The Bind That Ties

December has- without really looking, probably been the skimpiest, entry-wise, of all the months this year since I began blogging last March. It has been pointed out that there have been 50 entry months and 8 entry months, a sure sign of ebb and flow which is common in everyone's lives. I DID notice and even came close to mentioning it- saying something like..
"Sorry, your readership is important to us and we will get back to you as soon as life hocks up something amusing, visually stimulating- oh, and something that by writing it, won't invade someone else's private moments by writing about it in a public forum. Please stand by, or have a seat- it may be awhile and it looks like those shoes might hurt." oh "Beeep."

The interesting thing is that the 32 entry month/8 entry month statistic was revealed to me and taken for granted, as well as the references to early, early blog entries. Discounted as just someone trying to catch up with me- and my life. Bit of hubris actually- as this particular individual has a life which barely allows for a change of socks and a laundry drop off. And the collaborator also has a life pretty chock full of child, school and dealing with a new life and the challenges it brings. But I have always heard that if you want to get something done- give it to a busy person. If its a biggie- give it to two busy persons and watch them multi task by not only getting it done but by becoming really good friends in the process.

You little co-conspirators, you.

So it was my favorite little guy's fifth birthday and paired with Christmas there was a pretty big haul on the table for him as well as a natal-fest feast that would make Rachael Ray wince (this didn't take 20 minutes, babe- deal with it- go down a shot of EVO wouldja?) I volunteered ( and dragged an ever-willing VLH and his brand new food processor along for the ride) to make hummus and grill vegetables. The work was pretty minor for a former chef and his amateur assistant to knock off with a mere 2 jugs of very strong coffee. We finished the required cooking activities and VLH took the lead, heading over to Z's apartment chatting merrily on his cel phone to one person or another. I scaled the stairs to the apartment- Z lives in a 4th floor walk-up- some days- like at the end of a month of sheer culinary indulgence and zero trips to the gym- scaling the stairs to Z's house feels like scaling Annapurna- in heels.

We arrived and stood panting in the hallway and Z opened the door simultaneously greeting us, complaining about the cat, pointing out that the garbage needed taking out AND did we want anything to eat. I ran into the kitchen- which looked like the Falklands after the invasion- small and ...well it wasn't covered in goats but with all the dishes pans and other party prep remains- goats might have been an improvement. I grabbed 2 sausage out of a waiting pan and stuck one in my mouth and held the other in my hand as I walked back to the living room to offer assistance to Z and a sausage to VLH. Z stood in the middle of the maelstrom holding what looked like a pair of dictionaries clutched to her chest. VLH turned down my sausage offer, which should have tipped me off- and directed me to Z, who insisted I wipe my hands clean. I thought about wiping them on the back of my jeans, but at this juncture drawing attention to that area of my body- NOT my best side at the end of the holiday season, was just not prudent. I scarfed the 2nd sausage (waste-not, waist, also not.) and found a napkin and did a serviceable job of cleaning my greasy paws.

I held my hands out and Z placed the two 500 page tomes in my upturned hands- one book red, the other deep green. The green one had gold letters embossed into the cover. In Times New Roman it read: "The Ephemerist's Notebook" and on the second line optically centered "Volume One". The red book read, in Times New Roman golden letters "The Ephemerist's Notebook, Volume 2"

I'm crying as I write this. and I did then as well. I could not speak. I could not breathe. I know Z spoke to me. I know VLH did as well. I cannot tell you what they said. I have been struck speechless before as you know. Strangers saying with their actions that they care for me, that will take away my ability to come up with some glib comment. This took away my breath and I was not quite sure I could take anything more in- not even air. The letters glinted at me from the pristine hard covers. This...book. THESE books. I could not wrap my head around the idea that I had done this, that THESE were me... and mine. And then I looked at the faces of those two- one who has stood by me for almost twenty years and literally kept me alive through some of its darkest moments, been more than a friend and better than any sister could be to me and then to the face so new and so incredibly dear to me, my precious, precious and brave yov. The yov that has always been one step braver in loving me.

It wasn't just that they were bound- though seeing my writing as books- as opposed to some glorified Myspace page or Facebook ego trip (hot or not- you decide!) And more that hearing that they both felt this work was worth the tremendous effort to get this done. It was an incredible visual. This amazing year in two volumes. Special. Three-dimensional. And mine.

Eventually I stopped crying and was able to whisper my thanks. The books had to be put away as they brought on a new spate of tears every time I saw them and my red tear-stained visage was frightening the little party-goers and putting them off the remaining sausages.

I asked VLH to put the books in his car as we were going to see Fred for dinner in a glorious restaurant in New Canaan called Aloi and I wanted him to see this amazing gift. It was my one-year anniversary of knowing Fred and I wanted to celebrate the changes he had brought into my life and introduce him to the newest one. At dinner, which was incredible, we talked about the nature of loving, and Fred said something- he said that a particular person we were discussing "just wanted to be appreciated for the love they were giving".

At the time the phrase had a different context and it was not until just now that I realized that was what the real gift of the books was. Recognition of the love I had been giving, returned to me- in red, green and gold.

Oh my.

To any one who reads this- from Brooklyn to Helsinki. Happy New Year.

:) X

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries (ice) chips

Chicago twice in one year. This absolutely constitutes a record for me as my goddaughter Nikki, the world's most glorious adolescent pointed out, the last time I saw her that often we were waiting for her to be potty trained. After a weekend spent with Syd and the fam in Hinsdale (for those of you who wondered- the latch on the patio door is still unrepaired- at this point I think Henry would use a piece of chewing gum to fix it and Syd is considering total house razing to rectify the problem and a compromise does not appear to be likely or imminent)

Flying into Chicago on Saturday morning fell asleep (yahoo- the ephemerist becomes a seasoned traveler!) I woke to the man in the seat next to me smiling at me- a bit disconcerting as I am pretty certain I was drooling a teensy bit. Seems he had been flying for the past 15 hours and was actually looking over my shoulder as we taxied into Chicago- "Is that snow?" He said. I turned- blinking and trying surreptitiously to wipe my eyes. Snow. Lots of it. I YELLED at Syd "you didn't TELL me". I texted VLH- there is SNOW here- he texted back- "Strange turn in the weather- currently 85 degrees in NJ- taking the kids to the beach." I knew- unless he was suddenly raising polar bear cubs that was just a MAJOR dig that said- it's winter all over, babe- deal with it. Personally I feel dealing directly with reality is highly overrated and occasionally ..well, often a buzz-kill.

Fortunately I learned very quickly that like New York, Chicago is a walking city. What I mean by that is you do not need to get into a car to reach civilization- in this case- I walked out the door and saw...TONS of civilization- lots of cool and groovy architecture, public transportation and stores- even a GARMIN store- right there on Michigan Avenue. I guess to allow you to BUY a Garmin they needed to find a retail location you could get to WITHOUT one. Blind people could see this place the windows were 2 stories high and the travertine marble exterior had a big GARMIN logo on it. All they needed was a voice outside the store repeating over and over- "You have reached your destination". The store was trying very hard to be an Apple Store- lots of hip looking sales people of multiple ethnicities and none over say...27.5 years of age (just old enough to resist calling EVERYONE- male and female- "Dude"). And they TRIED to help me but..in a way it was just like the Scotch tape store on the old Saturday night live which only sold- Scotch Tape. They seemed to only feature 1 model of Garmin at only ONE lofty price point $699. It seemed ironic that the display, and the merchandise and the super cool store staff- just made me wanna say- "Get Lost".



Chez Garmin



Sayat Nova Armenian Restaurant




The Navy Pier in Winter and Lake Michigan

But. Garmin also sponsored the MAPS exhibit at The Field Museum. As much as I love the Natural History Museum here in NYC- you had to love the Field- home to "Sue" the world's only/most complete tyrannosaurus rex skeleton. I did not realize- until making Sue's acquaintance, that most/all OTHER tyrannosaurus rex skeletons were cobbled together or made with artificial parts- I can just imagine the exchange- "I'll trade you 6 tyrannosaurus vertebrae for a stegosaurus hip joint and 3 triceratops toes..." Add in 4 calling birds and 3 french hen skeletons and it's a merry holiday all around. The best part for me- Sue- the display and maintenance of- is sponsored by McDonald's. There is a joke in there SOMEWHERE I just can't find it.

However- there was another joke I found- ALMOST as old as Sue, hamburger related AND as free of tyrannosaurus rex meat as Sue's old bones. The Billy Goat Tavern. What? You may ask- I didn't know either. The Billy Goat Tavern was immortalized on Saturday Night Live. The real Saturday Night Live in the days of Belushi, Ackroyd, Morris, Newman, Curtin and the glorious Gilda Radner. The Skit?

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries- chips- no coke Pepsi.

The Billy Goat is located UNDER the glitzy Michigan Avenue shopping strip and across from the cool and groovy Chicago Tribune building- notable for the bits and pieces embedded in it from other cool and groovy buildings.



A piece of the Trib



Under Michigan Avenue

I was dressed in road exec gear- suit- coat with fur collar- heels- the Billy Goat at the height of its dress code- requests you wear nothing with permanent stains on it. So the greeting I received when I walked in the door was- in a SPITTING imitation of Belushi - "You wanna EAT here?" Yes, actually yes, I do. I love dives- greeeezee spoons- not dirty- or smelly but- unpretentious and filled with stuff- oh and at the smell of meat on a griddle- my whole being yells YIPPEE lets PARTY! Barely disguising his surprise the counterman swiftly went into his patter-

"You want cheezborger? Double cheezborger the best!" OK I'll have that
"You want chips, no fries" Yes Please.
"Corn Chips, Regular Chips?" Regular.
"Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Sprite, Ginger Ale" Diet Pepsi (OK,OK I KNOW double cheezborger... we save where we can...)

And it came to me on a slip of waxed paper- just as you see here (I added pickles and pickle relish and lots of ketchup, the only red wine that truly complements hamburger grease)



And- as greasy-divey experiences go- it was MIGHTY fine. Oh and I managed to keep it off my white shirt... BONUS!



And finally- a reminder on the cold Navy pier- how far I was, exactly, from yov.
It made getting home and what it would take... a little bit clearer.

And I'm home :)

:P X

The Leader of the Band

And here is the key
To a house far away
Where I used to live
As a child.
They tore down the building
When I moved away
And left the key unreconciled.

Souvenirs- Dan Fogelberg

Christmas. I have always felt that Santa's bag was a mixed one. Lots of presents to get- upside. Downside: finding presents to give- and heaven help me, the right one (the internal pressure on this one for me is the same strength used to turn coal into diamonds) Tons of great foods (the office today offered a cornucopia heavy on chocolate covered salty things -breakfast this morning was dark chocolate covered popcorn- I had em with a glass of milk) but alas little time in the holiday hubbub to get to the gym. And visiting my friends- spending time, precious time with Nikki who will be older and a lot less a little girl the next time I see her- but the upside- she grows like the most amazing flower and there is joy in that. And saying good-bye to those far-flung friends- feeling the tear as I drive away into a gray midwestern morning- the upside- I'm driving- it still rocks. And there is so much, so much, to come home to. You know who you are.

And then a note, an e-mail, Dan Fogelberg died at 56. It seems so... young. 56 years old- shouldn't there be some sort of divine dispensation for talent? For those people whose gift- in this case whose music, is so intricately entwined in memories our lives? But there isn't. What is beautiful and oh so fine is too often fleeting.

And so it goes- I listen to the songs. I remember those times and I am grateful. For the music that brings those times so close that I taste the wine of those moments on my lips, sweeter for the aging and the bitterness of such a young vintage now mellowed and fine. I choose to be sad for this moment because when beauty passes it is fitting to grieve and I rejoice for the moments that this sad, sad death brought back for a visit.

And here is a sunrise
To set on your sill.
The ghosts of the dawn
Moving near.
They pass through your sorrow
And leave you quite still...
Sitting among souvenirs.

Office Christmas Party Etiquette

I have read the articles posted online about the do's and don'ts for the office Christmas party. Traditional wisdom summed up it says- DO go (because you HAVE to) but for the Love of your JOB do not have fun (if they catch you being yourself- your career is toast). All these ridiculously sensible rules make my heart yearn for a slightly less- sensible, wildly politically incorrect time. So- for your reading pleasure and mine, a memo (written in 1957 and edited somewhat by me for length and well- it's 2007- we actually HAVE come a long way, girl-wise) by Alan Sherman (yes, the guy who wrote the Camp Granada Song- Hello Muddah- Hello Fadduh) on conduct at the office Christmas Party:

Memo to: All Office Personnel
From: Alan Sherman
Subject: The 1957 Office Xmas Party

The office party as most of you know is set for next Tuesday, December 24th, at 12 noon.

Girls who have been present at previous Office Parties have been, I realize, looking forward to seeing me at this party next Tuesday.

Due to the unprecedented demand for my services this year, and the limitations imposed on me by nature and time-- I must set forth the following rules and regulations for conduct at the Office Party:

1. ALL OF THE GIRLS WISHING TO PECK ME POLITELY ON THE CHEEK, or pinch my cheek and say "isn't he a doll?" will kindly line up at the 29th floor water cooler. If time allows, I will appear there late in the party to accomodate one and all.

2. GIRLS WITH NO PREVIOUS SEXUAL EXPERIENCE, OR GIRLS SUFFERING from emotional trauma, will please report MONDAY night at 7:30 to my assistant, Mr. Chester Feldman, who will give you pre-party instructions, a chalk-talk, and a specially prepared pamphlet from the National Safety Council.

3. DOROTHY KRESSLER WILL REPORT DIRECTLY TO ME IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT OF THIS MEMO What I have in mind is the same thing as last year but this year I'd like to get started a little earlier.

4. ALL GIRLS WILL TAKE WHATEVER SPECIAL PRECAUTIONS ARE INDICATED. DON'T DEPEND ON ME FOR PRECAUTIONS- YOU KNOW WHAT A MAD, IMPETUOUS FOOL I AM.

5. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO REPEAT MY UNFORTUNATE EXPERIENCE OF LAST YEAR'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. Most of you will remember my regrettable case of trench mouth which lasted well into February of this year. I'm not going to name any names- you know who you are.

6. DUE TO THE UNPRECEDENTED DEMAND priority will be given this Christmas to those who have done their part during the course of the regular year.

7. GIRLS--REMEMBER THE GOLDEN RULE. Be fair to the other girls. Do unto me only what you would let me do unto you. Take only what you need. Waste not, want not. Remember a man isn't made of wood, but he isn't made of iron either.

8. GIRLS WHO BRING UP THE SUBJECT OF OFFICE POLITICS at critical moments in the proceedings will be regarded as blase and tabled indefinitely.

9. TO THE NEW GIRLS WHO HAVE JOINED THE ORGANIZATION SINCE THE LAST CHRISTMAS PARTY. I must beg you to control yourself as much as you can. For heaven's sake maintain your dignity if it is at all possible. And in years to come, when you tell your friends about it--and I know you will--please be kind.

Thank you Alan...

I have my own set of Holiday Party rules.

I always say "Happy Hanukah" to everyone. I am Jewish- this is known as "representing".

I never pinch anyone's tushy. Not on purpose. And if someone pinches mine- I always say "thank you"

I eat dinner before I go. It's not the drinking I worry about- it's spilling hors d'oeuvres down the front of whatever I am wearing.

I don't drink alcohol- I can fall down without it- why bother with the calories?

I hug. A lot. It's a good time for it. And you can't BUY presents for everyone.

These are just MY rules As for you- please follow common sense- xeroxing your tushy as your holiday card or getting extremely busy in the stock room (that act is NOT also known as collating) is probably not a stellar career move.

Enjoy the party!

:)X

Ways to have fun at the holidays

Ralph Guild...embellished

I am loving this holiday season. Loving the travelling and the coming home- it's all good. HOWEVER. Not so many folks share this point of view and seem to need to INFLICT their crankiness on those of us content to fa-la-la our way through the season. Strangely enough both my examples happened THIS week, on the subway.

Yesterday a man who spent a great deal of money buying some high-maintenance female a Chanel purse for the holiday took an inordinate amount of glee pokng me in the back with the huge honking shopping bag (with razor enhanced corners by the feel of it) on the subway.

Tuesday, when I was VERY late for dinner at the fabulous Leo's Grandevous whith a lovely bunch of folks (I hate being late) the trains were delayed and each "E" train was more crowded than the last, not allowing so much as a shopping bag, much less the shopping bag OWNER onto the train. Finally I WEDGED myself into a space that would have made a supermodel "suck-it-in" and two MORE people squished in behind me. I have been less intimate with LOVERS than I was at that moment to the people around me on the train. Just to the east of my right ear a woman started shrieking. "OH NO- there is NO more room in here- don't even THINK about getting on..." OOps- our bad- we did not know this was HER train.

So. I figure there are a couple of ways when- not desperately depressed, but slightly tweaked, you can cheer yourself up.

I will add them as I come up with them (I get tweaked pretty often)

Thing 1. Dress up busts in museums. Let's face it- busts are a way of a person saying- I am IMPORTANT- but only from the neck up. It is the sculpture equivalent of a dickie (a fake shirt front that goes under a sweater or jacket thus freeing the wearer from putting on extra clothes...it's a goofy form of clothing) Anyway- they are just ASKING to be dressed up as, unlike whole statues... you can usually reach their heads. The statue of Ralph Guild (shown fully dressed above) was at the Museum of Radio and Broadcasting and ... I had help. I find it advisable when committing a crime, to have a partner. It helps if the partner is a little kid- they are harder to arrest, and they giggle.

And speaking of giggling-

Thing 2. Go to the nearest large toy store and find the Tickle Me Elmos. Begin at one end of the display and start tickling. See if you can get all the Elmos going at once. Before they throw you out of the store.

In a more traditional realm:

Thing 3. Kiss Sidewalk Santas. They are cold. They are bored. This wakes them up. Avoid the ones with yellow beards- smoking Santas do not taste so good.

:)X

Oy, Again with the lists....

Finding a kosher chicken at the holidays- not so hard in NYC


Last night was the 1st night of Hanukah. Aside from phone calls to the near and dear and a pork product/cream sauce dinner at a "red sauce joint" in Hoboken, the first night did not have that holiday feeling. I didn't light any candles. The candle lighting prayer was said, albeit over a plate of (oy a shanda) shellfish fra diavolo. I have deferred my gift giving until Christmas eve- offering the excuse of flying to and fro as the (weak, so weak) reason why I haven't gotten to the gift shopping. Truth be told I seem to have found PLENTY of time to shop for me.

But I am not avoiding the holiday. I want to stretch it out. I want... well- I thought I would offer a wish list for Hanukah:

I want more time- with friends, and people I love, and with my pillow on cold winter mornings

I want a reason to get out of bed- and a reason to stay five more minutes (you know who you are)

I want to laugh so hard my ribs hurt

And to shed a couple of tears to remember there are two sides to every coin- but we make a choice each time we flip it as to how we deal with the result

I want to be better- at ALL of it- and yet be satisfied at the end of each day that I brought the best I had in myself to that day

I want my favorite foods to be calorie free. Understand here (as we learned from the panty fairy, wishes must be specific) I do NOT want to learn to love iceberg lettuce and celery- I want pizza to never, ever stick to my hips- even with extra cheese.

Also in the food vein- I would like people to give fruitcake a second chance- it's yummy- and just plain misunderstood.

I'd like to spend an hour with the folks that....aren't with me, here, anymore. It would be great just to have enough time to tell each of them I love them one more time.

Not so much to ask- and any one of them would be a terrific gift all on its own (except maybe the fruitcake- if fruitcake catches on there will be less of it for me... not such a good thing)So- until I open the first branch of the Fruitcake anti-defamation league(and weight loss emporium) I will just wish you dreidels, lots of gelt, latkes (sour cream or applesauce- you choose) and jelly doughnuts, non-drippy candles and 8 great wishes to end the year.

:) X

The Mess With Texas

The Fried Macaroni and Cheese Nugget from Sonic

Pure evil. 280 calories 140 of them pure unadulterated FAT. Fortunately only available from Sonic for, as Sherell the fast talking Sonic counter girl assured me- for the season. I was wondering... WHICH season? The Cholesterol Season? Say... September until death by arterial clogging? Or the holiday season- which needs no help after stuffing, pies and Christmas cookies, potato latkes and chanukah gelt to pack on an additional 10 lbs from November to January which will cling to your hips like a horn dog ex-boyfriend until the promise of summer forces you to brutally shake them (the pounds, not the boyfriend) by dining on water and celery until thinner or fed up. Oh. And the worst news- they're really tasty.



Wedding Flags in La Marqueta San Antonio



A stylish lady of San Antonio... thos one OBVIOUSLY gave the mac and cheese nuggets a miss...



The Guadalajara Grill in La Villeta, the original settlement of San Antonio. A note to the ... well to myself. When you have a post awful cold stomach do not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, order the smoked tuna enchiladas with chipotle sauce. Even on a good day.. well, Montezuma's reach, in the name of revenge, is extensive and truly potent.



The Alamo. Located MOST unfortunately next to a BIG mall and across from a Ripley's Believe it or Not







A friend suggested not only that I tell their child about jackelopes but that I ran this particular one over with my rental car.

And then there was the mess...

There was a horrendous line at security in the airport going from San Antonio to Dallas. One frustrated woman, an hour into the wait announced to everyone in the line- "I have NO idea why this is taking so long. All they have to do is search the Muslims." I could not help myself. I said out loud "Oh my God". A man next to me said "Yeah". Except he wasn't saying it to me- he was saying it to the woman who made the initial comment.

The next two days the comment stayed with me and then outside the Alamo I saw the most adorable Mexican child. Her abuela was sitting having a cold drink in the shade and the baby wandered back and forth waving a tissue like an unofficial greeter of Alamo visitors. I thought about Davy Crockett. And General Santa Anna. Lots of strife. Certainly not a great deal of love for Mexicans back then in San Antonio. And yet here we were. And here was this tiny muchacha waving hello. Things pass. Ultimately despite whatever the day's strife- approach with love, openness and innocence. This and time and the rest all passes. Especially with love.



You know who you are. :) X

The Panty Fairy- A slightly naughty love story

For you- and you know who you are. Thanks for sharing so nice.

"I can't believe you will be gone again...." he sighed into her hair- which she had spent an hour washing and curling and he spent 15 minutes dissolving into a passion-mussed tangle

"It's just a week- duty calls" she whispered into a space slightly below his rib, ruffling the curls of hair on his chest with mutual exasperation.

They exchanged mundane reassurances. "It'll be ok." "You'll see" "You have work- I have work". They both knew the excuses were hollow and the reality was that no matter how filled the days were- the nights had a empty cool spot on the opposite side of the bed.

Her downcast eyes suddenly glinted wickedly- "I know!" She pulled a pair of embroidered sheer black panties from the pile of hastily disgarded clothing at the side of the bed- and the nightstand, and the doorknob, and the chandelier (how did that GET up there?).

"Take these"- she said. "I won't be here but you can hold these and remember- there are lots of good times ahead." His eyes lifted to hers- and then looked back at the panties and then at her..."These are better with a girl inside..." he smiled- "Any girl?" She said, her lip curling in a knowing smile... and the panties hit the floor again.

Later that day (you can fill in the details above- this isn't THAT naughty a fairy tale) He waved goodbye at the airport and watched as she schlepped her luggage into the long line at curbside check in. As he drove off he felt the small bundle that was the panties curled like a little reminder of what he would miss in what appeared to be an endless succession of days- just 5 actually, but oh those long nights!

That evening he got ready for bed, remembered and pulled the panties from his jacket pocket. Feeling a bit sheepish he held the panties at arms length- little ribbons, thread flowers and the slightest hint of what had taken place between them earlier that day. "These ARE much better with a girl in them"- he said aloud startled at the sound of his own childish indignation. "Well they are"- he muttered- "what good are panties here and a girl wayyyy the hell over THERE?" He sat on the side of the bed and put his elbows on his knees and his fists into his chin grinding the little panties ever so slightly into his cheek- he turned his head towards the lacy lingerie and closing his eyes he whispered into them once more- "SO much better with a girl in them..."

Suddenly the air was scented with the distinct aroma of... fabric softener sheets. He opened his eyes and standing in front of our hero was... a clothes hamper. Upon closer inspection- HIS clothes hamper. "How did THAT get in here?"- he wondered aloud.

"I am the panty fairy"- said the hamper- its wicker lid lifting and falling with each word.

"You have three wishes..."

“Why?” the hero asked, the panties now clutched inexplicably to his chest, in all likelihood from the shock of encountering talking bathroom furniture in the bedroom.

The hamper rippled its lid in near-derision- “Schmuck, who says no to three wishes? Look a gift hamper in the mouth and all you’re gonna get is a faceful of dirty gym socks.” The wicker gave the distinct impression of a huff by tapping its lid insistently for a full minute. “So… what’s it gonna be- its laundry night y’know” the hamper grunted.

The hero remembered the panties in his hand. What the hell- he thought- he’d tried Atkins, bought sea monkeys and x-ray specs from the back of a comic book- even tied a cape around his neck and jumped off the garage roof- he’d passed foolish a long time ago.

“OK, OK- three wishes, right?” he said… shaking his head in wonder and just the beginning of belief. “Yeah, brain trust- and I’m the panty fairy so have it make sense from that angle wouldja? I’m fresh outta mansions, trunks of gold and being blessed like a racehorse if you catch my drift” Our hero understood- at least the first two… he’d figure out what all this had to do with horses another time.

He looked at the panties- “a sexy, sexy girl… to fill these.” The hamper sighed- “okie doke.”

And standing in the panties was a beautiful brunette- JUST in the panties.

We pause a moment to let our hero catch his breath- which he then let out in a low…”Whoa”
And then quickly pulled back in because he needed the air to make the room stop spinning-

She held her arms out. Our hero went to her- the hamper chose this moment to slide into the living room and make casual conversation with a wrought iron plant stand he’d been eyeing for weeks. He liked the look of her sturdy legs.

Our hero was only momentarily stunned and took the fairy’s apparition into his arms. She was beautiful, and sexy, and she could KISS. And kiss… and kiss….. And

He pulled back from her sexy tousselled visage- with his eyes half closed. “You are so… beautiful… “ He whispered “Uh-huh” she said. “And sooo sexy” he spoke into her perfect ear. “Uhuh” she said. “ And,,, hey…ummm don’t you have anything else to say?” He asked- pulling back from the perfect face to look into her eyes- “Naaah” she said- “you can just keep talking- it’s all true..Oh wait- there is something…” she put one pink polished nail to her slick pouting lips “Got any gum? All this kissing makes my mouth dry…" ” Uh maybe a tic tac…I’ll check” he said. He walked into the kitchen and began checking the drawers for loose hard candy… “ Make it sugar free” she yelled from the bedroom “and could you move it I’m getting COLD” Hmmm our hero thought,,, me too.

Our hero walked into the living room where the hamper was getting into a very serious conversation with the plant stand regarding the distinct advantages of cross-pollinating the wicker gene with the wrought iron gene and creating a nice flexible… “A- HEM” the hamper looked over what would have been a shoulder- had there actually BEEN a place for shoulders on a hamper. “Can I TALK to you a sec?” the hero asked the hamper. “Finished so soon?” the hamper smirked “ I knew a seltzer bottle once that had that problem and solved it by icing..” “NO” Shouted the hero “Look she’s nice and all but… kind of a pain… and I kind of prefer someone with more than a three word vocabulary” “Picky, Picky… big talk for a guy who was talking to UNDERWEAR half an hour ago.” “Look” The hero began losing patience- which, for a hero is really a stretch, “could you just- you know- disappear her?” “I look like Tony Soprano to YOU?” the hamper barked. The hero sighed. “She’s an apparition not a mob informer-look, just.,,,”

“OK,OK, OK- she’s gone.” said the hamper.

I’m going to bed- said the hero with a sigh, and as he walked to the bed he spotted the little black panties lying by the side of the bed. He picked them up- folded them carefully once, and then again, and slipped them under his pillow. As he lay down on his side his hand slid to the cool empty place on the other side of the bed.

“See ya tomorrow schmedrick…” said the hamper as it ambled back to the living room- the night was still young…

Our hero (heretofore referred as “H” to save typing "OUR hero"… over and over- feels like overkill and he’d be embarrassed if he read it… heroes are modest like that) returned from work the next evening, dropped jacket, car keys, shirt, pants and scootched off his socks (that motion where you take off each sock using the opposite foot to avoid bending down- you know, scootching.) as he walked through the empty apartment and into the bedroom in t-shirt and somewhat less than his BEST underwear- after all (sigh) who would notice?

“Where have you BEEN?” there stood the hamper- next to H’s sock drawer with a pile of random single socks scattered on the floor around it. “What?” “HUH” stammered H.
“Great act!” sneered the hamper- “banter like that should be on Carson” H looked up from the pile of socks- “Carson’s DEAD” H shot back. “So’s late night TV- it’s all dreck.What’s your point?” the hamper replied with a resigned air. “So! Ready for wish #2?” the hamper asked- wriggling a mismatched pair of socks on its lid- which eerily resembled Groucho Marx’s eyebrows in a not-so-good way..

“Look,” said H sagging onto the bed and slipping his hand under the pillow to find the panties “ I appreciate your doing this but- last night was really awful- she was beautiful- but …” “Yeah- what a bimbo… no problem kid- I felt bad yanno so…” The hamper glanced downward- “ I decided to fix this…”. H looked down as well- “You’re fixing …
my socks?” “Nahhh- returning the one-sies” said the hamper” I usually keep ‘em until you throw the singles out and then return the first ones but… you looked like you could use a break after last night..” H goggled… “But…WHY steal socks?” “Hard to hide a Cadillac in a hamper kid- if ya know what I mean” said the hamper with a small wicker shrug. “So! Make your wish- we’re burning spin cycle here…” . The Cadillac notion danced briefly on H’s consciousness hoping to find a purchase based on reason… and ultimately gave up- making sense of a talking hamper was just too gargantuan a task for one hero with panties on the brain- the Cadillac got parked along with the racehorse reference for further consideration at a later date. That being dealt with H gave the second wish a moment’s thought- what was he going to do? She was still hundreds of miles and days away- and he was just a guy with panties under his pillow and a big night of reheated beef stew and bathtub cleaning scheduled for the evening’s entertainment agenda.

“I’m still missing a girl” said H-. “Natch”, said the hamper- “whaddaya think I AM a FRUIT basket?” “No- that’s not IT- sexy is great- but… someone…SMART… someone I can talk to…trade IDEAS with…” H implored the hamper- “Understand?”. “You got it” Said the hamper- and sitting behind H on the bed where the panties had been was yet another brunette- wearing one of H’s shirts- and the little black panties. Her dark hair was piled on her head and a pair of neat horn-rimmed glasses perched on a very nice but not exceptional nose and highlighting a very intelligent pair of brown eyes. “ Er- kid- I’m gonna head out for a bit. It’s Dollar night at the Fluff and Fold” said the hamper. H waved a hand in the direction of the retreating hamper, giving barely a thought as to how exactly the hamper would open the door- or WHERE the dollars came from for Dollar night at the Fluff and Fold and making a mental note to be more thorough when going through pockets before putting pants in the wash.

“Hi…” said H- a bit amazed at the very…interested woman sitting on the bed. “Greetings and Salutations!” she said brightly- peering over her glasses at H. “May I sit down?” asked H. “It‘s YOUR bed isn’t it?” asked the woman pleasantly… “ it’s not mine to GIVE permission” H sat down next to her. “Charlotte’s Web” said the woman. H- who was still busily looking at this latest apparition- who definitely filled his shirt in ways he didn’t, not to mention rather nicely filling the panties which peeked fetchingly from beneath the hem. H’s brain heard through a fog of shirt and panty inspired…preoccupation and finally registered the words “Charlotte’s Web?”. Yes! said the woman waggling a well-read paperback book in front of him- “I simply ADORE E.B.White’s writing- I am rereading his works and analyzing the Freudian and Jungian archetypes present in each book” she said- the words delivered precisely in a slightly breathless voice which brought neither pigs nor spiders to mind for H. He leaned towards her cross-legged corporeality on the bed- intent on those fast moving chatty lips, his eyes half closed, his own lips moving forward and touching…nothing

For suddenly she had shifted from sitting up to lying on her stomach on the bed with her face propped on her elbows revealing a not so perfect but absolutely serviceable and very nice tushie which peeked rather fetchingly from below the shirt as she bent her knees and crossed her ankles and continued talking. “Greetings and Salutations is what Charlotte says when she meets the pig for the first time- but you knew that” The apparition paused for the briefest razor thin moment and looked up to H for recognition. H, with great effort removed his eyes from the aforementioned tushy just long enough to smile in false affirmation.

“… I think that Charlotte is actually the mother figure and her death in the end as well as the birth of all those baby spiders is just the ULTIMATE in Oedipal fantasies- you know….” Again she allowed a sliver of a pause for agreement- it was at that moment that H realized that the panty fairy did not have a matching bra fairy and could only murmur “Yerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” as a basic form of agreement. “Good!” piped the woman. I’m so glad you GET it- so few people get the DEEPER ideas and the BIG picture- it’s so nice to have someone to BOUNCE these things off. “Bounce…” echoed H who by this time was incapable of locating his own nouns or verbs .

It was at this moment, in an singularly UNhero-like moment- H heard a rush not unlike the ocean in his ears- he grabbed the apparition by the shoulders and gave her a long, soul-searching, extended tushy-gazing inspired kiss. Drawing back from her inexplicably stiff form H opened his eyes. The lip thing wasn’t really WORKING here- it was more like lip MASHING than kissing- he thought. Altogether too much teeth and not enough of the softer slipperier stuff. It was at that moment the roaring sound in his ears that preceded the kiss subsided and he located the problem.

She was STILL talking.

“and THAT rat…. With his LONG tail . It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this is all about the father issues – cold, distant and..”

It was at that moment that the second unhero-like moment occurred. H leaned towards her and whispered to her still moving lips… “Shut up and kiss me- wouldja?. The apparition’s eyes opened WIDE. “Whatever for?” she piped- “We DID that. I simply don’t know what all the fuss is about- you kiss- hug, messiness- so much more exciting- the exchange of ideas, than say- lip sucking and neck biting..” “ But.” said H- still feeling a bit sheepish for overstepping the hero boundaries twice in such a brief period.. “ I LIKE hickies…especially the installation process” he mumbled, mostly to himself as she was still talking.

“....the geese with those long necks and beaks…OBVIOUSLY a reference to…” The end of her sentence was muffled by the slamming of the front door and the hamper ambled in, a powder blue plastic fabric softener dispenser ball dangling jauntily from his left handle. “Heyyyy kid- home run… this one’s STILL talking- bet you’re in head-heaven huh? Whatta BRAIN!

“Can I SEE you in the other room?” H asked- his voice communicating a sense of more than a little urgency, he grabbed the hamper by the first thing that came to hand- the softener ball- “EASY” yelled the hamper “new piercings are SENSITIVE” And dragged the hamper into the living room.

“GET. HER. OUT.” growled H. “What is your damage Boy-o?” asked the hamper- rocking slightly from the left to the right as he experimented with the side to side momentum of the softener ball. “STAY still, please…” begged H “ Yes, she’s smart, and yes we exchange IDEAS but… what can I say- NOT MY idea of a conversation- I don’t know what she is saying AND I can’t even get a word in edgewise with a razor blade to TELL her. “But she’s a cutie, too, huh.. ain’t she? Didn’t I get you what you asked for? Hunh? Didn’t I? The hamper began to develop the distinctly ripe scent of indignation- sort of a cross between greasy kitchen towels and old gym uniforms. “Yes, yes- you delivered… “ sighed H “it’s…just.... not what I was looking for… could you…” “Done” said the hamper-

“You’re not makin’ this easy boychik.” Huffed the hamper. “I’m outta here- see you tomorrow.”

H lay down on top of the covers and curled his body around the panties lying on top of the comforter. “ You think THIS is easy? He said to the air above the bed… and rolled onto his stomach, and the panties and fell asleep.

The next night H struggled to juggle keys, groceries and knapsack as he opened the door to his apartment. His soul needed soothing and the comfort food of the evening was a cheesy risotto (the beef stew of the previous night- or perhaps that same evening’s “date” had left H with a bit of a sour stomach and turned his digestive tract into an express lane.

He had just shoved the door closed with his hip when a voice behind him said “Looocy is dat YOU?” . H’s struggle to maintain the balance on his load was lost as keys, knapsack and groceries hit the floor, the bag of Arborio rice broke and rice skittered across the floor, the container of grated cheese popped open and a fine dust of Parmeggiano Romano filled the air, finally a large tin of chicken broth followed, bouncing off H’s foot . “What the ………….!!” He howled in a combination of shock, pain and exasperation- a potent recipe for driving even the most staunch hero to the occasional bout of potty mouth.

Standing in the doorway wearing a red checked apron tied about its mid-section was the hamper.“I love that show- especially Ricky- he could always make me laugh. How ya doin tonight kid?” H just stood there gingerly favoring the broth-wounded foot and brushing Parmesan off his pants. “Look- I’m fed up- I’m OK on my own- I have the TV- my work to do, and I can FEED myself” (“when dinner isn’t raw and on the floor” he thought to himself, not daring to utter the words aloud should the apron be some indication the hamper was of a mind to actually cook- truly a recipe for disaster- or at the very least-severe indigestion) “I’m just fine”- he continued ”so thanks and see ya, bye.””

“Kid, kid, kid. Man does not live on…” the hamper glanced down “ whatever this hard crunchy stuff on the floor is, alone. Look- you’ve got one more wish- why waste it?” The hamper looked up at H- his lid open and earnest, and inadvertently revealing H’s need to do a white wash, soon. “I just want a girl who is HERE for ME.” “DONE” said the hamper.“Wait, wait, wait!!!!!! Shouted H but the hamper was trundling off to the kitchen, sweeping the rice and grated cheese ahead of it and rolling the can of broth as it went. From behind H a voice cried “Oh You’re HOME!” and he was suddenly blindsided by a slightly cushy, flannelly, rather nice smelling bundle of…girl.

“OOF” H grunted, for the second time since entering the apartment- which had suddenly and inexplicably begun to feel like a roller derby arena with flying debris and flying…girls. H’s face was at that moment being covered in a series of quick moist kisses- “I missed you, missed you missed you!” H began to notice an unfamiliar feeling at the center of his chest… he tried to identify it… Fear? Nope- too warm. Apprehension- no- missing the twisty stomach/nausea thing. Depression? Wrong again, the corners of his mouth were turned the wrong way- in this moment- up. So lets recount- thought H. warm, smiling and not sick, female kissing me and moving assorted girly parts against me wearing – what WAS she wearing? H pulled back as far as the kissing girl/bundle’s arm’s length would allow. She was clad in an EXTREMELY short but decidedly red flannel lace-trimmed nightgown which was delightfully both short enough and low cut enough to reveal… the little black panties. The girl pushed forward wrapping her arms tightly around H’s neck- “WHERE have you BEEN?” “It’s been FOREVER! She whispered urgently. H was a bit occupied surveying the VERY short expanse of nightgown at the back of the girl and.. the way the flannel.. draped- in a way that flannel shouldn’t if one expects to behave in a gentlemanly hero-like manner through those cold winter nights. On the other hand what better way to stay warm thus avoiding the need for even this miniscule yet fetching little scrap of fabric?

“I have been waiting FOREVER” she looked up at him, her big brown eyes imploring and her dark brown hair falling in a really cute way in her eyes. She swung from her arms draped in a rather friendly half- Nelson around H’s neck. “Well honestly,” said H moving a wisp of hair out of her near tear-filled eyes…“I just wished you up ten minutes ago”. “But I’ve been waiting ALL that time” she pouted-. “I’m sorry” replied H. I’ll focus on you to make up for it. What did you do today?” he asked as he attempted to sit down, this made somewhat difficult as the girl did not seem to be willing to unlace her fingers from around H’s neck so he sat down on the bed and she sat down - on H. “I waited for you” she said- her face inches from H’s. “ Well, did you DO anything interesting?” he asked- “I thought about you- where you were, what you were doing… when you’d be home…” she said dreamily and at the same time still disturbingly close to H’s face. H began to notice a distinct drop in the amount of oxygen in the room and breathing freely was getting slightly more difficult. “But let’s talk about YOU” she said in a gush “Did YOU miss ME today?” she asked brightly- tightening her grip on his neck as she tossed her head flinging a half dozen tresses into his mouth as he struggled to take a deep breath while locked in her embrace. “Well…” “P-TUI”, “Yes..KACK” said H, “Or I would have,” he said- spitting one final tress from his mouth “had I known you were here…” We’re TOGETHER NOW that’s ALL that matters” she sighed blissfully.

H was now experiencing a bit of numbness in his girl-encumbered legs as well as a slight spinning sensation which could either be attributed to so MUCH girl at one go or a distinct lack of personal space and oxygen. The resulting feelings were quite similar, H imagined, to being trapped in a nice smelling but utterly sealed coal mine with an overly chatty canary.

“Could you- WHEEZE- give me a sec here?” H managed to gasp. “O-KAYYYYYY" She said coyly… but you be RIGHT back”. “Certainly” said H as he stood and simultaneously ducked under her tentacle-like embrace “Be right back!” he said, backing out of the room to avoid being recaptured.

He ran into the kitchen where the hamper stood next to a bubbling pot on the stovetop. “Help” gasped H. “What now?” the hamper grunted.” The panties are filled- she’s ALL yours- Whaddaya want? Green Stamps, too??”


H raked his hands through his hair in exasperation.and said urgently “Listen- ALL I want is an intelligent, sexy girl who HAS a life of her own, who wants to be here with ME- even when she ISN’T exactly here- is that SO MUCH to ask?”

“ I knew you’d be a LITTLE lonely but this is kind of extreme don’t you think?” said a voice from behind H. He turned and there in the doorway was yet another brunette; a little travel-rumpled, smelling a bit of airplane and very, very wrinkled from a long flight and smiling at him.

“You’re HOME” he said. “Yep.” She smiled and walked over to him, and placed her arms on his shoulders and looked directly in his eyes- “ Missed you” she said quietly and kissed him in a way that verified that she missed him very much indeed. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom… and there in the doorway lay the little black panties. “What were you doing with THESE?" She laughed. “Trying to fill them.” he said “You can’t BELIEVE how difficult that can be!” “Probably not” she said- “but c’mere and let me show you how easily they get emptied” she grinned.

“Wait” said H ( because a girl THIS good deserves a hero) “you just had a long flight- do you want some dinner?”

“Nahhh” said the girl- “We had risotto with fabric softener on the plane” and then she giggled.

And the moral of the story is:

It’s not the panties on the girl- it’s YOUR girl in the panties – and really, with the right girl- who needs panties?

A Recipe for Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. No presents. No angst over who sits next to who or what cruel words separate people no matter how long ago they were uttered when forced to sit in the same room with the ones they injured. Aside from my sister who works in a supermarket on Staten Island and who works every Thanksgiving so other people can get that last minute whatever that will make their holiday complete, I have no family, my parents having died long enough ago to be counted in decades. Years ago-I began cooking for people who come in ones and twos. People like me who don't have a large supply of blood relatives, or who live too far from their home fires. There is a core group- folks who come every year and always- new ones. Travelling students, actors between shows, people whose countries do not celebrate this particular feast. The table is not always stable but its always interesting. There is something delightful about showing people from Australia marshmallow covered sweet potatoes- I remember my friend Bridget from Melbourne when upon seeing that particular dish in the oven shrieked and ran for her camera insisting on taking photos ("Back home we thought this was a JOKE" she said in her gorgeous accent, as exotic to me as this Thanksgiving staple was to her)

So the crowd at the table over the years fluctuates- there have been as many as 30 people and as few as 2. No matter how many people come to dinner- until at least 3:00 it's just me. I don't know exactly why- I have never said to anyone don't come earlier- dinner is at 6, and I tell them so but until at least late afternoon its just me. But I am never alone.



I do the stuffing first. While I am chopping and sauteeing onions I feel my dad at the stove. Up and chopping the giblets and putting them in a pot to simmer for broth. And when I sneak a fingerful of just-mixed stuffing I feel him there.

I make the cranberry apple pie and catch myself peeling the apple in one long peel, the way my grandmother did. And as I slide a slice of apple into my mouth I remember the sweetness of an apple coated in cinnamon and sugar that she slipped into my mouth, admonishing me to keep my hands out of the bowl. I never listened.



I stuff the turkey and remember the first year my dad took my sister and I to my soon-to-be stepmother's house for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother's stuffing- pinkish and the consistency of oatmeal, oozing from the cavity of a paprika coated bird. I whispered to my dad and he looked back and me and whispered fiercely that NO ONE threw up in the turkey and could I PLEASE behave. I behaved, but I would not touch the stuffing.

I slide the turkey into the oven and after about 2 hours the smell of turkey begins so scent the air. It is then I remember my friend Robin. I cooked my first on my own turkey at Robin's house. My surrogate father he both made my wedding dress and escorted me down the aisle. It was at his house I learned about wine glasses and chargers and cloth napkins. That food made a meal but the ambience- that made it a dinner, and a party. In the years since he passed I have always strived to create the magic he did- cloth napkins, candlelight- its good- but still after all these years I finally come to realize that there are some people who dress a table by their presence at it and the glasses and plates twinkle with their charm and grace- I do what I can. No paper napkins. But I miss playing Scrabble with him and losing while he cheated shamelessly every time I got up to baste.

And there are people who have their obligations- to family, to work or my friend Carola, whose favorite thing to bring to dinner is Tupperware. She e-mailed me that she is in Scotland. I was surprised she did not ask me to save a plate. I will miss her fringey wonderfulness and keep fingers crossed they feed her well wherever she is. I hope it's not Haggis... some things should just not be stuffed, ANY time of year.

And the phone rings- with serious concerns like "I baked a pumpkin pie yesterday- does it need to go in the refrigerator?" Nope Miriam- tastes better without the fridge- just don't tell your mom. Or VLH who has been teasing me mercilessly because he is attempting to debunk the myth that my DELICIOUS cranberry sauce takes LOTS AND LOTS of work (truth be told its just 2 bags of berries, a can of frozen OJ and some spices and sugar and the pizza resistance- star anise plopped on the stove- in a pot- to cook til the berries pop) OK its not hard work but it's ALL MINE. VLH likes the kind of cranberry sauce that still has the ridges from the can on it- I want to be snobby about it but I actually think it's kinda cute. And then when I am getting a bit behind myself Kiwi will call to let me know he has the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, muted, so he can listen to Alice's Restaurant. This has been my ritual for years and was discovered 3 years ago by Kiwi as the thing that was missing from his Thanksgiving. This, along with a traditionnay- near RELIGION shared by the folks closest to me- the post holiday leftover sandwich which includes everything from the meal including gravy-which has been refrigerated and therefore can be SPREAD and the addition of mayonnaise and some kind of very white bread (my choice this year? Onion Naan. I believe it will be a high water mark in the pantheon of post turkey day leftover sandwiches- toasted- in case you want to try this at home)

So this year- at least as of 11 am there are seven of us. (OK its 1:22 and we are at 8) That can change and as I cook enough for twenty (just in case) is never a problem. Two years ago the last minute guest was a woman relocated to New York because of Hurricane Katrina, I hope she has found her way home. Last year it was Kate- a co-worker who was trekking her way across the globe and spending her first American Thanksgiving at my house. She took before and after photos of her plate to send to folks at home. Too long ago to remember there was a pack of jazz musicians, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, Sweden and Denmark were all represented and 30 people consumed 14 bottles of wine, BEFORE dinner. Afterwards we all watched Alice's Restaurant and kept pausing the video (it was that long ago) to explain dialog and idiomatic phrases unintelligible to European ears. The movie was followed by an hours long jam session which had my neighbors growling at me for months after. It was worth it.



As I finish reading this over I guess the statement that I am alone is not completely true- people often get a sad look on their faces when I mention the no parents thing- or no close blood family. I hear a great deal from people who say that the holidays depress them- and list what they do not have that makes them so. But I have never been alone on the holidays. I think the recipe is put out as much love as you can- it comes right back, stays with you ever after and multiplies. For my family. For my friends. For all the love and all the great surprises life has brought to me- you know who you are.You are all here with me, and always will be. I give thanks. :) X

The UNcommon cold

This falls into the "I feel so ab-so-frickin-lutely awful death would be welcome" category. I don't get sick. Ever. I tell people that in a smug kind of way that says KEEP your healthy living no smoking no drinking in bed by 9 and only eat organic foods grown by monks in fair trade environments. I by virtue of a superior immune system and an unfailingly positive attitude can burn the candle at all ends, travel the country back and forth and suffer no ill effects- none whatsoever.

Til now.

This cold makes the bubonic plague look like a case of mild poison ivy. It laughs at Day-Quil (which makes me sleepy) and giggles uncontrollably at Nyquil leaving me gasping and re-reading Alan Sherman's autobiography at 4:20 am. I tried herbal remedies- which leave me feeling virtuous but still sniffling. Tea- ha- til it tastes like coffee it will do me no good at all. Starve a cold- ok- I survived a day on triscuits- which I ate trying to alleviate the itchiness at the back of my throat only to wake up choking like Minnie trying to hack up a hairball. I text friends at 5 am and try to leave them all my worldly possesions- the reply- I do not want your collection of vintage Handi-Wipes- just quit making my phone beep at 3 am.

OK- they go to the Smithsonian. My choice of placement? Right next to Archie Bunker's barcalounger. They are just THAT great a piece of Americana.

And to the friends kind enough to bring by soup, juice and various remedies- I thank you but placing them outside the door and running so as not to become infected themselves leaves me more than a little lonely and after 4 days in the house, even Minnie is giving me that "Don't you have someplace to GO?" look. Great- even my cat needs a bit more "personal space" in my hour of need.

Truth be told I am crummy company in this state- personal hygiene is limited to removing the 3 winter coats on my tongue precipitated by the incessant parade of Ricola drops. Bits of me are alternately too cold or too hot so I alternate between hanging over the oven or standing in an open doorway. And in an act of TOTAL denial, last night I decided I would NOT let this malady interfere with my Thanksgiving I baked pies. A feat which left me dizzy and clutching the table edge. I spent a bit of time on the phone last night in the midst of this saying how this cold was not affecting me even a little and heard my friend say- "You know you are WHEEZING"? Truth be told- I was happy air was going in and out of my lungs.

I am saying here and now to this strain of whatever it is that I picked up on Continental Airlines flying from New York to West Palm Beach- I give in. I am forcing liquids. I am laying in bed and letting the most strenuous thing I do be using the TV remote to flip channels and drinking tea until my eyes cross. I am taking Advil and using the lotion tissues which feel marginally less scratchy than the paper towels I was using before. There was a moment between 3 and 4 am when I thought for sure my nose was going to fall into the tissue every time I used one. And can I ask why it is in the nature of every human to look into the tissue after blowing? What will you see? A cracker jack prize? Some hidden fortune cookie message like "Good Health is not to be taken for Granted" written in unspeakable bodily fluids? Of course at that hour of the morning there is not a hell of a lot to see- you take your entertainment where you can.

So- I actually don't get sick- at least not in little bits- I get sick all at once. And here I am. Still typing. Need a tissue.

Scuse me.

:P X

No more travels...

'til after Turkey day or when the tide comes in.... and to this we say (while sporting a MONSTROUS cold, thank goodness for tissues with lotion) AMEN.

The Crocodile Rock- Travels in Southern Florida

Sign at the pier in Naples...

I have often thought that a diet should be based not on what you did eat but what you didn't. NOT eating a slice of chocolate cake should count just as much as choosing salad rather than fries for your burger dinner. Never mind common wisdom suggests maybe JUST having the salad- a thought too gruesome for contemplation- pure frivolity and we will discuss that no further. That the burger was not garnished with bacon and bleu cheese should be an act of virtue worthy of a nomination for sainthood. Oops. Digression- go figure.

What got me from the manatee sign to chocolate cake was- I didn't see any manatees- or for that matter while crossing I-75 from Bal Harbour to Naples- a road known as "Alligator Alley" I didn't see any alligators. I saw something with a scaly pointed end but I was pretty sure it was a blown out tire... At 85 mph the distinction was vague but I wasn't stopping- having just realized I was GOING 85 was a big enough realization. Alligator Alley is not much more than road and everglades- I think I counted 3 exits off the entire 80 plus mile route and I shared the road only for moments with other cars- At one point I figured out (right after noticing the spedometer) that the other cars were not exiting- they were WAAAY behind me eating a dust sandwich.

The other reason I didn't stop was a result of a TV show I caught in the hotel the night before where a serial killer was dumping women's bodies in the swamps right off of- you guessed it- I-75. This particular poor soul had been eaten from the waist down by gators. Stop for a photo op with the reptiles- nossir. There is no guarantee he'd only eat my not-so-good side and that my last photos would not be as unattractive leftovers from the alligator plat-du-jour.

So I covered the spots I was supposed to- and saw a fair amount of Florida in a week. According to National Rental Cars I drove 555 miles total and aside from a confrontation with a curb in a parking garage in Coral Gables, didn't hit anything big. And as I cruised alligator alley I laughed really hard when "Crocodile Rock" came on the radio and sang along at the top of my lungs. About halfway through the trip across I opened the car window, turned off the AC and the radio and just listened. A warm boggy breeze blew my hair and the sun was warm on my arm. It was a lot of things- but it was especially NOT home. And that was, for the moment, a really good thing. Home could wait, just a little.


View of Palm Beach from the causeway


Submerged man sculpture Coral Gables


Koi Pond Bal Harbour

Sunrise Gulf of Mexico



Ultimately you look for the light in the window- the lantern in this case. And start to realize, home would be nice, and the things that greet you when you get there- nicer still. You know who you are.

:)X

Pizmo Beach at Last!

On the road- this stop- Florida's Treasure Coast- Miami, Coral Gables, Boca Raton, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Bal Harbour, Naples. Ok you may say- that's NOT quite right. Correct- Naples is on the Western side of Florida. Nice looking out. Truth be told I do not know exactly WHERE the Hanging Gardens of Babylon are but IF they are in Florida- the Garmin will find it. This trip is all about learning things. Some of them suck. But...if I have not experienced them by now- it's long past time I learned them and though I may NOT be as flexible as I was in my younger days I have enough grace to admit "my bad" and move on.

Things I have learned:

The GPS will not prevent you from getting lost- it will just prevent you from getting irretrievably lost. You may need to go 328 miles out of your way to get back where you want to go, but you will get there. And thanks to the Garmin- you know JUST how late you will be when you get there. The Garmin also is like a single minded 6 year old. Say you want to go to a shopping center on the left- and it is directing you- IF you take the entrance NOT recommended by the Garmin it will continue to redirect and recalculate and babble on until you chuck it onto the car floor and say "I HAVE reached my destination- clam UP!".

Important: If you drive home in the dark, turn the headlights on (the control is on the right side of the steering column-no, NOT the windshield wipers the headlights LOW beams please...) MORE important: When you arrive at your destination and have finished chucking the Garmin on the floor and kvetching at it, please shut OFF the same headlights before leaving the car. Because if you do not the grouchy man who comes to give your battery a jump in the morning will charge you $15 a MINUTE to do so. He will also ask humiliatingly direct and obvious questions like- "Left the lights on all night didja?" and " Got a meeting or something?" As I am the only woman in south Florida in pantyhose and I am clutching my datebook and Treo while tapping my foot- the only appropriate answer is a wan smile in lieu of say... kicking him.

And if you are all dressed up- hose, heels, skirt, (NEW skirt) Even though the phone is ringing while you are texting and you have one hand digging in your purse for your keys and your sunglasses are slightly askew for the love of God DO NOT try and walk from the parked car to the shade because.... you will fall in a hole in the sidewalk- the kind of hole which inevitably presents itself in situations just like this. And it will not be a level one fall (you hit your knees) or a level 2 fall (you hit your elbows) it will be a level 3.5 fall(hit FACE on the pavement and spill contents of your purse for 18" in every direction. The only thing worse would be level 4-(doing all of the above while carrying liquid i.e. a cup of coffee)

After repairing from the fall- a trip back to the hotel, change of pantyhose and a hello kitty bandaid (that was what the lady at the desk HAD- fortunately covered up by the skirt) I got a call from my boss- I updated him on my trip and then told him about my fall. "And what did we learn?" he said. "Don't walk, text and chew gum" I asked. He said "No...try doing ONE thing at a time, hmmm?"

I never thought of that.

:)X

The View from the Wings

"Hummingbird Feeders" Balboa Park, San Diego

There are phrases in the English language that are pure music to the ear- "The tumor is benign" "I love you, too" "This one's on the house" or "No your tush looks just fine in those pants...c'mere...". I learned a new musical phrase this week- albiet offered by a box on the dashboard- there is no more beautiful phrase to the ear than "You have reached your destination"

Me and the PT Cruiser gave the Garmin GPS a real workout as I seemed to test and retest the recalculating route function OVER and over. But I got everyplace I needed to and if I wasn't early (I gave an hour for every 15 minute journey) I was always on time. And it got fun. One night I was even brave enough to turn on the radio as I drove back to the hotel and Garth Brooks was good company for that last leg of the journey.

One cool stop on the trip was Balboa Park and a visit with the Corporate Sponsorship specialist at the Old Globe Theater. I got the full backstage tour as well as tickets for that evening's performance of "A Catered Affair" (more on that later- Harvey Fierstein, Faith Prince and Tom Wopat deserve much more than a footnote).

Because I had appointments in the daytime and theater tickets at the park in the same day I got to see two sides of the park- day and night. I ALSO got to visit backstage as they prepared for the next show to enter the space. The costumes should give it away... if not- read on.



An ancient tree with roots that stretched into another world...






El Teatro del Prato


Backstage at the Globe


The Costume Shop


MAX!


This costume belonged to a character known only to the backstage crew as "Palm Beach Who"


Who heads


The Night...





In walking through (and driving......) I have to say that it was difficult at times to discern between the stage fantasy and the dream that has become the life I am living. It is all so beautiful and strange. Sometimes I get scared. A little bit I get lonely- and want to have a friend close-by. But the phone, the IM and the e-mail keep me connected when I need a check in with my own voluminous roots. And when I share these images and thoughts- I know I am very much, not alone. You walk with me. And laugh. And wish, right along with me, that we could stay just a bit longer and see the Globe Theater's offering of:

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

You knew that didnt you- ya Who- you!

:)X