"It's Coming on Christmas, They're Cutting Down Trees"

It's that special time of year again.

A time of joy, love, peace and good will toward our fellow man.

We look on it with fear and dread.

We long for there to be more hours in the day and more money in our bank accounts.

The children maybe nestled all snug and envisioning sugar plums or whatever,
but the adults are scrambling to get it all done; running on caffeine, fast food and not enough sleep.

We are bombarded with commercials that promise if we shop in a certain store we will be able to accomplish amazing feats of giving, baking, decorating and staying within our budgets.

Images of shiny red luxury vehicles glistening in the snow replete with a huge red ribbon are lighting up our HD TVs. All you need to do is wish and it will be out in your driveway on Christmas morning.

I'm not buying into the hype this year!

I'm trying to keep the true meaning of the holiday season in the forefront of my mind this year. I am trying to remember that it is not just about what we buy and how we decorate or how many cookies we bake.

In my house, growing up, Christmas was a marathon of cooking, decorating, baking, cleaning, shopping and wrapping. My mother loved to entertain on the holidays. She set a high bar and I have always tried to live up to her ideals.

But, over the past few years, I have come to realize that maybe she over did it just a smidge.

I have tried to pare it down to less cookies and less shopping and being more present than actually giving presents.

No easy task. I have become a holiday perfectionist. If I can't get it all in; from writing out cards to finding the perfect gift you didn't know you wanted; I feel like a failure.

But if the past year has taught me anything, it is how to put things in perspective. I have learned that being perfect and getting it all done isn't as important as being present in my life and spending time with the people I love doing things that make me and others happy.

So I will shop, bake, decorate, wrap, watch Christmas movies, bask in the glow of my family and friends, and I will try to remember what the whole point of the season is: LOVE.

"It's Been a Long Lonely, Lonely, Lonely Time"

It would seem that loss has created a loss for words.

It's not that I haven't mulled things over in my mind or even that I haven't felt compelled to write. It's just that I absolutely couldn't bring my butt to the chair and open the computer and put it all down.

I didn't want to end up laying myself bare like that. I didn't want to bring anyone down. All two of you.

I didn't want to admit it.

I lost my best friend.

She is gone. She had been disappearing for a long time and I thought I couldn't miss her any more than I already had since this wretched illness took away her essence.

But then she was ripped out of my life. Suddenly. Tragically.Completely.

Ours was a rare and true friendship. I won't degrade it by trying to describe it here. Suffice to say, we were soul mates. We went through everything together.

When a tragedy occurs, people want to comfort you. They say things like "If there is anything I can do..." or "She's in a better place..." And it does seem to help, for an instant, take away some of the sting.

But time passes. Life goes on. The leaves change. Super storms come and go. Nor'easters hit. People get busy.

Then all the "Firsts" follow. First her birthday. More losses. Then Thanksgiving. Now the holidays. And it all goes sailing by while you still mourn.

While I still mourn. While I try to wrap my head around why it had to be her. Why not me? Why not some terrible person who did terrible things?

It only takes a few weeks to realize that this way of thinking is futile. It wasn't me. It wasn't some terrible person. It was her. And she was extraordinary. She was beyond description. She was definitely at the top of the "Nice" list.

Right before Thanksgiving, I was struck by a thought. I began to think about all of the amazing times we had. The funny moments that no one would think were funny. Our life together, and her life in general, went floating through my mind like a movie montage. A really great movie montage with the perfect music edited in.

I found myself smiling and dumbstruck. I never really thought of myself as a lucky person. It hit my like ton of bricks. Maybe I wouldn't be a millionaire lottery winner. Maybe I don't do too well at the slots. I think I've won two raffles in my life.

But in the lottery of friendship...man, was I blessed! How can it be that a plain, old, ordinary person like me got to be the person she picked to be her best friend? It's mind boggling.

The world will forever seem a little dimmer now that she is gone. But all I have to do is close my eyes and I see her radiant smile and her sparkly blue eyes and I remember to be grateful that God put her in my life at all.

I Feel Pretty

I may have mentioned this before. Or maybe I have alluded to it, but, I am in the beauty business.

I am getting so tired of television commercials trying to define what is beautiful by using perfectly airbrushed models with skin that looks like plastic and hair so shiny it cannot possibly be real.

The commercial that set me off and inspired me to write tonight (I have not had the inclination of late) was for mascara. It showed a very young, very made-up model with very nice lashes. Perfect and full and of course, fake. Then they simulated application of their magically magnifying mascara and her lashes were so long and full that she could barely open her eyes. And they were completely fake! Possibly lash extensions with two or three sets of false lashes and then computer generated into huge bug-like things. This did not look pretty to me.

Then there is the commercial where the model talks about her age spots and wrinkles and how the high end cream she uses all but eliminated her dark spots. This miraculous occurrence took place on the face of a model who could not have been more than twenty-two years old!

Are we actually buying this crap? Does anyone think that those "women" are old enough to have dark spots and wrinkles? Do we really think these lotions and serums and creams work? Lots of us do. They lie to us and we eat it up! We spend our hard earned money on these potions and lotions because we think it will help bring us nearer to our never-ending quest for perfection.

But who defines what that perfection is??

The advertisers who hawk their wares on TV? The ad men and women who dream up these ridiculous ads?

Then there are the celebrity endorsements. Halle Berry is beautiful. I will not take that away from her. But she puts a huge dollop of make-up on her fingertips and it blends flawlessly into her already flawless skin. I have been a make-up artist for almost thirty years and I have yet to see any product do what so many of these commercials claim. Especially on a woman in her mid- forties.

I am all for enhancing what we have and looking pretty. It's my job. It's my life.

But at what cost, beauty?

We shouldn't need to pay such a high price for prettiness and get only disappointment and insecurity in return.

Why can't the advertisers show real people with all their flaws and say "This won't make you perfect but it can make you look better."

I have been doing hair and make-up for almost three decades. I have seen many trends come and go. But the classic beauty of a woman isn't so much in her perfection. It's more in maximizing what is lovely and minimizing all the rest.

Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly are two of my all-time favorite actresses and both very beautiful in their own right. They both had a glaring flaw that most of us never even noticed because their natural beauty shone through. And also photographers and cinematographers were well aware of it and knew how to film them to not show this feature that made them less than perfect. They both had very strong, square, almost masculine jawlines.

I know, I know. In the world of "flaws" that's not so terrible. But Grace Kelly had approval over her photos and most that accentuated this manly feature were destroyed.

Marilyn Monroe was considered flawless in her time. When she was discovered, she was very photogenic and perfectly beautiful. But they still fixed her nose and her chin and bleached her hair. I am so glad that she at least kept her curves.

So many true icons of today are less than perfect. But I believe that they have something that so many of us lack. They are, most likely, comfortable in their own skin.

And yet the commercials and the magazine ads, even many articles in newspapers and online, make us feel inadequate and inferior and therefore more self-conscious. And so we buy what they're selling; literally and figuratively. We believe their hype and we spend billions on their empty promises.

To me, each face is a canvas. I can enhance the pretty parts for you but I can't always fix what's inside. So many times I have had people who are not ugly but not attractive either, sit in that make-up chair and tell me to get out my magic wand. That's when I look for it. I look for the spark that will ignite the prettiness. It's always there. It's rarely failed me. A little concealer here, a little shimmer there, and Voila! BEAUTY! Just from me telling them how this little bit of sparkly shadow in the corner of their eyes will make them look bright and awake, this bronzer will give them a honeyed glow, not too much mascara but enough to open the eyes, follow the natural curve of an already perfect top lip and they are transformed. Magic happens.

The prettiness was there the whole time. The confidence enhanced it; not the make-up. They think  something miraculous happens. And it does; their inner light shines and they are, indeed, flawless.

In a world where women seem to be under so much pressure to be perfect and pretty all the time, I am grateful for the opportunity to tell so many of them that they are already beautiful, they just can't see. I see it because I am a trained professional. And, lucky me, I actually get to show it to them!

Now, if I could only make dumb people smarter...

Let The Games Begin (Not the ones that start with an H!)

It began a few months ago. The ads began creeping into my sight-line. First on cereal  boxes; then on radio and television commercials and magazine ads. Those unmistakable five, multi-colored rings are iconic to the the entire world. I am sure there are very few people on this great planet that do not recognize the Olympic rings when they see them.

It is one of my guilty pleasures, watching the Olympics. I am especially intrigued by the not-so-famous sports such as curling in the Winter Games and water polo or hand ball in the Summer Games.

I fall in love with the Olympic Villages where temporary housing is set up for the athletes who will compete in the games.  I admire their commitment and their voracious need to completely out-do themselves and possibly end up being the best in their sport. And yet, miraculously, they are not afraid to take the risk in front of the entire, critical world.

I watch all opening and closing ceremonies in awe of the spectacle created by thousands of performers, musicians, and the athletes themselves. I love the fashions that are specially designed for each country's athletes.

There is usually a song that is performed by the host country's most beloved artist. Awe inspiring lyrics set to soaring melodies meant to make us cry and ache to be young again. I keep the Kleenex handy.

I used to be one of those people who watched and longed to be an Olympic athlete. I have not one shred of athletic ability but that  never stopped me from dreaming and picturing myself in a skating costume or those cool outfits the cyclists wear.

Millions of kids around the world will hopefully be inspired to get up off their couches and dedicate their lives to being the best in their chosen sport. At it's worst, it inspires them to get up. At best, it inspires them to be more than they can even imagine...to best their own best and to be a good sport and lose graciously.

This year, the backdrop is one of my favorite cities in the world. London. I will constantly be looking for the places I visited. I already saw people interviewed near a tea shop I visited near Tower Bridge. I will constantly be calling out to my husband "I was there!" And I will do it every time I see a place I visited. Every time. Poor husband!

I will pick my favorite gymnast and my favorite diver (they are not always from my own country) and I will cheer them on and weep when they weep. I am just that kind of dork. I can't help it. 

I remember, as a child, watching Olga Korbut and Mark Spitz and Nadia and Bruce Jenner and countless other young, strong, dedicated human beings from all over the world. I would spin in my hallway like Peggy Fleming and Dorothy Hamill. Or so I thought.

I was inspired then and I am sure that I will be when I watch the events unfold for the next two weeks. I will get chills when I hear the Olympic theme and I will suddenly become interested in kayaking and beach volleyball and shot put!

The whole world will be watching with me. Records will be broken. Precedents will be set.  Some will be victorious. Some will be vilified. Most will just be grateful for having had the opportunity. And I will be honored to see it all.

Do watch with me!

Blog, Blog, Blog!

So, I write. Not as often as I should. Not as often as I am inspired to. But, I write. 

When I was in second or third grade, my teacher told me to write my stories down. Over the years, I have. I've written fiction. I have volumes of journals. I have chronicled my angst in spiral notebooks. I even started a romance novel. It sucked.

But lately, I have been doing more reading than writing. It keeps me out of my own head and away from my own problems, albeit temporarily.

Today, I found myself reading a magazine article about this "amazing, dynamic, healthy, super-woman doctor" who is apparently a dynamo at every single thing she's ever done in her whole entire life and how inspiring...yadda yadda yadda...blah blah blah. At least that's what my brain heard!

I am so tired of reading articles about how if we just believe it we can accomplish it! It isn't easy but we've still got to try! Just cut down on carbs and you'll feel so much better!

Is that all? Is it true that all I have to do is eat a certain cereal for breakfast, call a certain weight-loss guru, buy that DVD where everyone is dancing like they're on Broadway, sprinkle something on my food, cleanse my colon, buy a sleep "system" for a good night's rest, and I'll be solving my own problems and those of the entire world?? Can it be as easy as adding Chia seeds to my morning smoothie??? Seriously. Chia. Like the pet.

I am not extraordinary. I don't have it all together. I don't balance my life very well. I eat crappy and don't get nearly enough exercise. I hardly ever recycle. I want to change this but it's easier not to. I will most likely never publish my life story. Unless there is suddenly a need for people to become uninspired.

I am just your average fluffy girl longing to know what it is like to be thin forever; take exotic vacations; write witty and intelligent articles for some trendy magazine; and be inspiring to someone somehow.

I'll settle for my little life and my tiny contributions to society, but, just once, I'd like to know what it's like to live on the other side of the rainbow. For now, I am and ever shall be a fluffy girl (woman, really) who sometimes writes and wonders if anybody reads.

Throw This At The Wall And See If It Sticks

So, for the past twenty seven years, I have been doing what I do for a living. I am a hairdresser. I am in the business of making people feel better about themselves. I am in the business of making people feel special. I am in the business of listening.

I have been listening to my clients for a long, long time. I am rarely surprised when I hear some of their stories. Some of my clients I have known for fifteen years, twenty years, two years. Some were children when they started coming to me and now have their own children. I have witnessed women and men going through divorces, coming out, getting fired, getting married, getting Chemo, getting pregnant.

Somehow, you manage to enter these people's lives and become part of all their major events. My boss wrote an essay about this exact thing that was published in a magazine. As hairdressers, we see it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly. We are in all the photos and videos. We are there for all the memories. And through it all we try to make it all seem prettier than it really is.

I cannot tell you how many women have sat in my chair and complained about their hair and then said something like  "I know it sounds silly to think about how I look when my mother is dying..." or something like that. She feels undeserving or guilty. How you look is 80% of how you feel.

I have had women tell me of their miscarriages as they were experiencing them. "At least my hair will be done when I go for my D and C."

I have seen women and men beat all kinds of odds and succeed at work or at school or at parenthood or landing a job.

Over the past few months I have watched some of these average people, mostly women, live their average lives in extraordinary ways. They have gone through losing a parent or both parents, losing babies, losing grandchildren, losing their homes, watching their parents deteriorate in health, getting diagnosed with cancer. Some of the things were minor; a hip or knee replacement here, a heart attack there.

Some things were even happy; a child graduated from college, grandchildren were born, houses were purchased, anniversaries and big birthdays were celebrated.

And, somehow, we have become integral parts of each other's lives. I am always with them in some way...I cut those bangs that are annoying the heck out of them; I put those highlights in that made their hair look so cool in that wedding photo; I did that up-do and glued on those lashes that made their daughter look so grown up at her sweet sixteen.

I pray for them, I laugh with them, I cry with them, I keep their secrets. It is a two-way street. They do the same for me. Not all my clients get to know me this intimately. But there are some very special people who have wiggled their way into my heart and gained my trust and we are there for each other. 

It's kind of a strange relationship. It can seem a little one-sided as I tell it here. I don't just call them up out of the blue and ask how they are (although I may text one or two). They don't call me at home for appointments. But for that half hour or hour that we share, we are connected in away that most people don't get to connect. I don't just touch their lives, I physically touch them...that's very intimate...more intimate than a bartender or a therapist. So, quite often, they let me in.

I have been so blessed to be given this gift. This gift of a career that has put me in the path of so many inspiring girls and women and even a few guys. I try to remember every day to be grateful for all that I have been given and taught and shown.

I have been given the rarest of gifts...I have been able to see beauty at it's most raw and basic level...I see the light in the eyes of a bride on the day of her wedding and she doesn't even have a stitch of make-up on yet. I have seen the raw emotion of someone's tragedy and witnessed them find the strength and resolve to get through it. I have been witness to people surviving breast cancer and divorces and custody battles. I have seen the radiant glow as a mother-to-be drags her swollen feet and her swollen body in to get one last blow-out and pedicure before the baby comes. This, these peoples' lives, this is what is real and true. We live, we die, we get sick, we have good things happen, and we survive tragedies.

And we get our hair done, no matter what. Thank God.

Happy Birthday

So tonight I went to a 50th birthday party. It was for my sister's high school classmates from 1980.

I really didn't know too many people who were going. I knew many of her classmates from stalking her yearbook that I was forbidden to even look at when I was in 9th grade (yeah, right!). I pored over every page! There were pictures of these kids who looked so grown up to me. When you're fourteen, three years older is practically a lifetime!

I always wondered why all the boys in her class were so cute and almost all the boys in my class were puny or lame or both.

Seeing all these people tonight, I realized how different that gap becomes as we age. It's barely perceptible at this stage. But the cute boys were, for the most part, handsome men and of course most of the women looked like they hadn't aged in the past thirty-something years.

But it was a delightful evening and I felt at an advantage because I didn't know too many of these people and I could be an observer.

I watched as people looked at each other for a glimmer of their eighteen year old selves. When none was found, a name was uttered, the light of recognition followed by laughter and genuine camaraderie.

This was a fitting way to spend my Saturday night as it is my birthday weekend. I became aware of how precious time is. I think I've known that for a long time. But, I really saw it tonight. It was not a clingy, desperate sort of precious. It was more of a "Why the heck did we wait so long to do this?" sort of precious.

I smiled the whole night. And these people were strangers to me. But yet we are connected by a tiny thread. We all went to the same school and grew up in the same small village and had the same teachers. We didn't go through anything life-altering together. But we have a common bond.

I am not one to pine away for my "glory days" since there was very little glory in my high school career. So much of it was just awful. But I forged friendships that I still have to this day. And we did go through life-altering times....deaths, births, weddings, illness.

Upon seeing my 50 year old sister and her 50 year old classmates together tonight, I realized that, however tenuous that thread can become, the connection isn't going anywhere.

So, on my 47th birthday (technically less than 24 hours away), I will think of all the tiny threads that are stretched out across this country and even across this world...of people who I rarely see but touched my life nonetheless. I will remember that we are all connected and I will send a wish out into the universe that we will never forget these tiny, common threads that bind us together. 

Happy birthday to me!

"The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful"

March came in with a whimper. Record highs and early pollen counts. It looked pretty when the daffodils in their pretty bonnets were so anxious to turn the faces skyward soaking up the warmth.

Now they look brown and shriveled. I know how they feel.

Early Spring is nice. Warm days just around the time we changed the clocks so we had longer days. Only they didn't last. The freeze came and March started acting like the bitch we know she can be.

Now it's gray days and cooler temperatures. But the early bloom doesn't seem to care. Magnolia and apple blossom alike, are in full flower. The trees are red and the willows are turning more verdant. They just couldn't wait.

I love how everyone speculates. We had a mild winter and so what will the consequences be? As if we have any say in the matter!

People try to hold back mother nature and anticipate what her next move will be. Alas, to no avail. If she's gonna slam you with a Tsunami, there is very little you can do about it except hope to be up high.

Last Fall I watched rivers in Pennsylvania, Upstate New York and coastal New Jersey overflow due to heavy rains, wiping out whole towns. Terribly tragic.

Instead of wondering when the next proverbial shoe will drop, why aren't we embracing this glorious gift that God gave us...a mild Winter and an early Spring. Maybe that's our gift for the tragedies of the flooding in our area.

When will people realize that the good things and bad things in our lives don't necessarily come with price tags? Maybe it is all just random and we should vow to embrace the bad along with the good instead of waiting for it all to come crashing down on our heads!

Because, eventually, it all comes crashing down anyway. It has nothing to do with what we think we deserve. It's all so much bigger than we are.

Acceptance is one of the hardest things for us to...well...accept in our lives. We need to stop worrying and start living. Enjoy the good and surround ourselves with love when the bad stuff comes.

I'll have to try to remember that when my soul feels like the shriveled daffodils.

"Playground in My Mind..."

So I had some unexpected time this morning and decided to go grocery shopping. I asked my husband if he'd drive "Miss Daisy" so he said only if I make a stop at the dry cleaner. No problem.


We set out on this dreary Spring-like morning ( I say "Spring-like" because it is not  quite official even thought the daffodils and crocuses are sprouting up everywhere!) and he took a route I was hoping he wouldn't. He passes my old house. In order to avert my eyes from too many painful memories, I look around at the surrounding streets. Madonna comes to mind. "This used to be my playground..." 


I saw the places I know like the back of my hand. I don't think there's one bit of my little village that doesn't hold some kind of acute memory for me. The sights, the scents are all there. 


Places I used to play, hide out, make forts, ride my bike. Even the places that  don't even exist anymore I think of as "the vacant lot where we used to play kickball" or where the A&P used to be. There are new facades or completely new buildings but they are all still fresh in my mind!


Where has that time gone? It would seem that the past 30 years are somewhat of a blur to me. And at other times, I feel every memory as if it all just happened. 


My first days of school when we would all pose for pictures with our new book bags and lunch boxes. First grade I had a Bugaloo lunch box and thermos.


The first signs of Spring when the days were longer and the air smelled so sweet and fresh.


The endless summers at the town pool and Robert Moses beaches. 


The hottest days in our apartment complex when the super would turn on the sprinklers and we'd go out in the middle of the grass in our bathing suits! Grass that I am sure hasn't felt the patter of little feet in decades!


Hearing my mother call my name out the kitchen window to get washed up for dinner: "Cyyynnnnnnthiaaaaaaa!" It was the only time she called me Cynthia.


My poodle Guy chasing cars. 


My brother fashioning ramps to do Evel Kenievel-type stunts with his bike with the banana seat.


An abundance of cousins and aunts and uncles and extended family and those who were not blood relatives but were family nonetheless.


Crossing Carll's creek and my library books not quite making it.


Ice skating on the "big" lake and the little ones.


Swimming in the canal. 


Clamming and fishing and crabbing.


Hanging out in a bar drinking root beer and Shirley Temples and having endless quarters for the jukebox. I loved Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Dark Lady. My father loved big blondes.


My first records, friends, crushes, heartbreak.


I am at an age now where most of my life has been spent as an adult yet these are the things that I hold on to. These are the things that come back so brilliantly that I wonder if they actually happened.


 We lived in an apartment complex and there were a lot of families.  First, Sally and her dad lived downstairs then Helen and her husband and the boys. Charlie was my age and my first real crush.  Joanne and Barbara and their "mysterious" (mysterious when you're seven) older brother Bobby, Lori and Lisa, Donna and Dawn.  The fire changed everything. Mr. Palmer and his daughter. There was the blind lady. The super and his  family of boys.(If there were sisters, I don't recall.) Darlene and Vinny and Little Richie. They had a cousin we called Tuna Fish. Betty, the nice lady that lived next to Joyce and Vito and taught me how to crochet and made a fancy crown for my First Holy Communion. Cathy and her sons. She used to cut our hair. The druggie lady across the way who had a kid that I stayed with sometimes while she went out (Until my mother told me I wasn't allowed over there anymore). I was probably in second grade! The lady who had an English setter named Cindy. I think the lady's name was Mabel. Guy and David. Connie. Chris and Danny. The other Joyce with the two boys. The kid who hit me in the head with a rock and my mother had a huge fight with his sister in front of half the complex. Bonnie and her sister who had CP and their creepy brother Kenny who told a story that gave me nightmares well into my twenties. Hemena (think that's her name). The lady that died (at least I think she died). I remember when they took her out she looked green! 


I wonder if this memory is real: I remember summer nights the families would take their lawn chairs and blankets and portable radios and the adults would laugh and talk and we would be outside in our pajamas. Some kids were catching fireflies or doing cartwheels or playing Parcheesi. The adults were most likely drinking.


Those days were magical to me. I can hear the sound track of seventies music playing in my head. I can hear Paul Simon singing "Late in the evening...and the music's seeping through." (The song is not from the seventies but the imagery takes me there.) I remember falling asleep to lilting laughter of adulthood. I longed to be grown up and and stay up late laughing "the way some ladies do..."





It's Springtime! Get out in the world and re-live your childhood!

Absence makes the heart grow...inspired?

So I took a brief hiatus. Not much a fan of that word. Perhaps sabbatical is a better choice. Or a much needed break from cyber-space.

How ever you choose to look at it, I was feeling the pressures of a too-busy life to make the time to sit down and sort out my thoughts.

I was rarely on the social networks. I played a minimal amount of Words on my smart phone but even that  became lackluster after awhile.

I am back and somewhat refreshed.

Two weeks ago, was "Fat Tuesday" and then the season of Lent began. As I have stated before, I am not the best at the "Faith" game. I have been trying to reconcile myself to my Catholic roots. It is very difficult. There are many Church doctrines that I disagree with and I am sure at least half the Catholics out there find it difficult to fully comply with some of the laws. But I am looking at it as a way through to my spirituality.

This quest has been going on since I was a child. I knew people of many faiths, mostly Christian based. I always envied my friends who just knew that there was a God and that all the bible stated was true. To just know like that...without question or doubt. Many had fear. My Evangelist friend read a story to me from the bible about Jesus and how light poured from him and his voice was like a running stream and she was terrified of this image and it made her love Him all the more. I just thought it was a beautiful story and a beautiful image of her savior.

Recently, going through what I have of late, I have come to realize that there is this Higher Power or Consciousness. For me, anyway. There is something out there besides the science of it all. Many will disagree. Many will become angry and many will try to tell me that I am saved. I don't know about that. It's not up to me.

I have read the  Bible. Well, most of it. Deuteronomy and Numbers and Judges  should be skimmed through. They don't really translate completely. There are some discrepancies. There are some stories that are repeated several times with different facts. I suppose this goes back to a time when people translated stories through generations without ever writing them down. By the time they were written down, they had been altered and embellished by the tellers.

But the essential story of Christianity, early Christianity, is so basic and repeated over in so many faiths that I have to wonder what all this fuss was about.

If we believe that Jesus was a man who walked the Earth before he was found to be the Son of God, we realize that all he wanted was for everyone to just get along. No matter what their background, race, social standing, sex, or behavior. He just wanted us to love one another and forgive each other for all our shortcomings.

That sounds like a wonderful concept. Imagine.

What's so terrible about a belief in something that abhors hatred of any kind. I heard something recently that Hate is not the Opposite of Love. Fear is the Opposite of Love. In the case of Jesus, this may be true.

I am reading a book on catechism and I squirm when I get to the parts that make most people, especially Christians, feel uncomfortable. Abortion, birth control, divorce, homosexuality, etc. Some of my closest acquaintances have had abortions, are gay, are divorced and re-married. I, myself, have delved into the reproductive sciences to try to conceive a child. I am staunch supporter of stem cell research and treatments. Many I know have conceived out of wedlock. The catechism will even have us spurn Yoga and other forms of spiritual enlightenment or esotericism. I've gone to psychics. I am not a follower of Satan. I believe that fear has stood in the way of progress in Christianity. If I am to believe what I have learned through my spiritual journey, God loves us no matter what. Jesus loved the leper, the tax collector, the prostitutes, the social outcasts. He abhorred pride and self-righteous zealots.

I hope and pray every day to someone or something. I find comfort in the fact that there is more...that when someone is gone they are not completely gone. It may be faith or wishful thinking. Maybe I am just another example of a sinner putting her own spin on faith so it conforms to her needs.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one..."

Looking for a Soft Place to Land

It's been awhile. Hard to find my inspiration lately.

I don't even want to turn on the computer. I'm stuck. And my tow truck is out of commission.

I try really hard to stay positive and upbeat but people can really drag you down. So I keep my distance. It's easier that way.

Had a tiny bit of progress in the weight loss department due to a lingering stomach virus. Probably lost close to ten pounds. Probably put it all back on just in water weight by eating Chinese food last night.

Whitney Houston died. It's kinda sad. She wasn't my favorite artist and I am not a fan of her choice of lifestyle but to each their own, I guess. What really gets to me is that she is only a couple of years older than I am. That is always frightening to me. It's sad when old folks die. But it's a little bizarre when it's my contemporaries.

I have my faith and even that can be shaken by all the BS politics and grandstanding I have been seeing lately. It sometimes seems so pointless to me when we know we will all come to the same end one day.

One day people are criticizing and vilifying a celebrity and the next day they are canonizing and glorifying them. I don't know why I let the hypocrisy of man surprise me. Over and over again, I am surprised.

I used to love facebook because it was a fun way to stay connected. But even that has been tainted. I see negativity and politics and judgement. If I wanted all of that, shit, I'd go back to high school.

Why can't we all just get along????

I saw a blurb on the news how there are people doing studies and looking into using social networking as a tool for hiring people. If you are more popular and get a lot of comments on your blogs and social network status updates, you are more likely to get hired by these companies. Seriously? Life has really become high school all over again. It's all a huge popularity contest. Presidential candidates are being chosen by their popularity. How many friggin' Republican Debates do we need??? Maximum-one. There have been like a gajillion. What's the point?

There are polls based on whether something has been liked on Twitter and Facebook. Why even have elections? Each candidate put up their page and we like or not and whoever gets "liked" the most wins.

I'm really not very good at controversy and I don't want to fight with people about what they think is right or wrong but, even I, in my limited sight, can see that the right is wrong. And the left isn't doing so hot either!

I'm just trying to stay hopeful and keep my head above water like the rest of the world. We're all looking OK on the surface but underneath we are paddling like mad.

When I was home sick last week (two days in bed with aforementioned stomach virus), I was feeling really awful, body aches, vomiting, headache, and I just wanted to know I was taken care of. My husband was home and he was there for me. Kissing my brow. Bringing me water and ginger ale. Covering and uncovering me depending on if I was in a sweat or if I was freezing.

I don't usually like to be fussed over or taken care of but it was nice to know he was there for me. That's what life is about. Having a soft place to land when you need it. Politics and popularity be damned.

Untitled (This is an actual title)

So, it's January twenty something or other in the year 2012.

I'm still waiting for my inspiration.

I am completely sick of the sight of Jennifer Hudson singing that she is me!

The thing that kills me is people are buying into the hype. The hype that you could be just like she is. Except I'm not a twenty-something, Oscar-winning, unlimited-resources type of gal. Who is?

I had hoped that, by this time, I'd be ready to start...something. Weight-loss program. Bills up to date. Learn how to manage my time. De-clutter my apartment.

As I sit here writing this blog, nothing like that has occurred.

I am two weeks or more behind on my bills. I have yet to even consider joining or starting a weight loss program. I added something to my schedule when I had no time already. And my Christmas tree is still standing in my living room, fully decorated.

I have been fantasizing again about a mild bout of appendicitis or food poisoning that puts me in the hospital  and causes rapid weight loss but doesn't threaten my life. I could use the rest and someone else taking care of me for a change. And I could use a head start on my diet. But that would totally not help my situation at all because I have no health insurance and would end up way worse off than I am right now by adding a huge hospital bill to the mix. Plus, I'd gain the all the weight back in a week anyway.

So what else? I could say no to the people demanding my time. Nah. That's not an option. They need me! (You may not be reading it that way but I wrote it with a very sarcastic tone.)

I could start with small steps. Cutting down on eating crap and maybe taking a walk once in awhile. Saying no every couple of months. Yeah. I don't see that happening any time soon, either. Too much like work.

Another fantasy I have is going somewhere not too vacationy and staying at a nice hotel. I could pretend I'm there on business. Or something. I sleep very well at hotels. I could do room service breakfast. Take a walk to whatever downtown area I am staying in and sit on a bench and read. Grab a light lunch in a decent eatery. Go back to my room and order a chick flick and maybe go to the spa for massage or an overpriced manicure.

Here's where the sound of the needle scraping across a record comes in to break me out of my dreamworld! I don't have the money to even stay at a crappy motel let alone spa services and room service! And what would I tell my husband. "Sorry dear, but, I need some me time because I am sick of the sight of you holding down the couch and scratching your butt and making your manly noises!"

I could go full throttle and have my lotto fantasy but I like to keep my feet on the ground and try not get all lottery-eyed during my fantasies. It just makes coming back to reality that much harder!

I guess I'll just go to bed and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I will work a full day and come home and dust my Christmas tree and most likely have something I shouldn't for dinner like a pizza.

Then I'll go buy a lottery ticket.

And Now, I Digress...

So, after spending nearly twelve hours in a hospital emergency room with my sister yesterday, I am counting my blessings.

She was having chest pains which only turned out to be pneumonia and when the doctor (with some crazy-ass eyebrows!) finally came to tell us the diagnosis, I realized how jaded we have become about medical conditions.

I remember, many years ago, my mother was in the hospital and a family in the next curtain was sobbing and wailing after finding out their father was in congestive heart failure. Diuretics and bed rest and he'd, most likely be good as new. It's not like he had a stroke or end stage cancer. I couldn't understand what they were so worked up about. I mean, what's a little heart failure in the grand scheme of things, right?

There have been so many terrible illnesses and diagnoses in my life and in my family that I have turned cynical and over-informed. Most people, upon hearing that their sister has pneumonia, would not express relief as one of their reactions! Would they?

What about the poor dude next to us yesterday? This guy's situation was absolutely pathetic. I felt so bad for him. I wanted to hug the guy and I couldn't even see him behind the curtain that divided us. His wife came home drunk at 4 in the morning and started pounding on him. Then she proceeded to bite his ear off. The cops were already on their way and they arrived just as he was trying to retrieve said ear "piece" from his hopefully, soon-to-be ex-wife's mouth and they thought he was assaulting her! The only family member he could get in touch with was his sister who has stage four cancer! And this poor schmuck, when the nurses asked if he would press charges, said he didn't want his kids to see their mother get arrested!

I mean, COME ON!  

There's a story that goes around the Internet and the gist of it is: if God came to you and said you could trade in all your troubles for someone else's and you picked the person you thought had the most charmed life, you'd discover some deep dark thing about them and you'd want your own life back. Or something like that.

I think that, in my forties, I have been more pragmatic in my philosophies on the ways of fate. God or life or the powers that be have handed me this life and, like it or not, I'm stuck with it. There's no point in wishing I had someone else's life because, well, I don't!

OK, sometimes, I admit, I wouldn't mind being Oprah or Barbara Walters, or British royalty. (Living British royalty!)

I have the kind of life where pneumonia is a silver lining of sorts. And I don't think that's such a bad thing.

Now, being jaded does not mean that I don't freak out when I get a raspy, nearly inaudible call from my sister at six in the morning croaking the words "chest pains" into the phone. And it also doesn't mean that I don't over think what the problem could be. It also doesn't mean that I am not worried sick even though the hospital sent her home with a bunch of meds and instructions to call her doctor on Monday.

Medical emergencies always tend to leave me on the edge of my seat and not in a good way.

They also make me re-assess how I take care of myself. Today, at church, part of the reading was the old "your body is a temple" passage. After yesterday, I realized that, if it's true, I'm in big trouble.

Watching my sister struggle to breathe and seeing her on that gurney all day made me think that I am not taking care of myself the way I should. The weight is one thing. But my stress level and not exercising and not going to the doctor for check ups is not helping my health or the length of my life one, tiny bit!

There was also a part of the service that was about listening to God. I pray regularly. I'm not an overly religious person, but I have always been on a journey to find my faith. Lately, I have had some success in that department. I still have my issues and am conflicted at some of the teachings but, as a whole, I am a Catholic Christian. So, the story about Samuel hearing God calling his name, spoke to me. He didn't recognize that it was God. He needed Eli to tell him that he had to listen...to tell God he is listening.

So I pray. I pray for the good health of my loved ones even though they are already not in good health. I pray for guidance. I pray that I will be open to hear what God has in store for me. I pray that there's no one parked in the spot in front of my apartment.

I will pray for my sister and that poor man who lost part of his ear. I will pray for my client's daughter who just had a miscarriage. I will pray for all the people this past week who had tragedy touch their lives. And I will pray that my sister will be breathing easier tomorrow.

And I will pray for the ability to listen. I will try to listen so I can hear what God wants from me. And I will try to hear and act on what God says. And I will listen so I can have empathy for the human condition and I will listen to my body telling me it's time.

"I Wanna Go Back..."

OK. So I started this whole thing, this blogging, as a journey to find my inspiration for returning to the world of weight loss. So far, I have barely skimmed that surface!

My, bad.

I am not one for resolutions or goals. Setting things in stone is never a good idea because I have been there and you only set yourself up for failure.

I had a boss that trained me in my profession (hairdressing, if you didn't know) and she always said if I got lost in the middle of the haircut all I had to do was "go back to when it was going right".

Such a simple solution to so many things.

So when I am contemplating getting back into the world of weight loss, I always try to go back to the beginning of the several times I have lost 50+ pounds.

Where did my inspiration come from? Where did I get my motivation? Where did they both go?

Each time I have fallen off the food truck, it's usually because there is something huge going on in my life. Sometimes, it's a bunch of tiny things building up into something huge.

I think, many times, the motivation and inspiration also come from events in my life. When things are going well on all fronts or if major events are approaching, I seem to have more control. Well, in the past, that has been the case. Weddings, reunions, etc. are excellent motivations to get you on the weight loss wagon. And other times, I am just sick of feeling.....well.....obese.

So today, I am going to try to go back to the beginning. Just like Inigo Montoya did in Princess Bride.

I cannot turn back time, but I can look back and learn from the past mistakes instead of repeating them.

I can't help but hearing my cynical inner voice saying "Well, DUH!"

I am making a, dare I use the word, a commitment to examining my previous attempts at weight loss. The loss part was usually much easier than the keeping it off part. Maybe, if I see it in writing, it will click and suddenly make sense.

But I don't want this just to be about "dieting", so, from time to time, I promise you, I will digress and talk about my life or my family or some other boring non-inspirational subject.

I hope this post is the beginning of something instead of just a bunch of words on a screen.

In the words of the late, great John Belushi in Animal House, "Let's do iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"If It's Not One Thing It's Your Mother..."

So, January 11. Not one of my favorite days of the year. It's a day that I'd love to just stay home and pull the covers over my head and let it pass right by. Kind of like how hotels skip the 13th floor.

Fifteen years ago...can it be fifteen?...Yep...literally just did the math...fifteen years ago, January 11, 1997, my mother died.

In an ironic twist of fate, I will be going to a wake for the mother of two old friends and beloved clients on my mother's anniversary. So much for crawling under the covers!

Most people will say things like "She's always with you." Or "She's at peace, now." Then there's my all time favorite, "She looks so beauty-ful." (Always the elderly relatives.) All I think is, "She looks deceased."All I will say to this woman's family will be "I know." Because I do.

These are nice sentiments but they don't make the survivors feel any better as time passes. No words can make the loss of a loved one, especially a parent, any easier.

My husband always says that it doesn't really get better, that feeling of loss, but it does get easier. Sometimes it's easier and sometimes not.

There are days and times and situations where she doesn't even enter my mind. But I'll smell someone cooking or hear an old song or take out one of her bowls and it all comes flooding back. Or as in the case of the aforementioned, we talk about the care giving. All the smells and sights of that part can hit you like a minivan falling from the sky.

It was a long time before I started seeing her and dreaming about her as she was before she got really sick. Then one night I had a dream and we were in the kitchen in the old house and I could smell her and feel her warmth and we were dancing to one of our many songs, "Old Cape Cod" only we were singing the words the way I heard them as a child, "Old King Kong," and she was smiling and it was wonderful!

It's hard to get past those awful memories of how it all ended. It's hard to see our loved ones as whole, well human beings once we've watched them wasting before our eyes. It's amazing to me how these big, strong personalities can be reduced to something so small and frail and helpless.

I had some tough times with my mother and our relationship was not always perfect. But my memories are. I have memories that are filled with tastes and scents and sounds and light and laughter and love.

I remember, as a small child, when I would have trouble sleeping, I would sneak out into the living room to watch old movies. She'd send me back to bed and sit by me and rub my back and tell me to think of the happiest times and places I could remember and go there. She always tried to make me go to a flower-filled meadow but I always wanted to go to the beach or have a tea party.

There are times when I am walking to my apartment during dinner time and I just know someone is frying meatballs or chicken cutlets and I know she's near me. In the winter, I buy Cream of Wheat and make it the way she used to and I am transported to the kitchen of our apartment at 5 Friendly Ct. I have so many great memories of that kitchen! And one that involves a not-quite-dead mouse.

I remember the huge parties with tons of food and tons of people and everyone laughing. She made even the most mundane leftovers into a fancy presentation.

And there was always music playing. The soundtrack of my childhood is mottled with show tunes, Enrico Caruso, Jim Neighbors (did you know Gomer Pyle sang opera?), Jerry Vale, Perry Como, Dolly Parton, The Platters, Tammy Wynette, Barbara Streisand, The King Family and Guy Lombardo and Lawrence Welk. On Sundays she would blast Italian music while she was cleaning the house.

I have many memories of being terrified of my mother and wondering when we...OK when I was going to screw up and inspire her wrath.

But I prefer to look back on the good times. The times when she made New Year's Eve special by making little hot dogs and letting us drink egg nog and go outside at midnight to bang pots and pans and scream "Happy New Year" at the tops of our lungs. Or the time when we all rented bikes in Atlantic City and took a ride on the boardwalk and Steff and I had a head on collision and my mother didn't know how to stop the bike so she rode right past us! Or the times she got down on the floor with us and played with our games and barbies. As we grew up there were endless card games at the dining table. And always laughter.

She ruled with an iron hand but she had the soul of a child and a heart of gold.

I like to think that the sheer "motherliness" of her rubbed off on me a little bit. That's why I was always type-cast in the school plays. It makes for the bones of a good caregiver.

She was always a "second" or "other" mother to friends and family. Always willing to take someone in for a year or a week or a month. One bathroom and three bedrooms and there was always room.

The house always seemed bigger when she was in it. The world always seemed bigger too. I miss that bigness. I miss her big, broad smile and her more than ample embraces and her deep, throaty laugh and that low, booming voice.


I miss her scrawly, chicken scratch handwriting and the smell of her perfume and the sound of her voice.

I do think of her and miss her every day. Just not every minute of every day. Sometimes I feel her with me and sometimes I wonder where the hell she is.

So tonight, I pray that I will see her in my dreams and we will be dancing and singing and laughing. Heaven.

"They Say It's Your Birthday..."

Today is a landmark day. Today my sister turns fifty.

Sounds like such a nice even number. Harmless.

But I think it's a number that has us both a little freaked. She turns fifty, then my brother turns fifty then a two year lull and it's my turn. How can that be? We're still children. OK, we still act like children. What's the difference? 

I still remember our mother's fiftieth birthday. It's like it was yesterday. We had a cake that had fifty candles on it and the whole house was filled with smoke!  We made her martinis. We had no idea how to make martinis but we tried. The pitcher was in the fridge the next morning and my brother came into the kitchen and took a gigantic swig thinking it was water. We all laughed so hard we couldn't breathe! Except my brother, of course. He stormed out.

My grandmother was still alive and she threw her a party at my Aunt Isabelle's house. I remember her calling my uncle and asking him to come for the celebration. He didn't. He told my grandmother what he wanted to give her. She had a frame and there were fifty one dollar coins made into a fifty in a frame.

Big deal! Fifty dollars in coins for such a significant landmark? I wasn't big fan of that uncle anyway. Nothing I can think of seems like enough to give my sister! I guess my uncle and I think a lot differently about the importance of our siblings.

I thought of sending her flowers. It's a nice gesture but they don't last. Or one of those fruit arrangements. That would be nice. Something to snack on for a week.
I thought of taking her on vacation but neither of us can afford a vacation right now. A puppy? Cool but not really practical. She can't have pets where she lives, anyway. I feel like the shepherd at the birth of Christ.

I have nothing to give her that could possibly match how grateful I am to have her as my sister. No subscription or trinket or jewel could possibly equal her worth.

I could get clever and give her fifty somethings-fifty free haircuts, fifty cups of coffee from Dunkin, fifty chocolate bars spelling out her name. Fifty gnomes on her front lawn. (Damn! Why didn't I think of that sooner?) 

What can I give her that would show how much she means to me? I could give her the world and that still wouldn't be enough.

If I had won lotto this week, I'd have first booked a trip to someplace warm with a beach. It's always been her dream to wake up on her birthday and go to a warm, sunny beach. Then I'd get her that Vespa she's always wanted. The green one. Then I'd buy a big house and we could all live together but not too together. Then, after the vacation, we'd pay off all our bills and I'd buy her a car. And a big fluffy dog. Then we'd take everyone to Disney and all wear matching shirts celebrating Steffi and her fifty years on earth. (Though technically it's fifty one, right?)

But, alas, I did not manifest my lotto destiny. So we will just have to celebrate in a much more economical way. Dinner out with some friends and family seems like the way to go.

I have tons of memories of my sister as I grew up. I was always worrying about her because she had asthma attacks and I would wake my mother in the middle of the night to tell her Steff needed her inhaler. One of my strongest of these early memories is the night after she had an attack. My mother often found me asleep in Steff's bed because we had our beds pushed together for the longest time. Until Frankie, our brother started hiding under them and waiting for me to gravitate toward the middle then pull them apart. I was a little nothing at the time and that was long way down! Anyway, I was asleep at the foot of her bed with my giant and most favorite Teddy bear, Fluffy. I woke up to my mother getting us both in the bathtub. I was still wearing my jammies. Apparently Steff woke up and got sick all over me and Fluffy! She tried to salvage him, but, sadly, he was never the same! But Steffi was just fine. Good times.

So, today, I will dedicate this blog to my sister, Steffi. She is the smartest, funniest, greatest, beautifulest sister anyone could have. I know it's not much of a gift but at least, now, the world knows how amazing and wonderful she is!

OK, I'm flattering myself. Maybe not the world. Maybe only she and I know. But that's enough. I love you, Steffi! Happy Fifty Years on The big Round Ball!