeing my brothers and their families. Mike called it “the Good Life,” hosting epic Fourth of July parties at his waterfront home with his wife Jorja. I once tried talking Bob into moving there. But the Twin Cities couldn’t compete with the twin states of NY and NJ – even though their marketing slogan, Minneapple, begged to differ.

On Saturday, I was holding down the fort while my Nashville family attended the “No Kings” march. I was armed with a lawyer’s number, just in case, but I was particularly worried because of the news from Minnesota. I texted my brother Dr Jim, who said he was sheltering in place. We were just hearing about this psycho killer, disguised as a cop, on the loose targeting Democratic officials. And like any good terrorist plot twist, nobody knew if some extreme, right-wing, white-nationalist, militia group was planning to disrupt the marches around the country on our would-be king’s birthday.

It was a feeling I’d forgotten, like post 9/11 when I couldn’t find the teenage Rocker and unbeknownst to me the Bride had left her federal building in DC and I couldn’t reach her, and Bob ran to the Highlands dock where the injured and dead never came.

Only this time the terror has come from within. A list with over 70 names of Democratic legislators and Pro-Choice advocates across many states was found in the perpetrator’s fake cop car, along with more assault rifles. I refuse to name the murderer, but the woman he gunned down, Representative Melissa Hortman, was in many ways what we would all like our elected officials to be – someone who could work across the aisle. She died alongside her husband Mark.

Over the years, she gained a reputation as a workhorse, skilled at getting difficult objectives accomplished and at collaborating effectively across the aisle. “She always did her homework,” said Steve Simon, Minnesota’s Democratic secretary of state, who met Ms. Hortman in law school at the University of Minnesota in the 1990s. “She was steely and strategic and savvy and yet so likable as a person because she always remembered people’s humanity, even and especially if they were on the other side of the aisle.” https://www.nytimes.com/2025/06/16/us/minnesota-slaying-melissa-hortman.html

Thankfully, this madman has been caught. I read that we Americans may just have to accept politically motivated violence, in the same way we’ve come to accept school shootings. This gave me pause. Because if that’s true, well, what does that say about our society? A culture that glorifies guns at all costs?

Senator Mike Lee (R – Utah) chose to make fun of the senseless killing spree over No Kings and Father’s Day weekend, writing on X, “This is what happens when Marxists don’t get their way,” with a photo of the killer at Ms Hortman’s door. Then doubling down following that post with a joke aimed at Gov Tim Walz. Lee is a disgrace to his office.

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We’ve had a noteworthy Spring so far in our family and friends network. Aside from the early arrival of our beautiful baby grand girls, there’s been a record number of graduations – the Pumpkin from lower school, one high school, two college alums and a law school! Congratulations to ALL the graduates out there. May our Grandson have smooth sailing in middle school and best of luck to everyone on their next chapter.

And remember, no matter where you start out, it’s the journey that counts.

My Father, a pharmacist from Scranton, PA, turned away from the family business of butchering to pursue an education in science. The Flapper told me his family never forgave him, and well, they also didn’t approve of her – a widowed, ex-dime-a-dance girl. His family was well established Irish; they came over early and made their money in cattle. The Flapper’s Mother, my Nana, was a domestic worker. I have a picture of my paternal grandmother looking quite formidable. All I know about her is she went to Mass every single day.

Excuse my nostalgia, but Bob has finally filled two legacy boxes with all our old paper pictures. We are on the cusp of entering the digital visual world! So I’ve spent the weekend going through lots of black and white photos. My foster parents kept an album of my baby pictures glued to thick, black paper and I can’t thank Bob enough for managing to free my childhood photos. It seems after reading the back of one photo, they actually entered me in a cute baby contest! I love the one of me pretending to read a newspaper, like Daddy Jim. He left school after 8th Grade to help support his family.

He was the most loving and nurturing father a child could ask for, I was lucky.

School pictures, my college graduation picture, my wedding pictures. The Flapper with Cab Calloway in MN. A picture of my sister Kay in a white coat next to one of the first ultrasound machines in NYC. Kay tells me that buried in her apartment is a 1958 graduation picture of her National Airlines stewardess class. My brother Dr Jim’s graduation from OCS in NC, before he went to Vietnam. The Flapper pinning his bars on his shoulder, my sister wearing her wings.

Journey joyfully and with alacrity, and always be ready to pivot. My Kindergarten picture.

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It’s rainy and thundering this morning in Nashville. Can I just say again, I HATE tornado season. But dogs must be walked, so my Grand Dogs just came for a visit.

A little rain never stopped me from strolling Ms Bean, all I needed was an umbrella and my old sneakers! And speaking of weather-aware footwear, I’m happy to report the Love Bug has chosen her Bat Mitzvah project; she’s asking her family and friends to donate gently used shoes (or money if you prefer) to the non-profit, Nashville Soles4Souls. I’ll have to look through my shoe rack since my options have been limited to flats and sneakers, I’m sure I’ve got a few fancy heels I’ve hardly worn.

The Bug was surprised to learn that I wore Weejun loafers all the time and ‘kitten’ sling-back heels to dress up in college. Back in the 60s, we had to wear a skirt on the streets of Boston – no pants for us. And one pair of Keds was essential for dressing down. Not sure I ever wore high heels. I was happy to read that Kristen Stewart changed the rules for female footwear on the red carpet a few years ago by throwing off her stilettos! Supercilious symbols of sex appeal!

Tweens of today have the right idea. Most wear sneakers with anything and everything. I mean, if a retro pair of Converse was good enough for our almost Madame President… I’ve been wearing Asics for decades; through tennis, paddle ball, dance aerobics, and even a try at pickle ball, my gel-cushioned Asics have stood the test of time. Sneaker brand loyalty is definitely a thing. I once tried wearing a pair of HOKA sneaks I found on sale, and was nearly crippled! In fact, that pair can be donated if I didn’t already give them to the Bride – we wear the same size!

“As Soles4Souls, we give goods a second life—and people a second chance. Whether you’re donating, fundraising, or volunteering, your support reaches people near and far—helping those in crisis, empowering entrepreneurs, and reducing waste.” https://soles4souls.org/volunteer

This feels like my second chance at life, a do-over. Ever since the dreaded erev election fall, I’ve sworn off lug soles and slip-on mules. Did I ever tell you, after our Year of Living Dangerously, the Flapper could only wear chunky, two inch heels? The car’s engine had crushed her legs, and after months of immobility, when she was finally allowed to walk, one leg had healed two inches shorter than the other. My Mother simply adjusted her gait rather than limp.

My heart goes out to President Joe Biden and his family after his cancer diagnosis. Two Catholic kids from Scranton, PA, our stories are strangely similar. Only my Father died before the car accident that changed the trajectory of my family’s life. His wife and daughter were killed when a truck hit her car just weeks before Biden was sworn into the Senate. How does one go on after the unthinkable happens? Of course I was too young to understand. My foster parents were my guardian angels.

I wish Joe well on this next chapter. It is an opportunity to be honest with the American people, to let down his guard. As for me, I’ll put on my pink penny loafers and soldier on.

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When I was in high school in the 60s, we walked out to protest the dress code. The girls wanted their skirts shorter and the boys wanted to wear jeans. This morning the students at Antioch High School in TN returned to school after last week’s shooting only to promptly walk out to protest gun violence. They carried home made signs saying “Ban Guns, Not Books,” “Safety and peace should not be privileges,” and “I want to attend graduation not funerals” …

and they chanted “Not one more” on the street.

I was thinking in the shower – I do some of my best thinking in the shower – what will it take for us as a country to ban assault rifles? We did it once before. What if we could repeal Citizens United? Delete insider trading in Congress? Just get gun money and all the money out of legislators’ hands, abolish the electoral college! Is this a pipe dream? This should be a bipartisan issue; no parent wants their child’s school to turn into a war zone.

They closed the cafeteria at Antioch High School; students that remained in class should be eating lunch in their homerooms today, because the cafeteria is where 16 year old Josselin Corea Escalante was murdered. Would it surprise you to learn that the 17 year old male shooter had extreme-right and antisemitic writings in his social media?

Escalante’s family set up a GoFundMe to help with costs associated with the funeral and with sending her body back to Guatemala. Meanwhile, the owner of Middle Tennessee Caskets donated a casket for Escalante, which was filled with medals of her accomplishments and a pair of soccer cleats.” https://www.cbsnews.com/news/antioch-high-school-shooting-tennessee/

A pair of soccer cleats.

What will it take? Maybe if we asked every parent who lost a child to gun violence – inside and outside of school – to donate a pair of their son or daughters’ sneakers and we built an exhibit outside Congress, a see-through monument of footwear, and we installed a rotating camera that streamed live views around the world. It would be like an eagle cam, only this nest would represent death instead of new life.

Pictures of Josselin’s quinceanera are all over her bedroom. Her family fled the violence in Guatemala, only to lose her here, in the middle of the country, in her high school outside of Nashville. Here, where the Bride is planning a Bat Mitzvah this year. Here, where we scrubbed swastikas off a neighbor’s home. Here, where I picked up an hate package on the street in a zip-lock bag telling me which representatives were Jewish.

Yesterday was International Holocaust Remembrance Day. An emotional King Charles paid a visit to Auschwitz, 80 years after its liberation – 6 Million Jews perished. When I see video on the news of ICE agents rounding up undocumented people, putting them in handcuffs outside their churches and schools, I think of Jews wearing yellow Stars of David and cattle cars. I think of internment camps full of Japanese people who were herded onto buses on the West Coast.

I am not surprised that Elon Musk told a group of right-wing Germans to leave their guilt behind them and ended with a straight-arm salute! Our country has a long history of racist, restrictive immigration policy. The only question I have, is what are we going to do about it?

Here are some high school prom pictures Bob unearthed. We thought we knew everything.

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I remember when Grandma Ada sat me down at the kitchen table and told me how each and every one of our problems weighs the same exact amount – they are all just as meaningful in the grand scheme of things. Just because I was having trouble with fertility at the time, didn’t make the 4 year old Bride’s need for a She-Ra castle any less urgent. It took awhile for this to sink in, but it’s stayed with me. The Flapper would have said, “We all have a cross to bear.”

The people displaced by the Los Angeles wildfire have been in my thoughts, prayers and meditations. After my semi-nomadic childhood, living between Scranton, PA and Dover, NJ, losing my home to a natural disaster would send me reeling. I cannot imagine their pain. And so when the spine doctor told me I’d have to wear this Aspen collar another few weeks, I thought about the women who have to find/borrow/buy a pair of pants because they left their home with the clothes on their backs.

If you can find it in your heart to help, Becky and Kim are very good friends of the Rocker and Kiki, and they are in dire need:

We’re asking for your support for two incredible people, Becky Schlikerman and Kim Janssen, who lost their home in Altadena, CA in the recent Eaton fire. Becky and Kim are more than just friends and neighbors—they’re the kind of amazing people who show up when others need help.

Their home, which they cherished, was where Becky’s mom Fanny relocated from Israel due to the war. It is also where their beloved pets—Ruby, their dog, and Jefe and Max, their cats—shared daily life together.

The funds will be used to help Becky and Kim regain some sense of normalcy during the long road ahead. This is a moment when our community can come together to show Becky and Kim the same kindness and generosity they’ve shown us all. Whether it’s a donation, a share, or simply sending them love and encouragement, every bit of support makes a difference.

https://gofund.me/e66bc552

A not-so-quiet moment in the Rocker’s studio.

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Along with a travel-size tube of lavender lotion, I crafted an eternity pearl necklace for her. Bob and I ordered tennis balls for her temporary/travel walker. Dr Jim arranged for a Fajitas and Margaritas lunch cruise on Lake Minnetonka and his friends threw her a celebratory brunch complete with her favorite coconut cake for dessert.

My big sister Kay turned 90!

We couldn’t have picked better weather for our visit to Minnesota. Dr Jim is the last connection our family has to the Land of 10,000 Lakes, and we all flew in like migratory birds last week from TN and NY. After Kay’s last fall, the one that broke her shoulder outside her Upper East Side apartment, she wanted to see her little brother ‘one last time’ and so we set up a Fall sibling reunion goal. We also thought we’d ‘help’ Dr Jim downsize into a pied-a-terre in the town of Excelsior.

But like most construction plans, his actual move-in date was delayed; birthdays however, arrive despite our best objections. Our Daughter-in-Love, Aunt Kiki, will turn thirty something this week. Ah, to be thirty again… The Bride received a blue Kitchen Aid stand mixer with a pasta attachment for her big day and mine will be the last of the September birthdays, a footnote to a momentous year.

According to my Native American horoscope, our September natal days come under the “Duck Fly Moon.” I’ve always called us Christmas Party babies, but maybe Autumnal Equinox sounds better? The Flapper introduced me to a book, “The Medicine Wheel,” about Native spirituality years ago. She was beginning her search for meaning, studying psychology and Buddhism. She spent her final years surrounded by sculptures of Buddha on the shore of Lake Minnetonka. With her two sons nearby, we would write letters to each other wondering about the state of the world.

This was the last time I routinely actually wrote letters!

First the Love Bug, followed by four more female Fall birthdays – 12 to 90 years old. We saw a family of wild turkeys crossing Dr Jim’s road. I glimpsed a white egret swoop into the trees behind his house. At least I think it was an egret, maybe it was a swan? We all saw loons floating on the lake. I remembered the whooping cranes flying south last month over Nashville after I read Margaret Renkl’s brilliant essay about blue jays and change. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/16/opinion/hope-social-problems-justice.html?unlocked_article_code=1.LU4.kgtX.2sZHo4nF3YuS&smid=url-share

My sister Kay is an artist. Her beautiful paintings are hanging all over the country, including right here in my snug. She was a single mom and a lipstick feminist back in the 50s and 60s, a glamorous stewardess for National Airlines. At her interview she was never weighed or measured, simply hired on the spot! National’s base was in Florida, but she flew around the world a few times! I loved visiting her Manhattan apartment as a teenager, right up the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Guggenheim. We’d have lunch at the Madison Deli and she’d correct my country-bumpkin table manners at Lutece for dinner.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s can’t compare to her lifestyle then, and now she still walks with some help to Central Park nearly every day.. Kay taught me so much about life and love. As soon as I landed back home, I cleaned out the bird bath and replaced the small solar fountain. The cardinals and robins are getting used to the moving water, even guarding it at times. Our temperatures will be rising back into the 90s this week and I know our cardinal family will be sticking around, but we’ll be flying off again in a few weeks to France.

Happy Birthday Kay!

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The Groom is out of the garage apartment! He tested positive for Covid after returning from their beach vacation with his family, so the Bride banished him. But today he is free to walk across the yard and return to work after a negative test. He was reminiscing about the first time he contracted Covid in the MICU, right about the same time, midsummer, in 2020. How different it was then; patients were dying, there was no vaccine, no Paxlovid.

My side-yard neighbor also tested positive last week. Les has become a good friend since we moved here. She’s a bit younger, with two sons in their twenties; one is away in college and the other at his first real job. A new empty nester, married to a pediatrician, I love her spirit. Les can get things done. She told me how we’d divide the monstera plant threatening to take over my dining room, and the next thing you know we’re outside with three pots! We exchange porch surprises of baked goods from time to time and she texts me every morning –

“Good Morning! The gate is open.”

This is my invite to her salt water pool for pool physical therapy! I throw on my bathing suit, grab a towel and walk across the street for my morning meditation/ aqua therapy. I do all my exercises plus deep water pool-noodle-yoga moves and feel like a ballerina again. The water temperature is 84, pure bliss. A little chipmunk races around her shrubs while a rabbit cleans its face, and if I’m lucky it’s blessedly quiet. No hammering construction noises, no lawn machinery, no cicadas. On Wednesdays, the midmorning garbage truck will punctuate my pointe tendus.

When I hang up my old/lady/one/piece bathing suit and step into the shower, I can hear the John Williams’ Olympic theme. Ah, to be 15 again! We’ve been watching synchronized swimming this week, aka Artistic Swimming. Now this is a sport I can handle, after all I used to be a synchronized swimmer at Camp St Joseph for Girls. We’d twirl and tap the lake water in our flowered bathing caps while lesser mortals tried canoeing. But this year’s Artistic Swimming is not this Nana’s Artistic Swimming; this is Cirque du Soleil next level magic:

 “…it demands endurance, power, leonine grace, hair gelatin, dance lessons, mastery of the eggbeater, flamingo, scull and rocket split, daily seven-hour practices, the limberness of fresh linguine, abs of granite, exceptional breath control, pink nose plugs, frequent bruises, occasional concussions…” https://www.washingtonpost.com/wellness/interactive/2024/olympic-artistic-swimming-synchronized-strength-risks-paris/

Granted I can sometimes feel like a seahorse while riding a pool noodle, but I can not fathom doing those tricks underwater!

While making myself another cup of coffee, and wondering why more girls don’t faint in the pool from oxygen deprivation, I decided it was time to tackle the abundance of zucchini Farmer Bob has harvested. I returned from California to three very large zucchini on our kitchen island. I delivered one to the Bride and one to Les – what to do with the third? The Rocker turned me onto the NYTCooking app and lo and behold I found a new and different recipe for zucchini bread! It’s a tad healthier, made with olive oil and just a little brown sugar. I had to add chocolate chips of course.

Yesterday, the Love Bug and I went back-to-school shopping. Here in the South, school starts mid-August which is sacrilegious to a Jersey native. Just like her Mother, the Bug knew exactly what she wanted and was very particular. About to turn 12, the Bug is somewhere between a very large child size and very small adult size… what we’d call a junior size. And who knew a pair of jean shorts could come in so many varieties? Back in the 60s, we would just cut-off our old jeans and call it a day. Now they come pre-cut, already holey and ripped and fringed on the bottom… oh God, I am starting to sound like my age.

Time to wrap this up and jump in the pool. I hope your midsummer day dreams are coming true!

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It was forty years ago in LA, the Olympics that is, when we were living in the Berkshires and I was about to give birth to the Rocker. We lived in a farmhouse on the outskirts of a bird sanctuary. Idyllic and terrifyingly beautiful, surrounded by cardinals, chickadees and grouse, there was a dairy farm up the road. I had picked the date of his birth, a repeat C-section was scheduled; Reagan was president, I remember watching the Olympics live while nursing my newborn baby boy.

Synchronized swimming and rhythmic gymnastics debuted in Los Angeles as Olympic events, as did wind surfing.”

There is a picture of us at the Bris, tall gladiolus of every color stood guard while friends gathered. Two rabbis came and Grandma Ada was there. She would drive four hours from NJ, always bringing food, “Did you eat?” and a cousin or two. We loved to sit on the swing in the big screened-in porch; the bassinet was on that porch because babies need fresh air. I looked so young, so peaceful. Or maybe I was just exhausted.

John Williams composed the theme for the Olympiad, “Los Angeles Olympic Theme” later also known as “Olympic Fanfare and Theme“. This piece won a Grammy for Williams and became one of the most well-known musical themes of the Olympic Games…”

I’ve just returned from LA, from visiting the Rocker and Aunt Kiki. My baby grew up to be a talented musician and composer. His company debuted two new trailers while I was there – one for a movie and one for an Apple series. I told them about the Woodstock themed 40th birthday party I’d planned for Bob’s big day, and we talked about my son’s generation – listening to Kurt Cobain, learning to design and create websites. Somewhere between Gen X and the Millennial Generation, the Rocker is a Xennial, a unique subset.

“You have a childhood, youth, and adolescence free of having to worry about social media posts and mobile phones. … We learned to consume media and came of age before there was Facebook and Twitter and Snapchat and all these things where you still watch the evening news or read the newspaper.” https://www.bos.com/inspired/xennials-what-you-need-to-know-about-this-micro-generation/

Their California home is like a tree house, perched on a hill with lush tropical plants. We watched the Paris Olympic skateboarding finals on Peacock, a streaming platform. I thought about my son doing tricks on a skateboard, playing rollerblade hockey, moving effortlessly through my dreams. He is tall and lanky like my brothers, Po the Cat drapes herself along his legs while we critique the athletes. And we cooked and played together in the kitchen to fantastical music Kiki curated. My baby is turning 40.

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