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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

The Sound of Chainsaws

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 9, 2026| Leave a Comment »

I wake to the sound of chainsaws in the morning. FEMA drives along our streets, picking up piles of trees with a gigantic claw, like the roadside children’s arcade full of stuffed toys. One day we saw the National Guard cutting up limbs in our neighborhood; I felt conflicted, happy to see them but still wary of their motives because our government can no longer be trusted. We have become a nation where people disappear. We have become a nation with an ICE body count.

The ice storm clean up continues as robins reappear in our yard and the temperature climbs toward 70 degrees today. Finches vie for position at the BirdBuddy feeder, sparrows become aggressive. My phone lights up, seems there’s a party going on – a downy woodpecker is clinging to the side and pecking through the seeds, scattering many below for the squirrels! Then a brilliant red cardinal swoops in, all captured by the tiny camera linked to our WiFi. These are the moments of joy that sustain me. Birds and bunnies…

“THE ONLY THING MORE POWERFUL THAN HATE IS LOVE”

We watched the Super Bowl aka ‘Benito Bowl’ last night with our Nashville family. I made a NYTimes recipe for chicken teriyaki that is loosely associated with Seattle: “In Seattle, teriyaki is omnipresent, the closest this city comes to a Chicago dog.” https://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/06/dining/06unit.html You might be asking why a former Pittsfield, MA resident was rooting for the West Coast. My brother Dr Jim told me the Seahawks quarterback was traded from the Vikings, after winning 14 games; it was a stupid move. So this ex-NewEnglandFan reveled in the Washington victory via Minnesota, if you get my drift.

The Bride served Mexican with ALL the fixins; and some of us actually watched the football game. The Pumpkin, a fledgling rock guitarist himself, was impressed with Green Day while I felt tugged back to the 90s with a heavy metal band in my garage. Did you know that Green Day’s front man Billie Joe Armstrong had urged ICE agents to quit their jobs at one of the pre-bowl-super-parties? He said Mr T would drop them like rocks when the MAGA gig was up, and that they should, “Come on this side of the line.”

But Bad Bunny’s Halftime Show brought Latina music and culture home. HOLA! He was brilliant, and his message of inclusivity was apparent to everyone. In between letting dogs in and out and guacamole with tacos, I found myself moving to the beat. I didn’t quite understand how Lady Gaga fit into the scene, but Ricky Martin was a sight for sore eyes. I loved him before and after he came out as a gay man, and I adore seeing him on Apple’s “Palm Royale.” I bet Carol Burnett enjoys working with his sexy pool boy character. Season 2 is a blast people.

Meanwhile, silence is filling the House as Ghislaine Maxwell pleads the Fifth this morning. I’m shocked! She appeared virtually from her clubhouse prison with her emotional support dog where she is serving time on sex-trafficking charges. Her lawyer wrote on X, “Ms. Maxwell is prepared to speak fully and honestly if granted clemency by President Trump.” Which sounds like a Catch 22 if I ever heard one – the guy who wants to shield himself and his friends, the billionaires who frequented Epstein’s parties, is supposed to pardon her so she can tell the truth? Good luck with that.

Tonight the sound of Mahjongg tiles will also bring me joy. I’m starting to get the hang of it and I’m feeling proud of myself, learning something new. Stretching my mind a bit. And I’ve got a little whistle in my purse now, in case I need to put my lips together, and blow.

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Building a Sandbox

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2026| Leave a Comment »

When our children were little, we built them a sandbox in the Berkshires. And when we moved back to NJ, and the Rocker was only 2 years old, Bob got to work building another sandbox with a fort on top. I remember one of the Bride’s young friends coming over to play and being astonished – she was reluctant to get her hands ‘dirty.’ Only seven years old, this suburban youngster thought ‘shopping’ was great fun, not digging in sand.

Maybe you know where this is going?

Or maybe you’re thinking what is wrong with her, why is she talking about sandboxes when our country seems to be going down the drain. ICE is emboldened by our leaders to disrupt peaceful protests and kidnap people in broad daylight. Our allies are discussing what in blazes needs to be done about Mr T who cannot stop threatening Greenland; their ‘soft’ diplomacy is not working. Macron said at Davos, that tariffs cannot “…be used as leverage against territorial sovereignty.” And Mr T cares what French President Emmanuel Macron has to say?

In fact, T took a screenshot of Macron’s text, where he begins with, “My Friend…” Then he continues with the good stuff, how our countries are aligned about Syria and Iran. And even though Macron refused to join the Gaza “Board of Peace,” he invited Mr T to Paris and offers to set up a G7 meeting. Macron is conciliatory, he wants Mr T to play in his sandbox. You know, the post WWII playground after fascism was defeated. And finally, the reason for Macron’s DM,

“I do not understand what you are doing on Greenland.” Well join the club!

“France has publicly been much more forceful in response to the U.S. president’s threats to tariff European allies who do not support his designs on Greenland. Macron has pushed for the EU to unleash its Anti-Coercion Instrument, the the so-called trade bazooka, while other leaders like German Chancellor Friedrich Merz want to give a chance to diplomacy. France has also sent a small contingent of troops to Greenland and is planning to deploy land, sea and air forces, though the details remain unspecified.” https://www.politico.eu/article/emmanuel-macron-decoded-text-message-donald-trump/

Totalitarianism seems to be cropping up and tilting the world order toward the right. And if we think of our Allies in their own sandbox, large and in charge for many decades, we can understand why they are talking about pulling out all the stops with the diplomatic equivalent of a rocket-propelled anti-tank weapon! Mr T is like a seven year old bully who is biting and pushing his way through life, demanding loyalty and whining when he isn’t awarded the Nobel Peace Prizle.

He loves to play in the sandbox, except he throws sand in everyones’ eyes.

I lived through Watergate and I wonder when the Republicans will stop making excuses for his behavior. Maybe a journalist, maybe someone from a small, local paper say in Florida, will dig up evidence of the extent of his involvement with Epstein. Maybe someone will film one of his total mental breakdowns after not getting his way, maybe on the golf course? Someone said he is a malicious narcissist, but is that enough to invoke the 25th Amendment?

I asked my brother Dr Jim, who was an Army officer in Vietnam, if our generals would actually invade Greenland, would they follow his unlawful orders? After all, they abducted Maduro, remember? Jim didn’t think so. The rest of my family is not so sure. Maybe we Americans are preparing to jump over to a new sandbox, one full of dictators and bullies. But I hope not.

I hope we can help the Rocker and Aunt Kiki build a sandbox for the Twins. Right now, not quite 11 months, they will try to eat the sand; but soon they will learn how to dig and sculpt the sand and share their toys. I hope they will not learn the word “MINE” too soon. This is the Bride and the Rocker helping us build their sandbox around 1986.

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Profiles

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on December 30, 2025| Leave a Comment »

I used to write one page biographies for a newspaper. Usually it was a Sunday edition, “Write about an ordinary person doing something extraordinary,” my editor would say. It was nice to have some autonomy; to be able to pick my subject and sit down with them for an hour or two. I didn’t like doing phone interviews and Zoom was just a thing my cat did on occasion. I found that if you listen long enough, and look into someone’s eyes, you can always find a kernel of truth in their story. The story they tell themselves.

Lately journalists have delved into the depths of MAGA world. While I was traveling last week with the family, I searched high and low for the new Vanity Fair in foreign and domestic airports. I was dying to read the profile of Mr T’s Chief of Staff, Susie Wiles. Going back decades, a total news blackout has been our custom on vacation – so no TV, no NYTimes (except for the Games section). But if I could just get my hands on the magazine… and sorry to say, the new Vanity Fair had not hit the news stands yet.

Wiles intrigued me. She looked like one of my Irish aunts – petite, grey-haired bob, sweet, funny, baking pies and cookies for holidays. But she was the person behind the President of these United States, and also sitting on his right side and steering the ship. The second most powerful political figure in the world – in fact, she is the first woman to hold this White House position! And all I could get on social media was that Wiles said Mr T has an “alcoholic’s personality.” What does that even mean?

According to the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation, there are a number of traits that many alcoholics seem to suffer from: “…low frustration tolerance; impulsivity; low rejection threshold; low sense of one’s own worth; and they are loners and afraid of intimacy.” Maybe some of that is true, but a low sense of Mr T’s worth? If anything, the POTUS is a would be king, a narcissist in every sense of that word. My question is what does this description of her boss say about Wiles?

Wiles mentions that she grew up with an alcoholic father. But maybe she feels like the wife of an alcoholic – always pleading for him to reconsider impulsive decisions, stepping on eggshells whenever she is around him. It was ironic to learn that she also worked for Ronald Reagan, as a scheduler and in his Labor Department. Mostly she worked on Republican campaigns over the years with no experience in the federal government. I picture her as a bullfighter, a highly choreographed master manipulator of the bull in the White House.

And now Marjorie Taylor Greene, the MAGA boss lady turned ‘traitor,’ has earned herself a profile in the NYTimes Magazine. This turncoat Representative from Georgia always turned me off. I dismissed her as a kook. But reporter Robert Draper interviewed her before and after her conversion and I’m willing to believe he captured her journey perfectly. It all started when she spoke with some of the Epstein victims and threatened to release the names of the powerful men involved. Mr T’s response, on speakerphone in her Congressional office, was so loud and abusive everyone heard him claiming not to want some of his friends hurt. (wink, wink).

In Greene’s mind this represented “… everything wrong with Washington,” adding that it was a story of “rich, powerful elites doing horrible things and getting away with it. And the women are the victims.” https://www.nytimes.com/2025/12/29/magazine/marjorie-taylor-greene-interview-takeaways.html?unlocked_article_code=1.AlA.AFU7.jW9VSVlIj-p4&smid=url-share

Gone are the days when Martha Mitchell could be gaslit for telling the truth about Watergate. I believe Greene has had a change of heart and I’m sorry she is resigning her seat in the new year. But I’m glad independent journalists are doing their jobs. I’d love to get Greene and Wiles in a room together, two different generations of women in the Republican stratosphere. Wiles attended the Academy of the Holy Angels in NJ so I’m presuming she’s Catholic or catholic-light-Episcopalian, and Greene makes a big point about being a Christian. Surely they could agree about something?

We’re back in Nashville and I’m missing my morning cuddles with the Grandbabies. They are water nymphs, I loved watching them discover new birds and flowers at our cozy cottage. They are on the move and have just learned how to share their toys. Which is more than I can say about the alcoholic/adolescent/addled boys in the White House.

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TACO, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 18, 2025| Leave a Comment »

There was a time when the Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza card game was all I ever wanted to play with the Grands. They would always beat me because my reaction time isn’t quite up to par, and it was always hilarious. If you love a little person under the age of, say, 10, this would make a great gift. Thinking about Daddy Jim playing gin rummy with me almost every night after dinner as a child, It seems that teaching a child to play cards, or any game, is Darwinian. It’s a civilized way to impart certain adult skills – how to strategize, how to be patient, when to strike!

Well, get ready Democrats.

TACO: I can sense a seismic shift happening in our country. Unlike Hillary’s emails, the Epstein files have been chipping away at Mr T’s base. Remember way back in the Spring, when Wall Street started calling Mr T “TACO?” Short for, Trump. Always. Chickens. Out… That was more about his tariffs, but what about his life skills? Born clinging onto the proverbial silver spoon, his tycoon father built housing projects in Queens and Brooklyn. Pampered and privileged Mr T just had to make it BIG in Manhattan. And so he did, making deals, taking risks, and finally getting his name plastered on his jet.

CAT: This administration seems to be in a perpetual game of cat and mouse. The only problem is that the big cat, Mr T, lacks courage – he chickens out of going to war in his youth, then he promises his followers “No more foreign wars,” only to bomb Iran and little boats off Venezuela. He makes big promises, and never has to say he’s sorry when he doesn’t deliver, like on the economy. He is the cowardly lion, roaring and talking smack, threatening lawsuits willy nilly, but like any bully, Mr T backs down when confronted by unassailable odds. He can’t whip Republicans votes against opening the Epstein files, so he flips!

GOAT: Mr T loves to play the scapegoat. Oh no, he doesn’t take on any blame for his missteps, he is in the habit of blaming others for things that he has done! He directs his DOJ to investigate Democratic bigwigs who had relationships with Epstein, who flew on his jet, who visited his Manhattan townhouse on the Upper East Side. That place that had cameras in every room. Look over there at them, not at me. Oh, and the Bride mentioned that once an investigation is opened, those files could be sealed forever. I think MAGA will see through this ploy, don’t you?

CHEESE: There’s nothing like a good charcuterie board for the holidays? But having a president referred to as a “Flaming Hot Cheeto” because of his fake tan, orange make-up and comb-over, is just plain insulting. I happen to love cheese of every kind, hard, soft, runny, even blue. Visiting a farm in Italy where they were producing ricotta was my idea of heaven! So let’s stop calling Mr T the Cheeto-in-Chief. It is insulting.

PIZZA: Who remembers the child sex-trafficking conspiracy theory that led some guy with an AR 15 to a family-friendly pizza parlor, Comet Ping Pong in DC? And guess what, It all started back in 2016 with Mr T’s first run for office when a Democrat, John Podesta’s, emails were hacked by WikiLeaks. The resulting debunked “Pizzagate” was the precursor for QAnon and its radicalized right belief in a global pedophile ring. What goes around, comes around. Only this time we have a real criminal case, IRL with real victims, and Ghislane Maxwell still holed up in a Club Fed prison petting dogs.

If you’re looking for a card game for older kids and adults this holiday season, I recommend “The Hygge Game!” aka Cozy conversation for pleasant company – you get to ask the person next to you three questions, and before you know it, you’re hearing all about the Shark Tank project in 5th Grade! 

Had to include this picture of Poutine from Victoria, BC. It was divine!

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Domestic Goddess

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

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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On the Move

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , on October 15, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Just boarded a plane for Vancouver. The last time I was in Canada was 1968, and it wasn’t a pleasant trip. Starter marriage and all. But this time I’ll be seeing whales, strolling through gardens, and ogling totem poles with my main squeeze.

Before Eugene Levy called himself a reluctant traveler, I held that title. I would be perfectly happy never leaving home, although meeting Prince William in Levy’s last episode looked incredible. Until the Lady Diana debacle, I loved the Royal Family… then Meghan and Harry happened.

Maybe William and Kate will revitalize the Crown?

We’ve just spent a quick week with the Rocker’s little family in California. Our twin Princesses are on the move, crawling and trying to stand. Kiki will.be returning to work next week, one of the most bittersweet transitions in a young mother’s life. Bob helped them baby proof the house, I cooked a bit, and we had lots of adventures.

We landed in Vancouver and I forgot we’d have to tell the Customs Agent why we were here – I wanted to say we were fugitives looking for a safe place to land, we were fantasizing about immigrating. But instead I said “Personal.”

I heard that the hostages have been released from Gaza. I read that our military is still shooting boats out of the Caribbean. And the best news of all is that major media outlets said NO to the Pentagon’s attempt to create a propaganda machine. Take that Hegseth.

I guess I was lucky writing for the Two River Times. My editor loved when I ruffled feathers in our Jersey Shore town. I reported only the truth, and sometimes the truth hurt. But it sold more newspapers and that was the business model after all. When a democracy fails, the free press is the first to go, and so we have hope today.

Hope for a lasting peace in the Middle East. Hope for the Rule of Law. Hope for the First Amendment. And hope that our baby girls will always delight in giant giraffes.

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Vertigo

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , on August 19, 2025| 2 Comments »

The nurse asked me yesterday if I’d broken any bones in the last few months. I had to think…. We were at Vandy. I was hooked up to a machine delivering my annual “life-saving” bone-building medicine Reclast. Bob was sitting next to me, on his iPad and we’d been puzzling over Connections in the New York Times. We were settling in for over an hour’s wait as this miraculous infusion worked its way through my veins. It should have been an easy question, Bob immediately said “No.”

He also said “No” when I opened my iPad to the NYTimes and announced that we could watch Mr T’s meeting LIVE with President Zelensky and European leaders at the White House. My husband is well on his way to becoming an official curmudgeon! He wasn’t always like this. Over the years, people would tell me that Bob wasn’t like most physicians; after all, he translated medical speak into normal language, and he was so laid-back and easy-going.

I mean, how many doctors do you know who drove an old school bus to Woodstock? He was the exact opposite of a curmudgeon, “a bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous (old man) person.”

“What about my clavicle?” I said. My last broken bone was my right clavicle which I never mentioned before dear reader because after the Big Fall last year, preceding the second election of a disgraced, twice impeached, indicted president, that resulted in a broken neck and hands, I was too embarrassed. It hardly seemed relevant. We’d returned from LA in May after the twins were born, and I went to see the dentist. After putting my chair back, positional vertigo took hold resulting in my tipping over later that day and BANG. Broken clavicle.

Coupled with osteoporosis, vertigo is my enemy.

On occasion, the ceiling would spin when laying down after a severe cold. I learned not to pay much attention to that because in a family of doctors These. Things. Happen; a virus can linger and it’s best to just ignore such symptoms. Which I did because they always went away. Until the vertigo continued that day, after the dentist visit. My sister Kay has had  Meniere’s disease for most of her life, and I wondered if this was it. Am I doomed to a chronic disease of the inner ear that will make my world spin out of control at the drop of a hat?

Since the last presidential election, I’ve been caught up in this healing journey. After all, my personal scaffolding was collapsing and I had to concentrate on building strength and resilience. But the fact is, this administration is intent on carving away many of our cultural and social norms, on deconstructing our civil rights. Political theatre captures our imagination; the GOP courts Russia on Friday and the EU on Monday. Hypocrisy much? There is nothing to see here, Mr T didn’t “rape” his victim – he was convicted of sexual abuse and defaming E Jean Carroll. We have a president who sues anyone and everyone, a despot. Academic institutions, main stream media, and large corporate law firms are bending their knees.

This country is experiencing communal vertigo, deluged by a slew of alternative facts and fear. Russia DID invade Ukraine! The BBC’s headline – “Ukraine’s President Zelensky managed to avoid another disastrous Oval Office meeting with Donald Trump,” says it all. The Epstein case retreats as more shiny objects are thrown into the mix. We are trying to find a life line, a way to keep this fledgling Democracy from toppling over. And I am hoping that positional vertigo is simply a phase, and my bones will continue to heal.

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Home Stretch

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2025| 2 Comments »

The season of family birthdays has begun. And right on cue the weather turned cooler, for the first time I hesitated while entering the pool. It was actually chilly! The Grands will be returning to school next week. How did this happen? First the unbearable heat of midsummer, and now overcast skies from fires in Canada.

We called our son for his birthday and he was busy making bottles and feeding babies. What? Yes, the twins have baby teeth coming and are all ready to chew! They sit in their high chairs like baby birds waiting for something yummy. I asked if they had a Mouli grater – the small hand-held gizmo that looks like a cheese grater upside down. No? I raved about the tiny tool, you could put anything you cook for yourselves into it, ad a dollop of yogurt, and with a few turns produce finely pureed baby food!

But they did have some smart baby food electric device that weighs and measures and grinds….it was a gift…and again, I felt ancient. I’ve been feeling older lately. Maybe it was the oppressive heat and not getting outside to walk. Or maybe it’s just the lethargy of unending bad news from T world and the scandal that will not be stopped involving young girls. Take the first page story of today’s NYTimes:

“A Look Inside Jeffrey Epstein’s Manhattan Lair: In his seven-story townhouse, the sex offender hosted the elite, displayed photos with presidents and showcased a first edition of “Lolita,” according to previously unreported photos and letters.” https://www.nytimes.com/2025/08/05/us/jeffrey-epstein-mansion-photos.html?unlocked_article_code=1.b08.884G.AM6Pxo2enw4z&smid=url-share

The picture on his dresser, with Mr T and Melania, where he has cut out his accomplice Maxwell is telling. And the letter from Woody Allen, comparing him to Dracula, is absurdist theatre. I wonder why it has taken this story, of all the transgressions, the tale of an accused rapist realtor running a modeling agency and the high brow sex offender, to shake the foundation of the MAGA faithful? This is the first time I’ve actually read anything about Epstein, and it will be the last.

It’s time to think about baking a carrot cake for the Bug’s birthday. Time to find a dress for the Bat Mitzvah. And my lipstick feminist sister Kay has found her graduation picture from stewardess school in 1958. She tells me she was never weighed or measured, and I understand why. Kay always carried herself with confidence, after all she was a single mother when the job description was anything but welcoming. Women were not just weighed, they were expected to be single with no dependents. The fledgling pilot/flight attendant union of the airline industry was the first to test the commodifying of a woman’s body.

It’s supposed to heat back up this week. The Bug has started her volleyball practice and back to school shopping for the Pumpkin too has begun; he’s going to have his first locker! I’ve told my sister she was a trail blazer, after our Year of Living Dangerously she really had no other choice. Can you spot her?

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the Rose, the Thorn and the Caterpillar

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on July 29, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anyone alive in the era of Chevy Chase vacation comedies knows how to play travel games with kids while driving, like memory games or counting license plates from a certain state. “I spy with my little eye…” Well, since the Bride and Groom are rather old school, I’m happy to report our Grands are experts and one favorite is “the Rose and the Thorn.” On the trip home, they recount the highs and lows of their vacation. I can’t wait to hear, but meanwhile…

“Wanna play Boggle?” Bob gives me the look. “No…” “What about Scrabble?” Bob gives me the look again.

Eventually we sit down in my snug, him on his iPad and me at my desk, to tackle the New York Times Puzzles. Like toddlers in parallel play, we start with Strands and move on to Wordle and Connections. We share possible answers and take turns leading. If the mood strikes, we might even try the Mini Crossword.

Do you like to play games? I love to play games, but Bob is another story. He grew up with two brothers in a cerebral family of doctors. His mother listened to opera. It didn’t help that he just wasn’t naturally athletic, he even disdained golf! In Yiddish, he was what you might call lovingly a klutz – “Klutz (rhymes with “what’s”) is Yiddish for “piece of wood,” and refers to a person who is clumsy.” After his cerebellar stroke, I told the kids that Dad would just be a little klutzier than usual.

I grew up playing color war at Camp St Joseph; every day, with every sport, we’d gain (or lose) points for our team. It was cut throat, even our Jacks games on the cabin porch were merciless. At home I’d play Scrabble with Nell and the Flapper and chess with my brother. I played cards with Daddy Jim almost every night after supper, we’d keep pennies in a cigar box for the occasion. Today, my favorite game to play is backgammon which I recently found out originated in ancient Egypt! I have a few sets of backgammon; one is small and magnetic for travel, and another is hand-carved sitting proudly on a vintage game table in the family room.

Only the not-so-L’il Pumpkin will play backgammon with me because supposedly I win all the time??!

But I’m ready to branch out to MahJongg! Last month after dropping the Love Bug off at Temple for her Bat Mitzvah practice, I discovered a social hall filled with middle-aged/elderly/women playing MahJongg in the middle of the day. I thought I’d died and went to heaven. How could I join this group? Unfortunately, their next beginner session was during our California vacation. Then the Bride informed me that she wants to learn how to play too! It seems that after the pandemic, a younger generation was looking for a reason to build community, and not by going to bars or playing Bingo!

 “The game trended in the U.S. in the 1920s after an executive who had lived in China introduced it to well-to-do friends in California. A group of Jewish American women who were fans of the game created the National Mah Jongg League in 1937, developing an American style of the game and creating a lasting affinity for it within a culture that, like the Chinese, was othered in America.“

I’ve watched my friend Les play MahJongg. She’s had a game going for years; every month they travel to a different house but it’s at night since some of the women are still working. I love the aesthetics of the game – the feel of the tiles, the sound of the shuffling and the beautiful carvings. I’d love to find an old Bakelite set. And of course, any excuse to get a group of like-minded women together is a good day in my book!

Luckily, Les has offered to teach us – the Bug too! She’s not putting her house on the market quite yet, so we’ll have time to learn. And she told me about an addendum to the Rose and Thorn game. After you’ve recounted all the highlights (like seeing dolphins) and lowlights (like being stung by a jellyfish) you add the Caterpillar. In other words, you set some goals for the next trip! Maybe we take in an opera? Aspirational thinking, I love it!

Here is the Big Chill at our Y2K trip to Holden Beach. Strangely enough, Lyle put me in charge of the entertainment. The Bride stayed behind in Rumson to throw her own party.

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The Gambler

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 24, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“Only in Nashville,” the Bride said.

I was sitting in my physical therapist’s waiting room – I do a lot of waiting lately, and a lot of PT actually – but this place is different. It’s a small, independent, out-of-the-way shop where the Nashville Ballet heals its wounds. Naturally it has a ballet barre. There are no big machines or loud music like my recent California PT located in a gym the size of an airplane hangar. And there are no assistants either, you get one therapist and she spends all her time with you and only you!

Anyway, as usual, the receptionist Mitzie was engaged in a rollicking conversation with another client across from me. The woman was talking about her husband, who is still in the hospital, and the various and sundry visitors he’s had, when Mitzie asked if she’d told him… Told him what? At this point I was simply a bystander, leafing through a magazine and occasionally looking up. I was imagining her husband had a terminal illness, and she was waiting for the right time to break the news.

“Oh no,” the middle aged woman in a knee brace said, “you’ve gotta know when to hold em.”

There was an older man sitting next to me, another point of interest in this PT people’s triangle. He was someone I’d seen before, and actually had talked to about Duke University since he wore a big blue “D” baseball cap. “You mean the school with a basketball team,” he said. I don’t do a lot of flirting anymore, but I would certainly flirt with him. I liked his personality and his smile. And since the woman across from us with her husband in the hospital had mentioned her son was at Duke currently, we all joined in the conversation. That’s the way it is in the South, btw.

As a therapist escorted the man out of the waiting room, Mitzie left her desk and went straight over to the talkative woman, took hold of both her hands, looked right in her eyes and told her that the man in the Duke hat had written those lyrics:

You got to know when to hold ’em
Know when to fold ’em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run

She said she got goose bumps, but she used some other Southern idiom. Exactly the same thing I get before a frog jumps in my throat! I had to tell the family text chain about this – and the Bride was the first to reply. “Only in Nashville,” a city where music and medicine are always interconnected. And that’s when Camille, my therapist/ballet dancer, came out to get me and teach me a few things about bands and balance.

This was before Mr T decided to join Bebe in a fight to save the world from nuclear annihilation. Or so he says. I wonder what kind of gambler our president is? We already know not to believe his policy by tweet mentality. We know he likes strong men. But just because he says the war is over, doesn’t make it so. He is not Captain Jean-Luc Picard after all. We are now on that train to solve humanity’s oldest war.

“Son I’ve made a life
Out of reading people’s faces
And knowing what their cards were
By the way they held their eyes
So, if you don’t mind my saying
I can see you’re out of aces
For a taste of your whiskey
I’ll give you some advice.” https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/kennyrogers/thegambler.html

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