Family Tradition

"Why do you drink?
(Hank) why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
Over and over
Everybody made my prediction
So if i get stoned
I'm just carryin'
On an old family tradition"

I spent last week tearing around Florida in a red Dodge Avenger rent-a-car- filling my tank for under $20 and mostly obeying Florida's generous 70 mile per hour speed limit on the highway as I hopped between Bal Harbour, Naples and - last stop Orlando. The driving has gotten easier and a real pleasure since I figured out I could concentrate on the road and sing along with the local country music stations. Oh what fun it is to ride when you can easily find another country station when the first one fades out in 100 miles.

About halfway up I-75 for a mini reunion and some Saag Paneer in Ocala I heard Hank Williams Jr- singing about his Family Tradition- his dad died in the back of a limo after a B-12 shot mixed with morphine- amazing that Sr. was able to make Hey Good Looking and Jambalaya an integral part of the fabric of this country's musical tapestry and still die at 29. So the family tradition for the Williams would be a true cautionary tale- or as Jr. sang... perhaps not.

So home I came to the frozen north- rewarded for gloating to friends in the north that the weather in Florida was a nippy 78 all week with a 28 degree slap in the face and an ice storm that left planes stranded at the gates and tugs slipping on he runways trying to move them so we could park our jet and deplane...which took a bit of time. But no matter, I was HOME.

And it was two days til Hanukah and five til Christmas. This year, having gotten settled a bit into job, relationship and some semblance of ease in the left lane I found a whole new area of STUFF that needed getting used to. I now know you do not show up at a watch industry function without wearing a watch- I LITERALLY got slapped on the wrist for that one, I have learned that "pick any car" at the rental lot doesn't always get me a convertible or that if I pack a bathing suit for a trip it does not automatically mean I will get to go swimming. There was a whole new batch of things to adjust to- that the stuffing a Thanksgiving was pork- or pork... not my cornbread and mushroom mixture. Adjusting to the fact that I wouldn't have a turkey carcass in my fridge til the week between Christmas and New Year's when I realize I am actually NEVER going to make soup out of it.

Small potatoes here (white and sweet potatoes- another adjustment) but the harder stuff- like the little guy saying to the waitress who innocently mistook me for his mom calmly explaining- "That's my dad but that's NOT my mom, that's my dad's FRIEND" But fair is fair- I did the same thing to my step-mom to be at an amusement park snack bar- I was quite a bit more theatrical at 6- I stood up on a table and yelled "That woman is NOT my mother". Ah Karma, you evil, patient wench. Getting used to the rapier witted cousin who responded to my attempts at sweetness with even MORE sarcasm but in the face of several lightning-quick barbs aimed in his direction shouted "I LIKE this girl!" and let me know "the last one was 'too vanilla'." I guess I have always seen myself as more of a mocha.

All around me I see new sets of family traditions as I watch ex-husbands deal with the new guy and ex-wives dealing with the old guy. I see the kids- whether ten years old or almost thirty trying to deal with twice as many parents as the original allotted amount. Being civilized says we should all be...NICE to each other but I can understand when a son isn't so enamoured of his mom's new husband- she married him- why does HE have to be nice to him- or see him walking around in his underwear? Bad enough to think that your parent is having sex- worse to imagine they are enjoying it, with not your mom or dad and nightmarish to think you might HEAR it. And the family photo walls- yeesh- as a newcomer I GET that when a photo has ...dad and the kids- it has their mom in it too- but how do I quell the feeling I just want to take a cuticle scissors and cut around her face? I am not PROUD of these feelings and begrudge no one their history- I'd miss the kids if they weren't here and am grateful to their mom for all the heavy-lifting that it took to get them out of diapers and into high school but sadly, here I am merely human and it is so HARD to stick to the belief that I am the only woman he ever loved when the proof is in the pre-pubescents, adolescents and adults...

I got to thinking about my own family- not so much there- a sister I rarely see, my adoptive parents decades gone and my biological parents.. my "birth mom". I admit to giving her her very little thought- my sister and I were adopted at 3 days old- I know so little about her and never really dwelled on even the little I knew, she was a womb I rented to make the nine month drive into the world. Sounds cold but my parenting history had its own challenges and after forty some years I seem to have made peace with much of it and finally last weekend thought of her. I wondered if she ever wondered. I can't imagine a woman who wouldn't give a thought to having twins and however she did it, walking away. I wanted to tell her, if she did ever wonder- it all came out ok. My sister and I are whole, loving people. Nice to each other and caring to the people in our lives. I wanted to tell her there were gifts she gave us without knowing. That we are both independent women who developed good family values without the benefit of ever having a family outside of each other for very long. That we both learned that family are the people who stick by you without a common bloodline. That our past and present is something we made all on our own and there is a certain pride in knowing and owning all of it. I wanted to say thanks to her, wherever she is, for giving me, and Cindee, a shot at this life. I guess the family tradition I like best is that we, that I, am forever grateful for every person who stopped in along my path in this life and in loving me, became my family. So much more opportunity to love and be close to some very special traditions... even canned cranberry sauce.

Another Old Lang Syne

Happy birthday bud. :p X

:Ping:

Diagram of what fashion (in this case the corset) does to a woman's spine...

I was sitting in my boss's office on a conference call when the caller asked- "Can you 'ping' her?" My boss was puzzled but she explained "Does your company intranet have instant messaging?" She hoped we could IM someone in another office, interrupt her for a moment with a quick question.

I had never heard ping used that way. I had learned about pinging from a system admin at my last job. Back then it wasn't an instant message situation- As an offsite consultant the admin could, and I don't know the technical jargon for it- he could simply walk in the back door my little computer citadel and take over- see my screen and system as I did and move things around. I could tell Greg was in there because my cursor was moving without any help from me. It always creeped me out. I felt like a digital handpuppet, my pixels were not my own. But Greg could usually suss out the problem and fix it without leaning over me. I must admit to a sense of relief when he was gone but more than once I moved my mouse- wriggling it a bit to make sure that he was gone and I was once again the master of my monitor.

After a month of running with my new company's 30 day long promotional extravaganza I got the ping. Foolishness manifested itself because instead of running with scissor I was running with- or should I say IN stilettos. Truly a fan of shoes making the outfit complete I ran in nothing shorter than 4" heels for the last four weeks and...found myself sitting up in absolute agony unable to walk , with an excruciating pain in my hip.

I called a cab and headed to the chiropractor's office. I have to say, the chiropractor has more toys than a spoiled kid at Christmas. Nice guy but the touchy feely geek factor came heavily into play- Questions about everything from changes in eating habits, relationships, work, somehow had some bearing on my pain in the tush. I answered honestly- I was happier than I have been in my life- worries were at a minimum- was I busy-you bet- Stressed? I live for it. Drinking a lot of coffee- I didn't understand the question.

The good doctor smiled- we're both from Brooklyn he said (yes- I even told him where I was born- if this had some bearing I wasn't seeing it) Nothing stops us (OK I was with him on that) Then he pulled out a plastic spinal cord and hips. This is your spine (I knew my spine was out of wack but was pretty sure MY spine wasn't so far gone that it had made it across the room) He turned the model so the model spine had its back to me and placed his hand on the model's left hip and said this bone here- he gripped the bone tighter and twisted in towards the tailbone with a "CCCCCCRRRRKKKK" sound I felt in my own sacroiliac- and not in a good way. "Your pelvic bone is impinging on your sacral nerves- that's where the pain is coming from". Ah, and right there in the center of that fifteen cent word was the answer. I had been"pinged".

We talked about treatment. Chiropractors are big on listening to your pain- not masking ailments with shots or ripping into a body with a knife- which is why I was there. But here the diagnosis was worse. He asked me to be patient. To lie still on an ice pack and swallow anti-inflammatory drugs like Advil and REST. I believe in listening to your body- YOUR body that is- mine is full of stuff and nonsense. I had never encountered a pain that wouldn't cringe and slink away in the face of that determination- ever a fan of the fifteen hour day, the extremely unsensible shoes and long walks- I decided I would certainly ice and advil and even don the back belt ($29.99 at CVS and I wore it AT least an hour) I would do all of this- at my desk. My biggest concession was a pair of 2" heeled Rocket Dog boots I wore in place of pumps. Please be aware that the back pain made putting shoes and socks on a new adventure in pain. I was getting up 30 minutes early so I could get in sufficient yelling time while putting them on.

By mid-week I was feeling better. I'd been icing and advilling my heart out and the belt was right where I thought it would do the most good- in a desk drawer at work. I went running around Macy's looking for my friend Keiko (what was I thinking when I said let's meet there- there are more doors in Macy's than at the Home Depot) I felt so good I forwent a 2nd trip to the chiropractor and went straight home to clean house and catch up on laundry lugging. I iced my back that night and the next morning the ping had returned but it was muffled- like a kidnap victim locked in the trunk of a Chevy. So I kept going- a full day meeting in a board room and a nice long walk after and it seemed to me the victim was beginning to make its way out- the ping was getting louder- I muffled it with ice and more advil- and heard the chuckling of pain delayed but not denied. So I decided to try something different- a road trip to Philly.

VLH had kindly agreed to travel with me- I was supposed to rent a car but as I limped along 47th Street I called and said..."I forgot to order the car, can we take yours?" He agreed but sounded dubious- and he was RIGHT. He called me the next morning to arrange a meeting time- I was trying to put my boots on when he called- "Are you ...OK?" he asked. "Fine.."I whispered " JUST fine.. seeyousoon bye." He walked in and saw my face and said the smartest thing any man has ever said "You look pretty today". Bless him- he must have a Quasimoto fetish- I was hunched over and moving like a geisha with bound feet.

The trip to Philly was fun- days like that where business can be combined with good soul music on the XM, heated car seats and a Philly Cheesesteak from Geno's and a glimpse at a rare watch- one of only 25 in the world, its tourbillion flickering under the watch face. We deemed it a good day though I limped and gasped through most of it and got dropped straight off at the chiropractor's office with a mandate from VLH- who lifted me so kindly from the car seat- "Listen to him this time would you- get BETTER." I smiled and limped into the doctor's office.

The doctor said- "So how are you doing?" he said. "I admitted- "Not so good" "Listen," he said- we're both from Queens" he said "Brooklyn" I whispered. "Worse" he said. "I can do all this and only 4 out of 8 things I do is going to work- but NONE of it is going to work if you don't REST". "I like you, you're a nice lady" he said, "and it's great that you want to come here, but maybe you could get better and just bring cookies instead." He smiled.

Sit still. So I did- all day yesterday I made a deal. Lie still. 15 minutes up and 2 hours down was my bargain. I read two paperbacks and watched two movies, made toast and ordered Chinese food and for the next 14 hours I listened- and the ping was clear. The more I listened the more I heard- the gentleness you give is what is needed here- the compassion and understanding too. Being honest, asking for help and being grateful for little things like ice and Z bring me milk for coffee. :Ping: something else is in control. :Ping: let someone else help you :Ping: there is no control here- shiddown and shaddup.

This morning I am sitting here typing with an ice pack at my spine. I need a haircut and I REALLY want to head into Brooklyn for my pre-Halloween fix. I will get the hair dealt with and if I hear a :Ping: I will head home. Because this Halloween, I intend to wear a new costume- I'm going to dress up and act like a grown up.

:P X

It's a small world after all....

Yesterday I went to the NY Food and Wine Festival at the Piers- a gift from my friends at Share Our Strength whose stated goal is No Kid Hungry- but their methodology is incredible- they stage HUGE culinary events (Taste of the Nation, Tasteful Pursuits, etc) and encourage EXTREME gluttony whereby you not only want to donate money to help starving children in the US- (no joke- visit their website) but you want to give them YOUR food as after one of these gustatorial bacchanals- you never want to eat again- the starving kids can have your butternut squash soup with truffle oil and pig-head pate, thank you very much.

So there was lots and lots of food and three times more wine, beer and spirits. So much wine, beer and spirits that upon entry you are given a full-sized cabernet glass on a lanyard to wear around your neck- the absolute textbook physical representation of a cork-dork. I felt ridiculous-the glass bouncing in front of me as I walked until my companion- slightly sensitive and hungover complained that lacking sufficient cleavage her glass was bouncing on a too-many drinks the night before tummy and this was NOT a good feeling. We slung the glass backwards so it hung between her shoulder blades... I deemed it ghetto-style though it may be that the big wineglass would be replaced by..Thunderbird- on a lanyard...I love that idea- think how much wine is wasted when the owner becomes to intoxicated to hang on to the bottle. In New Orleans they have beer can cozies on lanyards- written on the cozy is the question- how ya gonna clap? My feeling is hands-free drinking is also good for holding back hair when...well you get the idea.

Anyway- a great deal of fun was had by all- and a ridiculous amount of food- I felt the teensiest bit virtuous by dint of the fact that 50% of my post event tummy ache had resulted in a donation to Share Our Strength- still- I wished there had been some little kid I could have given my little bratwurst with home-made pickle on a tiny potato bun to.

The answer is (after a night spent with Prince Pepto) not NO food- Yom Kippur proved to me that the answer is (after a night spent with Prince Pepto) not NO food- Yom Kippur proved to me that while fasting is OK for ME, those around me suffer- (by being witness to me being horrendously grouchy and caffeine deprived) So eating becomes a humanitarian gesture you see? The answer is not slow food- I dont do slow- but SMALL food.

Then this morning I got an e-mail from Neff. I had cleared my system with copious amounts of coffee and a yogurt from the event- the swag was for the most part, food- go figure. And saw an e-mail about the dessert bar Chikalicious. I groaned- CAKE? Marie Antoinettes last revenge on the peasants- I know inside she was thinking- Let the bastards get sick on buttercream- see if I care.

But the cupcakes were lovely. Visually, that is- gastronomically I am on hiatus for the day- But the author of the post- Ed Levine- made some wonderful observations about cupcakes that I will share with you here:


The cake has to be moist, light, and tasty in its own right, a difficult combination to pull off

The frosting has to be smooth, also light, not too sweet, and deeply flavored

A cupcake doesn't have to be huge. Cupcakes have become like bagels in this town, and like bagels, bigger is most assuredly not better. Size matters in cupcakes, but not in the way that you think

Listen up. This last quality is really important. A great cupcake has to have the proper ratio of icing to cake. Other people may have different ideas, but I think there should be a 1 to 3 ratio of icing to filling.

So true, Ed, so very true. So I will take my gluttony as it is actually the most readily enjoyed- in small, cupcake-sized doses.

(My quote and apostrohe key is busted...) Enjoy the day XO :P

How to Relax

OK. This is NOT an instructional post. I am actually looking for advice. After 9 months of running- that is, since the new job kicked in, I have taken the next ten days off. Without a plan.
I needed the time. Truth is- I have never taken time off without a place to go, in my life. Summer camp was my idea of a vacation- and though I have taken a day or a weekend to relax and catch up- on chores, or sleep- never a ten day span like this. I am headed out at the end of the week for a few days with VLH (keep looking bud- no hints here) there is nothing else slotted in.

I planned it that way.

So, Thursday night I came home and promptly lit Shabbat candles thinking it was Friday. I guess I was still in fast forward as I did not realize til Saturday what I had done. I gotta lower the caffeine intake.


Day one of unscripted vacation.


I wake up at 7:57 am.

I spend the morning picking raspberries in the yard

Do not read "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" before heading to the garden- I was (as usual) jacked up on 3 extra large iced coffees and spent the supposed to be idyllic time preoccupied with the idea that a garden snake will slither up my leg.

I make a linzer torte and due to a lack of experience with this particular item wind up making a gallon of raspberry goosh to fill an 8" shell. Jam anyone?

Day 2

I wake up at 7:28- relaxed? You betcha.

I buy a bunch of do-it yourself materials and a couple of new plants and try macrame-ing two new hanging plant hangers. The cats think this is cool and groovy and two hours later I find myself irretrievably tangled in jute and hysterical felines and have to cut myself loose with a cuticle scissor.

Cats do not like cheese. They only think they do-

Day 3

I wake up at 10:04. This is accomplished by watching DVDs until 3 am.

Fix a shelf in my bedroom armoire and wind up with three extra screws. Any remarks regarding loose screws will be considered a threat and I have LOADS of free time to plan my retaliation.

The day stretches in front of me... Heaven help us all.... it may be my imagination but I think the cats are avoiding me.

Day 4

Wake at 8:18 and decide to go with it- breakfast on the porch coffee and learn that between 9 and 10:30 am the breeze is fresh and you can hear cicadas singing in the yard.

Take a walk with my little buddy- see Wall*E for the second time and its still damned good. Better when the bud says Wall-e's job is building castles out of garbage. Not a bad interpretation- incredible in fact. Problem is- they show a preview of the chihuahua movie from hell which results in non-stop iterations of "Ay, Chihuahua" from the little guy on the train. People move away from us on the PATH train. The litany was ceased by the assiduous application of rainbow ices from the glorious Torico's ice cream parlor and a promise of fresh corn on the cob if he never ever utters that Mexican dog song... for the next 3 hours- what he does at home is his mom's concern.

We barbecue shrimp and hot dogs and as it grows dark we catch fireflies in a jar and let them go. We do not explain why some fireflies are connected together- well, we do sort of- we tell him they are carpooling.

This time-off stuff doesn't stink so much.

Day 5

Wake at ...hmmm didn't look at the time. Progress I think. I get a text message that an afternoon at the pool is scheduled- several hours later remind myself that not applying sunscreen because I want some color will result in a case of not THAT color. Also, that unless I want a bosom that resembles an alligator handbag, a little Coppertone is essential. And it is a really summery smell. I also am happily reminded that after pool and sun and some barbecued crabs a little recreational carpooling is very OK indeed. Ask any firefly.

Summer, Kent Falls

They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own

"Summer, Highland Falls" by Billy Joel

"How long has it been since you have been back?"- he asked. We were walking away from the falls.. And I thought- 15 years? Twenty? A lifetime ago. Before I was married or thought about it in any specific sense and before a job that paid the bills before it fed my soul or even my bank account for more than just a few minutes. "Long time" I said- moving through the grass towards the car and out of the rain. I veered a bit to the right of the path to photograph jonquils and irises growing ath the base of the falls- "Just two trout!" he yelled- there was a sign saying so on the bridge- "Two per CREEL" I thought and remembered that we didn't have a creel between us.




"I'm not up for the climbing today" he said- looking up the falls from the icy pool where we stood gazing at the winding path strung with twisted aluminum ropes and sturdy poles looking like silver strung Christmas tinsel in and among the trees and rocks. "Maybe just to there" I said pointing to the first platform "I want you to see that pool up there" We climbed- in city flip flops never meant for hardscrabble rock and dirt walking and uneven slate steps. We stood looking down the falls panting a little in the humid air. Walking onto the platform the rushing water below blew its clean green breath into our faces. I smiled- like I'd been kissed gently by a stranger- or a friend I had not seen, never imagined to see again- not with such auspicious introduction to be made. "Doesn't that smell amazing" I said- but received no answer- his face leaned forward into the mossy air, eyes closed- he was receiving the fall's kiss as well. I watched his mouth curl gently at the corner and had my answer.










"A little further- just to there" I asked- the plea was in my eyes and probably in my voice as well though I like to think I was being an adult about respecting the wishes of others. The no I waited for never came. The sand and gravel slid under my toes and I shook it off, clenching my toes so that the sandal didn't accompany the pebbles down the hill. He was standing at the next platform looking down on the falls "There" he said "can you imagine sitting there? It looks deep...". "It was" I murmured remembering climbing in Keds and cut offs into that cold little hollow- the water to my neck, thinking to myself that twenty years of rushing water had probably carved at least another inch or two into the smooth limestone.







"Just a bit more" now a statement- something stronger than consideration pulled me up and we walked past a ranger scolding a man who had climbed into the falls "...you can get a ticket for that you know" said the ranger gravely to the man dripping in front of him. " How can you look at this and not want to climb into it?" my companion asked me. "You need to come on Tuesdays" I replied " The park opens at 8 and before that it's open to anyone who wants to climb" and thought again about the bruises on my feet from walking barefoot on the rocks of the fall such a long time ago.

"These shoes aren't easy to walk with up here" he said shaking out a pebble from his flip flop. "If you think this is hard- try it with two canes" in front of us on the trail a woman stood poised leaning on her cane talking to a caregiver who held out a second should she need it. "I think she's on her way down" he said- his voice mirroring the wonder I felt at this sight before us. And thought to myself that whether going up or down- it was worth the climb, for the view.

And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives
With our respective similarities
It's either sadness or euphoria





For you. You know who you are.

Picking the Scab

Life moves pretty fast in the big city. Not QUITE as fast as my boss headed for the swanky men's sample sale at a local hotel with me in tow for one of our "walk and talk" bonding sessions. My boss is a really great guy- we have now gone on several business trips together and thanks to his endless devotion to family and Mrs. Boss I am comfortable in what might otherwise be one of those ticklish socializing while working situations. Interestingly enough- we are, these days, friends who partner well at work and it is a big part of why I like going there- the paycheck also doesn't suck.

Mr. Boss is a fast talker and a faster walker. So we walked rather quickly to the corner of Madison, a stone's throw from Tiffany's- a place where Holly Go Lightly said nothing bad could EVER happen. Well we were a block south of those hallowed halls and that fact- or perhaps the uneven laying of asphalt allowed for an epic loss of grace. I fell off my shoes.

Anyone who has ever walked in heels and a skirt in Manhattan has experienced this- at least this is how I reassure myself. I landed on one summer bare knee and watched as Mr. B... kept walking and talking to me as if I were still next to him. It was 5 or more steps before he realized he was addressing a rather confused but exceedingly polite fellow business man who wasn't me. He stepped back as I was quickly righting and collecting myself. I popped up from the lumpy tar surface and started limping across."Hang on a sec- Wait" he said " Recover a minute will you?" he exclaimed. But I had a mission- total denial. It never happened. I was going to walk it off and remove myself as quickly as possible from the view of any and all witnesses. Syd if you are reading this-yes- I should've put on flats- I didn't.

Well. I wasn't REALLY bleeding and the pain, deep in the throes of "it was nothing, really" was minimal- no more than a heated throbbing. I walked crosstown chatting about EBITA and other subjects near and dear to Mr. B's heart knowing that if I distracted him by being enthralled with a riveting explanation of Sales vs. Earnings he'd know I was OK and I would actually be OK.

The sale was a bust. Really- when a $3000 dollar jacket is 70% off it's still... well, too expensive for something you wear on casual Friday so you can show off how well you dress to be leisurely. How can you relax adequately in something you cannot spill barbecue sauce on? We walked back to the office and after cleaning debris off the injured knee found a rather wide...scrape. Not so much more. Surface. A flesh wound really. Even if it was a proverbial pound of flesh wound- it was fine.

Unless you had a four day trip to an International Business Meeting in Las Vegas to go to the next day. The thing about Las Vegas, specifically the Las Vegas Strip, is that the shortest distance between 2 points is a taxi cab. Even if your destination is across the street it will take a good 45 minutes to find the crosswalk, and the overpass, and the up and down escalator and a water show, 3 come-to-Jesus preachers and 2 rent-a-date panel trucks and reach your destination. And I love to walk but with this many shiny objects in evidence walking was just too distracting- I didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of making it ten feet in less than a millenium- oh and did I mention I was limping? Even though I wasn't sinning in Sin City and had a date arranged as soon as I got home I still found myself gawking every time I stepped out of the fantasy world of the Paris Hotel Lobby.

A word about the Paris. I have stayed at 2 Vegas Hotels other than the Paris- Caesar's and the Venetian. Somehow the Italian fantasy worlds at these mega resorts didn't work for me. It was too... not Italian- where was the smell of garlic being cooked in oil? The plump-armed Nonna encouraging you to eat- or get married? The scent of Venice slowly moldering into the canals? It just wasn't working for me. But the Paris. It was cool. Trapped as we were for 12-14 hours in windowless ballrooms listening to presentations and Powerpoint displays I made sure that each morning in the wee small hours before 7 am that I grabbed a large and delicious coffee at Le Notre and sat out in front of the hotel on a wrought iron bench under the faux verdigris arches. That 30 minutes of caffeine and Piaf gazing at the flat crystal blue sky and the miniature Arch du Triomphe made those hours a bit easier to take. I've never been to Paris but with the right music and a good cup of coffee and most essential- and a very Parisian attitude- a combination of l'aissez faire and Joie du vivre- it felt a bit French.

And I never put a bandaid on the knee. Longer skirts covered it and I told myself the air would help it heal. On the final day of the conference I had a free afternoon and lounged under the Paris's replica of the Tour du Eiffel next to the pool. Mr. B had joined me for a bit by the pool but even he got the idea that I needed some space- and to be able to pull off my cover up and not die of utter mortification by being so scantily clad in a pseudo-business environment. I remember whn I first came to the new job being worried about showing toes- 9 months later toes are ok- tits are another matter entirely.

After 4 fact and fun filled days of business meetings stretching into the 14 hours a day realm all that was left of my higher mental functions was the ability to contemplate (please forgive me) my wounded knee. While I was absorbing all that good business information my knee was developing a rather elaborate and interesting scab. As a kid I was a scab connoisseur- both in generating them and appreciating them. At eight years of age my mom sent me to school with extra bandaids because I could not resist showing off my latest creation. I was forever horrifying my friends by peeling off a band-aid and saying "LOOK". It absolutely fascinated me. How many different KINDS of scabs there were- bruises- no bruises- leaky- or not and the stuff on the little white gauze pad- AMAZING. Back then I thought it was better than any biology lesson and a guarantee that as far as the human body was concerned if you broke it- it would fix itself! It would have been great if glasses and vases could do that too- would have saved me a fair bit of time sitting in the corner thinking about what I had done.

I couldn't resist looking. The places covered by a red crust protected the broken bits. The healed places had shed the covering, revealing new skin- bright and pink and a bit angry looking. Surreptitiously I looked up- was anyone watching? I peeled a bit away ... slowly, slowly- feeling the sting when I reached a place that still needed its crisp covering.

OK- it was wierd. But I was blissfully alone and was able to go back to the time when the things my body did still amazed me. As I head to the end of my fourth decade I spend a fair bit of money on products to keep skin smooth and supple. I creak and have to shake off a bit when I sit too long with my legs crossed Indian style. Yet here I was- regenerating. Even in this later part of my life- my body screams out- there are still miraculous things I can do! And no $300 pot of creme de mere from Sephora is needed, just a little Bacitracin.

So, back from Vegas I still take a moment from the busier and busier days and peek at my scab and marvel about how life, at every stage, renews itself. And I am not as young as I was, or as old as I plan to be, but there is still some really great stuff left I can do.

The post that goes like this...

My dog ate it.

A car ran it over and its still at the vet.

I've been busy.

I've been sick.

I died and it took a bit to get reincarnated 'cause there was a line and I hadn't been around all that long and there were three holy men and a skunk in front of me.

I was brushing my teeth.

I overslept.

The Primaries.

The Secondaries

And the Teriaries.

Oh. And I was happy.

Above are the reasons I haven't been posting on the blog lately.

Except I wasn't sick- I took a mental health day two weeks ago but really I just had a lot (a lot, a lot) of macaroons to make.

And I CAN'T oversleep. I asked VLH to wake me the other morning as my cel phone was wet (long story having nothing to do with not writing on my blog) and wound up waking him instead- I KNOW I can wake whenever I want- I just don't believe it and so spend the night tossing and worrying and not sleeping- I am more likely to over-wake.

As for the primaries... for me its not really a choice. Hilary gives me the shivers and John McCain...well- does this country REALLY need another old white guy in office? Let somebody else talk for a change. And even though he has ears like a pitcher- Obama seems honest- might be nice for a change- we'll see.

I didn't die- though I did go to my friend's memorial. I had the temerity to believe I could stand in front of the group and tell amusing stories of my friend now gone and instead wound up weeping onto the podium in front of a hundred near-strangers.
It was a funny time for my heart to show up, but as Frank Baum said hearts will never be practical until they are unbreakable. I felt it crack with the feeling of loss. And felt its healing with a rendition of "All You Need is Love" sung lightly off key by her stepson and the world's most earnest band. Which is exactly how she would have sung it.

And I don't have a dog- my cat would eat it.

I've travelled- to Atlanta to eat a hotdog with Cole Slaw on it- the staff at the Varsity marvelled when I said I'd never had one. Even asked "Where you from that you ain't had a slaw dog?" I said New York- "mmm-mmmm" they said- deep in their chests nodding and adding New York to other third world places- deprived of even the basest necessities. I didn't have the heart to tell them I'd never had an orange whip either (for the rest of you starved souls- it tastes JUST like a melted creamsicle slushy) they probably would've called a preacher and had a prayer meeting for this poor heathen.


I looked at the cherry blossoms in DC. A Japanese print done in 1935 of the same trees lining the tidal basin show very little change from then to now as they curve gracefully towards the Jefferson Memorial. What has changed are the people. Despite multiple signs CLEARLY reading "Please look out for LOW BRANCHES" I stood by one particularly sturdy branch that hung over the pathway and watched as one cel-phone yakking distracted so-and-so after another walked into it. Only one word for this- "Good". Nature has a way of making you pay attention- no matter WHAT happened on "Lost" or "American Idol" that week.

I've seen several plays- among them Les Liasons Dangeureuses and Young Frankensten- but though they were fine- I was most impressed by my friend Jen's fabulously frank one-woman show "The Laws of Attraction" about cosmology and being a lesbian. When we talked before the show she told me it was a play best appreciated by homosexual intellectual women. I figured- I have a brain- and a vagina- I'll just wing it. And unlike the two previously mentioned plays, Jen had a full staff serving dinner while she pulled off this massive task. In the last one-man show I saw, "A Bronx Tale"- Chazz Palmientieri would not allow the audience to leave their seats to go to the restroom during the performance. I cannot imagine him moving through something as demanding as a one-man show while a strident theater-goer insisted that her bronzino was overdone. I think that the...unifying moment (and there were many) came when Jen was discussing the universe after the big bang- stating that after that event there were 800 bazillion (ok I forget the exact number but stay with me you'll get the punch) pieces of anti-matter in the universe and 801 bazillion pieces of matter- and then compared it to dating. And before she explained I just KNEW what she was driving at- since she had just uttered the exact number of bad dates I had been on. But it's that one piece of matter that's left over, that matters. And I was as amazed at her sheer guts for putting her life up there on the stage, as I was at her talent- and how beautiful she looked up there being her- all her.

So- I HAVE been busy. Two seders- a gross of macaroons and a box of matzoh. A new hard drive and a broken button on my camera- a porch full of new plants and a looming trip to New Orleans, a birthday party to plan for which there are already RSVPS though I haven't actually invited anyone yet. My life seems to gallop along and yet there is time. And I wonder about the wild bits, my wild bits- and poke a bit in the fireplace of my life- checking on certain embers, seeing that in their own way they still glow. I move the firescreen a bit closer here, It would be just like me to let the sparks fly. But in truth I think if I've learned anything lately it's the difference between drama and excitement. And to savor the slower burn.

And I have learned one other thing. If you order from Frederick's of Hollywood- don't send the package to your office. Even if you BEG, they will keep sending catalogs to you at work.

I didn't say I'd removed the wild bits- lets just say I've channeled them.

:P X

I'm WORKIN' on it

You know you have been truly reticent when a FIFTEEN year old tells you you have not been "keeping up". Whippersnapper.

Let the Pillows LOOSE: World Pillowfight Day March 22nd

Last year I touted World Water Day. Hijacked a great piece of writing by George Saunders to illustrate the point... And the Museum of Natural History is doing a family-oriented presentation on World Water Day. Bring the Kids- I won't be there because I will be at Union Square at the International Pillowfight Day at Union Square.

I have been waiting for weeks- Sadly I have a foam pillow- my costume will be a really heavy winter coat (it has gotten REALLY chilly here all of a sudden- thanks for nothing vernal equinox) and a helmet if I can find one as it seems that shorter people tend to get bashed in the head a lot.In a downward motion. I may create a sideline in selling pairs of Advil... more on this later.

For more info go to: http://www.pillowfightday.com/

:P X


And now for the "more later"



Over the weekend I went to the big pillow fight at Union Square (


The rules promised if you didn’t have a pillow and/or were wearing glasses you wouldn’t get hit.



No one read the rules.



I was standing in the MIDDLE of Union Square when the melee (or fracas- you choose) began.



About 30 seconds before a little voice in my head said “oh shit”.



I got the tar kicked out of me and covered in feathers besides.

Marshmallow Peeps- A shout-out

Easter is generally something I pretty much give a miss to- because it's right smack up against Passover and frankly, I can't type with macaroon goo fingers- it kills the keyboard and I dont get all the coconut out from between the keys til after the high holy days. Happily with the disparities in the US and lunar calendars this year Easter and Passover are a civilized month apart. And as I had a little PJ time between waking up and the big pillow fight in Union Square this afternoon I was looking around the web and found out -people who have way too much time on their hands tend to spend it finding ways to torture candy. Specifically, marshmallow peeps. There are peep fashion shows, peep film festivals (the Peep Jaws video is available on YouTube if you care to check)

A word about peeps from wikipedia:

Peeps (branded as PEEPS®) are small marshmallow candies, sold in the United States and Canada, that are shaped into baby chickens, rabbits, and other animals. There are also different shapes used for various holidays. Peeps are primarily used to fill Easter baskets, although the Just Born company is trying to change that by introducing new shapes and advertising "Peeps - Always in Season". They are made from marshmallow, sugar, gelatin, and carnauba wax.

Peeps are produced by Just Born, a candy manufacturer based in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Peeps were introduced in 1953 by Russian immigrant, Sam Born. When Just Born acquired Rodda Candy Company in 1953, they automated the process (originally the chicks were formed by hand) and mass-marketed them. Back in 1953, when the peeps were made by hand it took 27 hours to make one marshmallow peep. The yellow chicks were the original form of the candy — hence their name — but then the company introduced other colors and, eventually, the myriad shapes in which they are now produced.

There is peep jousting- (photos courtesy of http://www.phancy.com/peeps/joust/index.html)



The messy and largely self-entertaining game, "Peeps Jousting" is played with a microwave oven. One takes two Peeps, and licks the right-hand side of each until sticky. A toothpick is thereby adhered to each Peep, pointing forward like a jousting lance. The Peeps are then set in a microwave, squared off against one another, and heated up. As they expand, the toothpick lances thrust toward each opponent, and the winner is the one that does not pop and deflate (or fizzle and die). Both usually are eaten after the competition, however, regardless who the victor was. In any case, here- the peep never wins.




You can't toast them over a fire- the sugar coating burns. They will, however, float to the top of a cup of hot chocolate and are tasty that way. Scientists at Emory University have tried myriad experiments and comcluded- peeps are really hard to destroy.

One man has taken up the gauntlet on this- for GREAT photography and an absolutely grisly sense of the macabre there is http://www.hanttula.com/exhibits/bunnies/. An incredible website by Mike Hantula dedicated to chronicling in photos, the bunnyocalypse including

Episode 1: Bunny vs. Skewers
Episode 2: Bunny vs. The Elements
Episode 3: Bunny vs. Coffee Grinder
Episode 4: Bunny vs. Water Torture
Episode 5: Bunny vs. Blow Dryer
Episode 6: Bunny vs. Egg Slicer
Episode 7: Bunny vs. Microwave
Episode 8: Bunny vs. Hot Metal…
Episode 9: Bunny vs. Golf Club
Episode 10: Bunny vs. Doggy
Episode 11: Bunny vs. Coffee I
Episode 12: Bunny vs. Coffee II
Episode 13: Bunny vs. Sauce Pan
Episode 14: Bunny vs. Sauce Pan II
Episode 15: Bunny vs. Window
Episode 16: Bunny vs. Chocolate
Episode 17: Bunny vs. Cola
Episode 18: Bunny vs. Assassin
Episode 19: Bunny vs. House Fire
Episode 20: Bunny vs. Vacuum
Episode 21: Bunny vs. Pasta Maker

And my favorite: Bunny vs. the Egg Slicer.




Happy....whatever :) XO

Seeking Sir Real- Passing Strange

"Stew"

I love going to the theater. It was once said of Sylvia Myles that she would go to the opening of an envelope if it was free. While my long history with paper might indicate I also like being home when the mail arrives- I let it wait for me, not the other way around. I have things to do... But I like envelopes.

I get mail from Broadway. It comes in the inbox at AOL but I have found at times e-mail is more than superior to paper mail, especially since the "delete" button replaces schlepping stuff I have no interest in out to the trash cans and risking stocking and heels on the crumbly sidewalk around the back of the house.

So in comes a little missive from my pals at Telecharge. "Passing Strange". Hmmm. Spike Lee endorses it and I give a half a moment to thinking about the time Spike visited the big giant paper store and pitched a fit because he wasn't given a receipt (it was in the bag). Despite my affection for "She's Gotta Have It" and "School Daze" and other joints- I can't shake the dweeb image from my mind.

But then there is the buzz on "Strange". Literally an undercurrent of murmurs. A guy with one name ("Stew") a new age/rock and roll score and a sexy media-genic cast. This can either be great or horrendous. I know- I'm IN marketing- we always put the best stuff up front- it's anyone's guess whether the reality lives up to the hype. But...tickets are $21.50 in the balcony. In my head I hear an envelope ripping and with a quick e-mail exchange to VLH we procure balcony seats to "the real". (Mind you, if you'd like this offer go to www.BroadwayOffers.com or call (212) 947-8844 and use code PSTCX33 or bring this to the Belasco Theatre, 111 West 44th St. Balcony seats are usually $26.50- you can give the 5 you save to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids)

The seats we had defined nosebleed. Literally the last row- however- it was the last row- dead center- and a row comprised of only 2 seats- ours. If you can request 112 and 113 E, they are the best the balcony has to offer as far as I am concerned- it was like viewing the play the way angels watch the earth- great view and close to the amenities including a ladie's room SO small the sink was OUTSIDE the bathroom. And if the play sucked- we could neck. You see, I wasn't really sure that $21.50 bought me a good time- so I was exploring other options- necking was my insurance policy. I had a ringer with me in H.

It began. I was almost sad to see the lights go down on the beautiful murals and stained glass and wood ceiling of the Belasco. The cast took the stage like they were spending an evening at the Hammerstein Ballroom- band-style, they just walked on. The audience was obviously seeded with the faithful as their applause was immediate- or perhaps it's just because there are not so many folks on Broadway who look like Stew-at least not since the demise of Thomas "Fats" Waller. Much has been written about Stew's unconventional look, but honestly- he just looked cool to me. I never much went in for the brilliantined Broadway idol type- unless it was in a Jewish Jerry Ohrbach kind of style.

There was not a lot of the Jewish stuff here- which was very ok. Watching the show unfold (and at first it did that just a bit slowly) I loved the musicians being right on stage. I heard H gasp. I later found out that H's audible intake of breath was his epiphany that the stage was not going up and down but that the musicians were on platforms that rose and fell as the scene required. There was a driving rock and roll score and Stew is formidable on his lovely hollow-bodied electric. I loved that he had no wires on his guitar- like some sort of free-form marionette- he moved around the stage unencumbered by wires, walking us through his life as an adolescent.

At first I became aware I was watching a new form- not opera quite but most assuredly not your traditional Broadway musical. Too much thinking going on for a lark and though the words rhymed and there was dancing- the rhymes were more rap than lyric- and the dancing more a way to display energy- hence the show has a movement coordinator instead of a choreographer- it's not choreographed- it's exhuberance expressed without falling into one of the musician's pits onstagein the process.

I was not sure I was seeing what the show spoke of as "the real" after all- I was in a theater watching someone else's life- I had come here SPECIFICALLY to be drawn out of the real of MY life. But I knew- in a very short time, that I was experiencing the NEW. On the time-worn stage of that lovely old theater these guys were trying something- albeit cobbled together from several older forms, something NEW. And after over thirty years of theater-going- to see that, truly for the first time, was breath taking. Unlike H I was not gasping- I was holding my breath.This was special.

The cast is phenomenally talented. The script has moments that at least for me- were definitely core. Speaking of the choices of slaves vs. the life of a coward with no choices still rings with me. And the dialog between an adult and an adolescent being spoken to as an adult for the first time brought back memories for me long untouched. And the music was great. At one point the score soared so high I was dizzy with it- feeling the music washing over and tthrough me in a way I have never experienced in a theater. I have heard from other theatergoers that Strange's second act was inferior to the first- it wasn't- you just nevergot as high as that moment in the first act again.

I read the reviews- certainly everyone pointed out that a bit of editing would not be out of place. But how do you edit your life? For that matter- as I sat watching Stew onstage- brave in his Chucks- I wondered how you get to a place where you can be so bold as to say- this is who I am, this is where I fucked up, and this is where it got me. I am not sure what you'd leave out- what I am certain of is that for some viewer- it would be key. I'd like it a lot if people would re-learn to sit still for more than 90 minutes. This is where the epiphanies are- just north of when your rump goes numb. The 2.5 hour running time would only be excessive if it wasn't so enjoyable.

I left the theater and we walked down 7th Ave towards the PATH. H was beyond excited and I enjoyed his virtual jumping up and down at what he had just witnessed. "This will be coming back to me for days" I said thoughtfully. And it has. It's a thinking thing for me. The impact takes time. At the end of a play, perhaps what is ACTUALLY the real- is in the resonance it creates in the viewer.

I wondered about the future of the play- Broadway invented the phrase- if you can make it there... NY ain't cheap and Broadway even less so. But I hope. I hope- it was, once upon a time, that NY was a place you went to try new things- now current Broadway roster would not be unfamiliar to my mom- or my grandmother- with revivals on every street corner and older theatrical chestnuts being hawked and rehawked- not that I have anything against Kander and Ebb or Tennessee Williams. I am just hoping that there is a space, and an audience that is up for the surprise. And the real.

www.PassingStrangeOnBroadway.com

An Orchid Grows in the Bronx

OK- so there wasn't ANYONE willing to go out in the rain to see the orchids at the Bronx Botanic Garden with me- no matter. Some traditions outweigh the slings and arrows of traitorous sleep-deprived, " I gotta do my laundry" LITERALLY fair-weather friends. It rolled off me like water off a duck's... ok, not exactly like that.

Aloha Oy

Been gone a bit. I plan to make up for it. While I was gone I got watered in the lovely mists of too long neglected San Francisco, found the way to San Jose (thank you Garmin, Patron Saint of the Seriously Road Challenged) and then landed...in the red dirt and beautiful sunshine of O'ahu.

This is gonna be like "Memento"- I'm working my way backwards travel-wise.. In the words of the Dead- for whom I have developed a slightly worrisome affection (it's like a new freckle in an interesting place- it's ok that it's there you just don't want it to GROW) It was a long, strange trip- two weeks on the road with the end finding me on Halie'wa Beach and the closest I will come to heaven while still breathing air.

Syd wrote me a note today- "Are you back from your trip or are you still "working?". It did not take twenty years of friendship to hear the heavy sarcasm in that line. I did indeed go to Hawaii for work and the first time I set foot on Waikiki beach I was wearing a suit and suede pumps- for about a minute. No- I kept the suit on, but lost the shoes and scrunched my toes into the soft white sand. It was amazing. The first three days of my trip I worked from about 7 am to 7 pm but I was working in Hawaii- and for the girl from Brooklyn- that was heady.

O'ahu is ...well, take everything you have ever heard about Hawaii, multiply it by 8, then times it by about a thousand. It's just that gorgeous. The water stayed warm well into the evening when I finally cut loose from running to appointments and could walk along the edge of the Pacific at 10 o'clock at night watching the surf foam and lick at my toes. By the grace of Mark at the bell desk I got a room on the 4th floor of the Waikiki Sheraton facing the most glorious view of the ocean. I watched as the water changed color- blue gray at 5 am, sparkling turquoise in the noon sun, aquamarine at twilight and as the sun set- deep blue green and finally as night fell- midnight blue. I left the sliding doors open at night and slept with the sound of the surf whispering to me..."you're here...really here."


First Sunset

I reveled in the absolute funniness of it.. The Hawaiian alphabet consists of 15 letters, 5 of which are a,e,i,o,u. Add a few K's, L's and H's and that seemed more or less the name of every street, noun, verb, person, place or thing. The morning radio traffic reports left me in hysterics as the announcer (who I originally thought was a sort of lisping effeminate man and turned out to be a soccer mom turned traffic reporter) would say things like- "There's a 15 minute delay on the Havabanana Highway at the Idonwanna exit" And everywhere I went I acted as translator for my co-worker who asked repeatedly "Where's the next stop? KAMAKAZI? KALAWHATCHAMACALIT?" And I would reply with great self assurance from a night-long study of street maps- "No- it's just off Kuhio, which runs parallel to Kalakaua just before the Ala Wai canal- right near Seaside." Yeep. I even scared myself.


Statue of Duke at Waikiki

I had the gorgeous experience of standing in one office gazing down at the Iolani Palace- the only monarchal palace in the US and the home of the last King of Hawaii- Kalakaua and his sister- the last Queen, Lili'oukalani- imprisoned in the palace at the end of her reign with just one handmaiden as her only visitor. And seeing the Aloha Tower in the harbor- and knowing the tower had seen many ships come in and out long before Hawaii was part of the US.


The Iolani Palace


The Capitol Building Honolulu


The Aloha Tower

In one office someone pointed out the window at Punchbowl- my first volcano. But not my last. Before the trip was over I watched the sun rise seated at ALMOST the top of Diamondhead. I climbed it with my co-worker and VLH just before sunrise and sat breathless-first with the climb and then with the sheer amazement that my feet stood in a place right at the edge of the world and watched a day begin- with everything I needed- and then some, right beside me. And my co-worker TEXTING me from the summit that the view was worth the climb- and me texting him right back that I had EXACTLY the same view- just a different angle. My own.


Sunrise Diamondhead


Diamondhead tunnel



The Diamondhead hike

Business trips are usually one plate of fancy food or a quick sandwich on the run and in the first few days there was some of that. But along the way finding out the local tuna- Poke- was very yummy- and pronounced Poh-kee but unless I wanted to avoid the gentle smile of the locals I learned not to say "Poh-Kay"- unless I wanted my taco filled with feline. Teaching Queens-born VLH and the co-worker to say SHAVE ice- not SHAVED ice (you can take the boys out of Bayside but you cannot BEAT Bayside out of them with an outrigger canoe paddle- though at times I was sorely tempted to try)- and getting a rainbow colored mouthful of it at Matsumoto Shave Ice- reportedly the best in the world. I couldn't argue- like so much- it was a first. I had no basis for argument. I had to like Matsumoto's- they had over twenty Poh-Kay living in the backyard.


Matsumoto Shave Ice


The back yard at Matsumoto's


Coconut Shrimp


"Great Ball of Fire" at Rum Fire- Mango and Lichee sorbet covered in meringue and flamed with 151 proof rum


Margaret at Dave's


Poke Tacos

The local delicacies were the best of all possible treats- luscious sweet bread french toast and goopy egg sandwiches at Andy's in Manoa where Mrs. Andy recommended mayo on my eggs and called me sweetheart at least six times. Being waited on by her son-in-law John who encouraged us to try the buttery cinnamon-crusted apple turnovers and to "hang loose". We tried the crispy wonderfulness and thanked Andy- who was baking bread and turnovers just beyond the service counter. We tried the native Gummi Bears covered in LiHui powder- a powder made from mangoes and according to my co-workers when I returned- they are an acquired taste. Not one most CARED to acquire.


Andy's

The Foster Botanical Garden- I stood under the "Bo" tree. A direct descendant of the Boddhisatva tree that the Buddha sat under when he gained enlightenment. Of all the things I brought home- the leaf from that tree that was a gift from the botanist met on the plane to O'ahu is something I will treasure. And the Cannonball tree- we loved that- it grows round fruit that when ripe will fall on unsuspecting heads without warning. These brown fruit break open to reveal a white custardy filling that ferments in less than 6 hours and smells like...well, barf. Pretty cool, huh? And the seed from the Coco-de-Mer- the largest seed in the world- we had our picture taken together, the seed and me.


The Seed



The Cannonball Tree and an unsuspecting VLH

And the W&M BBQ Burger. Named for the owners Wilfred and Mary Kamemura. The LEAST hospitable restaurant in Oahu. No parking- a street sign the size of a license plate and a lunch counter barely 18" long and 4" wide. They don't mind if you eat but you can't do it here. They don't have to be hospitable- they make the best damned hamburger I ever ate. If you get the Hal's special you get hamburger, teriyaki steak, cheese and onions mayo, ketchup and a really messy shirt front. Come to think of it I probably should have saved the brown paper the burger came in as I am pretty sure, remembering the look on VLH's face- that under that paper is where HE found enlightenment.




"Hal's Special" at W & M

After days of running my co-worker took the plane back to the mainland and I began to feel my feet sink a bit into the Oahu red dirt. Saturday was for the North shore of Oahu- Halie'wa and beaches that stretched out inviting only surfers, small children and the occasional dog. Despite a perfect day- we shared the shore with only about fifteen other souls, and the dog.


Surf Dog at Halie'wa

Ths shadows lengthened and we made our way into Halie'wa and the little town yielded up a church barbecue with grilled chicken and shrimp glazed and charred to perfection coated with the local pineapple teriyaki sauce- Huli-Huli... I think that's Hawaiian for yummy. Topped off with Kona and Macadamia Nut ice cream from Aoki's and eaten on plastic tablecloth covered picnic tables. Even the rooster pecking just to the side of the tables seemed content- I know we were.

There was so much more. We drove the edges of the island past shrimp farms and tiny houses. The mountains rose like a curtain ahead of us and the water lapped the shore just outside the car window as we drove. The car windows were open and reggae music played on KINE FM. Folks fished off the beaches and set up tents and slept in the night air.


Baby Surfer




Halie'wa Beach

We headed for the airport and I thought about Hawaii. Hula girls and fire boys- ukeleles and the humuhumunukanuka apua'a and aloha shirts and shorts- the uniform of the island- like American Express, accepted everywhere. Before I came here it was novelty-kitsch- just this side of comic. Then I met the people. Was invited surfing, and to dinner by strangers. The aloha spirit is one of unbridled generosity and joy. The flowers on Oahu look just like they do on the shirts and are worn with pride. Flip flops are the only sensible shoe- it would be madness to shut your feet away from the sun, sand and gentle breezes. To live here is to live in joy. And wear it with pride.




Fiji Dancers

I must have made dozens of lei jokes. Then I got one, and another and another. Everyone who heard I was visiting for the first time ran to find me one. When a lei is presented you are given a kiss by the giver and asked to make a wish. I only had one.

To come back again.



Aloha.