Everyone is guilty of asking....How old are you or How old is She? But why do we ask that question?
What are we really getting at when we ask that question? Is it a competition as younger is better? Maybe that's why we ask? But I've been thinking, I mean most of my friends are within 5 to 7 years of each other -- why are we so obsessed about how old we are?
What's strange is that question has always annoyed me because it makes me feel pigeon holed --- and that's because my real age casts me in a place that doesn't reflect how I really feel. Disclosing my real age strikes me as incorrect, that I need to rethink the number as there may be some miscalculation.
When I think about my real age, I think someone got it wrong. I mean how can I be in my 60's which feels perhaps too old to feel the way I feel . I am still doing pretty much everything I did in my 50's...
Yes....almost everything with modifications and some things I'm doing way better!...
Chia seeds. Hemp seeds. Flax. Nutritional yeast. Liquid aminos. I ask you. Did your mother ever sprinkle nutritional yeast on your frozen dinner? Chia on your canned green beans? I think not.
That was one word to me, for decades, from elementary school through my forty's at least. For years growing up, we'd go to the local diner, The Golden Coach, or just "The Coach" for those in the know. But it could have been any restaurant. I barely needed to look at a menu. When the waitress came by, my mouth just went on automatic pilot.
I am a real foodie. I love to cook. Entertaining my family and friends around my table is my favorite thing ever. I worked in a restaurant kitchen. I've been to cooking school. I follow a million food bloggers. So I am not a culinary neophyte.
But I want to embrace this new healthier way of eating...so, as my title here asks, I go in search of the answer to my question, "What's a Chia? What's a Hemp?"...
On June 27, 2022, the New York Times reassured me that the moments I want to attack my kind, mild-mannered husband with a meat cleaver are completely normal.
Three months later, the Washington Post also sanctioned these instances of partner loathing, quoting family therapist and author Terrence Real, the creator/proponent of “Normal Marital Hatred,” who says, “Real marriage comes the day you realize that this person is exquisitely designed to stick the burning spear into your eyeball.”
Mr. Real goes on to explain that no one acknowledges the “underbelly” of relationships. He postulates that there are moments when you look at your partner and hate their guts.
Wait, Terrence, have you been hiding in marital closets across America?...
"Here's your Chanukah gift AND your Birthday gift -- a special COMBO -- you know it's the holidays and so with your birthday falling so close to the holidays - well - you know, here you go!"
That was the yearly refrain I heard every December 19th on my birthday being one of 4 girls and holidays were overwhelming for my parents what with all the presents to get for the sisters. Frankly, I was too young to be empathetic but I had no choice. You would think I would have gotten used to it.
The other week a few friends who have to share our birthdays with the holidays decided to get together to celebrate each other.
We hatched a plan to celebrate our December/early January birthdays because we could. But of course like all good plans this month we almost couldn't. Our get together was almost cancelled 3 times. Colds and Covid testing, coughs and migraines. We agreed to make a game time decision the morning of our dinner to be sure we were all healthy enough.
The texting was kind of hilarious and very 60's....
was thinking this was going to be a stellar day — it started out with a Santa Dance at my local Expresso Love coffee shop in Edgartown. A little boy watched and clapped as my pup and I danced and then he said,
“I have a present for your dog.”
He pulled his hat out of his backpack and with the sweetest smile he held the hat up to give to little LULU."
"I want to give this to your dog."
I wanted to hug that child but have been trained not to these past 2 years - however, he totally melted me.
“Your child is the poster child for Christmas Spirit — who gives their hat away -- and it's a really cold day? That is precious and priceless.”
Lulu and I gratefully thanked the 4 year old and his Mom and we were all in the best of moods.
And then the taxi arrived and we headed to Martha’s Vineyard Airport.
There was no one there but two lovely greeters behind the Cape Air desk.
“Are we the only 2 people going to JFK?”
“Wait is your dog going with you, because if it is — you aren’t going...
I'm considering Sleep Divorce....It’s three a.m. and the mass lying on its back next to me is emitting unearthly sounds. I awaken, surfacing from a dream in which I’ve tried to weave the snorts, rasps, whistles, and jagged breathing into the plot. Clad only in a polka-dotted bikini, I’d been floating through a field of daisies towards Freddy, my third-grade boyfriend, while my husband lay serenely unbothered by his own tortured cacophony.
I love my husband. We spoon perfectly, taking comfort in one another’s warm, pliant presence. Randy and I watch TV shows and tennis tournaments in bed, snuggled with our small mutt Zadie, all of us munching popcorn.
Awake, we’re blissful. But turn off the lights, shut off the electronics, and we join the ranks of couples contemplating divorce. Sleep divorce, that is....
I've had plenty of time to observe the dog walking parades everywhere throughout Covid and the runway of breeds to choose from is endless. But the dog that gets me crouching and cooing are these little golden doodles.
Shamelessly, I barely look at the human at the end of the leash and talk directly to the puppy and just listen for the answer.
"Oh you are the cutest, you are so cute." And then, in the rudest of unapologetic behaviors I nod to the ancillary human asking -- "Are you empty nested, how did you decide to get a pup?" And so the stories begin.
My interviewing of humans has been a courage building process. I have unconsciously been looking for the one thing that will push me to over ride my better instincts and my husband which are screaming at me as to why it makes no sense to get a dog now....
This past year I started again. I hadn’t slept around in years but now I do It regularly. I relish the delicious illicitness, that feeling of surrendering to a higher power. The desire is overwhelming at times. When I succumb, I savor the sense that I’m slipping out of myself, completely letting go. I crave the cool Egyptian cotton or silken Italian leather beneath my bare skin before giving myself over.
I confess. I’m a slave to the nap.
I’d like to blame the pandemic. The fear of catching a potentially fatal illness. Or losing someone else to it. Maybe it’s age. I’m 65. I’ve lived a lot. Run too many miles, hit too many tennis balls, worked too many all-nighters. But I think it’s more a capitulation, an acknowledgement that it’s okay to be tired. Napping has become my friend....
I cannot look at another suitcase. Finally 2 weeks of packing and unpacking we are finally settled into our island home for the next 5 months and excited to be here. But, the transition was brutal. I seemed to have developed packing narcolepsy. If it's not a "thing" it should be. Too much to do and no gusto to do it makes me sleepy. My 4 day window to get it all done was crammed into 2 days.
Exhausted, somehow the prize was the 4 hour road trip to the ferry and then the crossing . It was a delicious passage and I cherished the limbo.
But, as we pulled up to our house, the thought of lugging the suitcases and unpacking seemed even more brutal -- so I didn't do it. I just left those bags and once again I was happily snoozing pretending that this was perfectly fine behavior.
"Hey honey, I tripped over your shoe bin on the way to the bathroom and I was thinking, those suitcases haven't seen any action ... what's going on?"
"No worries, I'll get to it -- the Celtics are on tonight so maybe I will do it then."...
There’s a scene in the Sex in the City reboot, And Just Like That, where Carrie and her new, career-driven, 50+, single friend, Seema talk about dating. Carrie says, “I think it’s great that you’re still putting yourself out there.”
Seema points out the insensitivity by saying, “you found the love of your life and had him for many years. And in my eyes, that is something worth still putting myself out there.”
Like Seema, since my divorce, well-meaning but oblivious married friends and family say things that make me want to say, “f##k off.”...
Let’s start with the fact that I have a crush on my yoga instructor. (Because, really, what’s the point of taking an exercise class if you don’t develop a crush on your instructor?) She’s warm and encouraging and has this lovely, mellifluous English accent. It’s like taking a class from a giant bottle of jojoba bath oil.
She’s also great at giving you step by step instructions. She’s positively obsessed with making sure that your three middle toes are lifted during all postures, something which turns out to be surprisingly difficult.
I was a reluctant convert to yoga, even though my husband and several close friends had been doing it for years.
Part of it was that the whole yoga gestalt seemed too groovy for the likes of me...
“I haven’t met too many women who I want to see again. But you…” he wiggled his stubby little forefinger across the white cafe table..”you are special.” It could have been a Crossing Delancey moment, except he was not the dashing Pickle Man and I was no Amy Irving. While I do dream about her curls and that cowboy hat, he was my exceedingly schleppy Match.com date and I was me.
“You are a nice guy but I’m not sure there is a fit here for us.“ I said with unusual bravado. I was really trying to save time....
There's a reason my husbands and friends nicknamed me Lucy. Seems I'm always getting into the damnedest messes. But, I do Love Lucy because she has a way of laughing her way out of a crisis. So here's my latest mess. Human error is a thing. Procrastination is a thing.....It turns out almost every single person woman on that text chain, all 9 out of 12, had a link to an expediter.
There's glorious comfort in a group of women who share the same screw-ups and can laugh about it and support each other. The only one doing the shaming was me. God I love these women!
Well, you can get almost anything done if your willing to pay in this world. This error was going to cost me. ...
My Nana's lady lamps are old. I mean really old. Like older than vintage ---- more like antiquated. They are so out of the box inappropriate now and def not PC. When I show them to anyone who will listen, anyone who will entertain nostalgic conversations about junk and guilt, I watch their faces waiting for them to say, "those are so cool, you can't throw them out." But no one ever does.
They weigh 50 pounds each. The base is concrete. These are towering figures of "native american women" with lampshades on their heads. I believe she bought them in Soho in NYC in the 1940's. Do I offer them to a museum or haul them to recycling? ...