3lastnamesblog

Behind Every Facebook Post Is a Story December 27, 2025

Filed under: friendship,Humor,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 10:45 pm
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I met my friend, Patty, and her sister,  Donna, at a resort in Sarasota. They live in Florida; I was flying down to meet them. I posted on Facebook about my absolutely delightful, serene few days- which it was! However, with me there’s always a story. 

It started the night before I was leaving. I was all packed and ready go. I was easing into bed when I heard “CRACK”. I apparently left my glasses where I shouldn’t have. My leg landed in just the right way that it cracked my glasses perfectly in half at the bridge. It was physics at its finest- like that succinct karate chop that splits a board of wood. Of course these weren’t my ten dollar reading glasses from CVS, these were my expensive prescription glasses that I can’t replace in the airport gift shop. I only wear them when I’m not wearing my contact lenses, but I minimally need them in case there’s a fire in the hotel in the middle of night and I need to find my way out. I’m literally blind without them. 

I tried fixing them with what I had on hand- tape, Gorilla Glue, string- nothing was working. It’s now close to 10:00PM so I decided to Door Dash Crazy Glue. It cost close to 20.00 for a 4.99 tube of Crazy Glue but within 30 minutes it was delivered to my door- priceless!! It took me about an hour and several phone calls to my sister but I eventually got it to work. The mend was far from invisible and I got Crazy Glue all over the lenses but it didn’t matter because I only needed them for the outside and rare chance I needed to leave in a hurry.

Yada, yada, yada, I TRULY had a wonderful four days in Sarasota as I posted on Facebook upon my return. 

But here’s the story not depicted…

For the entire trip “they’ were calling for a possible snowstorm on the day I had to fly home. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a weather junkie and follow the weather like a day trader follows the stock market. I am not one to be caught off guard. And quite frankly I wasn’t this time either. I was tracking the storm closely. There was plenty of hype about the intensity of the storm  but the onset of the storm was going to be hours after I was supposed to land so I was good to go! I went to sleep on my final night confident there would be no kink in my plans for the next day. I woke up to no changes in the timing of the storm and my flight was on time! It was all systems go. I even had time for my morning walk. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and when I came out I had a text from Jet Blue, “YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN CANCELED.” This has never happened to me before but I did know that if I didn’t book another flight immediately it could take days to get home. So I jumped into action and immediately booked a flight for the next day. I really had nothing to worry about- I had a flight booked, I’d stay at Patty’s overnight and she would drive me to the airport in the morning. However, the reports for the storm seemed to be getting worse with the storm taking place overnight into the next day. There was a growing chance that  the flight I booked for the next day could get canceled too. As gracious as Patty was about me staying with her, I had many reasons I needed to get home.

I continued to problem solve. I found a flight leaving in a couple of hours that same day. The only problem was, it was taking off from Tampa an hour and fifteen minutes away from where we were staying. We would have to leave NOW!!!! Patty and I had to make a split second decision. “Let’s do it!!”, we said in unison.

Patty ran to get her car from the hotel parking garage. Fortunately her sister had her own car and could pack up for the two of them and take all their belongings home. I had packed my clothes the night before but I still had all my toiletries – the hair products, the face lotions, the body potions, the face roller, the gua sha stone, the make-up, the electric toothbrush, the perfume…get the picture? I threw them all into my back pack, and wouldn’t you know, I didn’t even have time to put in my contacts lenses. 

So with no make up, untamed hair and wearing my Crazy Glued glasses I ran to the parking garage. Patty screeched up and yelled “GET IN!” I hopped in and we were off! With an optimistic shared panic we were on an adventure!! Every minute shaved off the GPS arrival time felt like a victory. Let me tell you, Patty was manipulating that steering wheel like a Formula 1 driver! I was in awe! We were racing against time and winning!

Then seemingly out of nowhere, a dense fog rolled in. You know, the kind that grounds airplanes. Are you kidding me? We were going to make it to the airport in time only to have the flight canceled due to fog? My mood was sinking. But as we neared the airport the fog began to lift and so did my spirits! WE MADE IT! I still had to take a tram and get through security which I did with time to spare. 

I got to the gate looking like a frantic bag lady. 

I found a seat next to a nice couple from Long Island. I mentioned what a stressful  morning it had been because of the storm. 

They said, “What storm?”

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The Montage Episode June 14, 2020

Filed under: friendship,Humor,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues,Yoga — 3lastnamesblog @ 4:00 pm
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I remember being given a key to the studio by Jacqui, Om Tara’s loved and respected founder. It felt like one of the single greatest achievements of my life. When I started there I had never taken a  single yoga class and now I’m one of the teachers— with my own key!

 

I use the key to enter the studio. Today I’m not there to teach a class or take a class. I’m there to say farewell.

 

The first thing I see is the sign-in book on the front desk. It is open to March 15, 2020. Of course it is empty because classes were cancelled that day. Everything was cancelled that day. We were hearing words like quarantine, isolation and social distancing but they were not yet part of our everyday vocabulary. Everyone was prepared for a rough few weeks but no one expected it to turn into months. Sadly, my beloved Om Tara was one of the pandemic’s many casualties.

 

I venture into the studio alone. I light some candles, burn some incense, and make myself a cup of my favorite tea that I only drink at the studio. (I’ll spare you the part about me trying to turn on the air conditioner, located up by the ceiling, without the remote control. Let’s just say it involved several props and was probably my finest yoga pose ever achieved at the studio.)

 

Finally, I roll out my mat, get myself into a comfortable seated position, close my eyes and I start to reminisce. If my life was a sitcom (lately more like a drama series) this is the montage episode.

 

My face blurs and ripples like I am going into a trance.The music starts to play (I envision “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong). Then the flashbacks begin. The class is moving in beautiful unison doing sun salutations. Next we’re listening intently to one of Jacqui’s Dharma talks. There we are at a magical Reiki healing circle and now at a beautiful candle lit Winter Solstice ceremony. I see us meditating with Lama Gursam. Next we’re chatting animatedly during a book club meeting. I smile as I recall dangling from the rope wall. I clearly see us sitting on the floor during teacher training surrounded by mounds of papers and books. I remember stringing malas and getting Henna at our graduation. I recall the laughter and the tears brought on from a stirring or recognition from within.

 

But most importantly, all of the above would mean NOTHING if it wasn’t for the beautiful souls of the Om Tara community. It’s the people, not the four walls that make a space sacred. I mean, if we maintained a connection on Zoom these past few months, then we can do it anywhere! Fortunately, Jacqui has the perfect space in her house for us to gather and her dream of teaching from her home will be fulfilled. We will bring our light and love with us.

 

Feeling content, I roll up my mat, blow out the candles, grab a bunch of my favorite tea to take home, then I remember I have to turn off that darn air conditioner! Ugh!

 

I am finally ready to leave, and like Mary Tyler Moore on her series finale, before I close the door behind me, I take one last look around. I am not sad. I am grateful for everything this space has given me over the past eight years. When one door closes, another door opens. Goodbye, Om Tara. I look forward to the spin-off.

 

Just The Tip May 3, 2019

Filed under: friendship,Humor,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues,Yoga — 3lastnamesblog @ 10:36 pm
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My yoga teaching training graduation was just the day before and I was still basking in the afterglow. Looking down at my Henna adorned hand, I wished it could be there forever and never fade away. I was feeling good about myself and the hard work I put in these past eight months. It was well worth it. I didn’t just learn about yoga, I learned about myself— and today was the first official day of the new yogic me.

It was also my dear friend Karen’s birthday. I texted her to wish her a happy birthday, and almost immediately after I pressed “send,” she was calling me on the phone. “She must want to have dinner tonight,” I thought. But that wasn’t the case.

On the other end of the phone was Karen yelling, “I LOST MY FINGER, I LOST MY FINGER, MY FINGER IS GONE!!!!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My heart began to pound and my breathing became labored. She proceeded to tell me she’s on her way over to my house. “ARE YOU CRAZY,” I yelled, “I WILL COME PICK YOU UP!” But she explained to me that she’s already driving— she thought she could drive herself to the hospital, realized she couldn’t make it, and was only a block away from my house.

So much for the new yogic me, I was hysterical. So of course, just as I do whenever I’m hysterical, I called my boyfriend Demos. “KAREN LOST A FINGER, SHE’S ON HER WAY OVER, I MIGHT HAVE TO GO GET THE FINGER SO THEY CAN REATTACH IT, AND BY “I”, I MEAN YOU!! One thing about Demos, he was born to come to the rescue. He jumped in his truck and was on his way.

Karen arrived with her hand wrapped in a rag and blood dripping down her arm. I grabbed a towel, ran it under water and told her to wrap the finger tight and hold it up. I COULDN’T look at it; I can’t deal with blood and wounds. I made the decision to call an ambulance because I wasn’t sure how much blood Karen had lost, there’s a finger that needs to be retrieved, and I was shaking like a leaf. Karen was LITERALLY hopping around like Tigger, not knowing what to do with her nervous energy. She was crying over being a freak with a missing finger. You’d think perhaps the last eight months of studying yoga might kick in at this point and compel me to say something like “BREATHE”, or “RELAX”. But no, I told her I know lots of people with missing fingers.

In what seemed like an eternity for the ambulance to arrive, Karen explained to me how all this came to pass. There were bad storms the night before and her electricity must’ve gone out. She was leaving for work and her electric garage door wasn’t working. She opened it manually and pulled her car out. She then went back to close the door, but it was heavy with a lot of momentum and her fingers got caught between the panel openings. She managed to get all of them out…except for one.

Finally, I saw the emergency vehicles on my block. I ran out into the street and waved them down to my house. The first thing they noticed was the “blood” on my hand. “It’s Henna”, I explained.

The EMT had good news and bad news. The good news was, Karen lost “just the tip” of her finger, but unfortunately they don’t reattach the tip, there’s not enough blood flow. The bad news was, she still needed to go to the hospital. At this point, I was wondering what was taking Demos so long to get here. Just then he pulled up and explained that he got a speeding ticket!! Now, the irony of this is extraordinary because I am constantly telling Demos he drives too fast and the one time he actually has a good excuse to speed, he gets a ticket. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to getting the tiniest bit of satisfaction from that. What kind of yogi am I?

I called Karen’s sister to let her know what was going on, Karen got taken in the ambulance, and Demos and I brought Karen’s car home before heading to meet her at the hospital. When I pulled into her driveway, I saw the finger hanging out of the garage door. I can never un-see it. I had Demos take a picture of it. Why? Who knows?

I arrived at the hospital and told the nurse my friend was just brought in by ambulance. She told me I have blood on my hand. “It’s Henna,” I said. I found Karen and as we waited for her to be seen by a doctor, we started to brainstorm how she’s going to cover this up for her son’s wedding in December. We’re thinking there’s probably enough of the nail bed left to attach a long fake nail to cover the stump, or at the very least she can wear long satin gloves like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. If anyone can pull that off, it’s Karen. Believe it or not, this conversation brought us comfort.

To speed up the story– Karen’s sister and son arrived. Her sister told me I have blood on my hand, I told her it’s Henna. I left. They called in a plastic surgeon and she had a skin graft to cover the tip of her finger. They put the finger in a splint, her arm in a sling, bandaged her up, and sent her home. Her sister called me with an update and I promised to check in on her and make sure she eats…

The story’s not over.  I called Karen to say that I’m going to pick up dinner and bring it over to her. She proceeded to tell me that her finger somehow slipped out of the bandage and she couldn’t get it back in. She tried calling the doctor to no avail. I told her to keep it covered with something, ANYTHING, so it doesn’t get infected and I will be right over to take her to the walk-in emergency clinic. When I got to her house I accidentally caught a glimpse of the finger and had a mini freak-out. So much for Namaste and all that crap.

The first clinic we went to refused to see her because with the splint on the finger and the sling on the arm, it looked to them like more of an orthopedic type situation and the visit would be considered a follow-up, so they turned her away.  We decided to try one more walk-in place before heading over to the hospital ER. I said to Karen, “TELL THEM YOU HAD YOUR FUCKING FINGER CHOPPED OFF TODAY AND THE BANDAGE FELL OFF AND YOU NEED IT WRAPPED! STOP BEING SO FUCKING NICE!” They took her.

On the way home we stopped to pick up a couple of salads at a local pizza place. There was a nice man having a slice with his young son. He looked my way and pointed to my hand. I said, “It’s not blood, it’s Henna”. He said, “I know, my wife graduated with you yesterday!”

I dropped Karen off home knowing she was bandaged, fed, and not in too much pain. I felt oddly at peace. Then it hit me— Yoga Sutra 1.33! I’m summarizing here, but it says there are only four “keys” and four “locks” in the entire world. Use the correct key with the right lock and you will find peace. I showed compassion for the unhappy, one of the four key and lock combinations. Here I was thinking my yoga had failed me, when really it was what propelled me throughout my day. I went home with a renewed pride in my yoga journey. I looked down at my Henna and thought….” It really does look like blood”.

 

 

 

Only My Hairdresser Knows for Sure January 2, 2017

Filed under: friendship,Humor,middle age,single,Turning 50,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 8:51 pm
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You might recognize my title from the famous Clairol slogan. It implied that Clairol’s hair color was so natural looking that only your hairdresser knew it was dyed. However, in my case, my hairdresser knows way more than that! It could be my Real Housewives tagline!

I’ve known my hairdresser Rose since my days at McKenna Jr. High. Well, I didn’t actually “know” her, I knew “of her”. She was the one we all called “Cher” because she looked just like her. (If any of my old time friends are reading this, they know EXACTLY who I am referring to). Man was she COOL. She had a sophistication well beyond her years. I mean, she was so mature, she acted like she was in eleventh grade or something. She had long hair, wore make-up and had clothes that included black and leather, two things I wasn’t allowed to wear until I was in my twenties! I, on the other hand, was very happy in my Huckapoo shirts, Levi corduroys and Earth shoes. I had a “shag” haircut and aviator glasses (no, not sunglasses- just eye glasses to see). And man, I thought I was ROCKIN it!!

Needless to say, other than the hallways of school, our paths did not cross too often. She was busy riding on the back of motorcycles while I was in my bedroom belting the soundtrack to  Streisand’s Funny Lady. So how did these two opposites get to be the best of friends?

My hair has always been a resounding issue in my life. It is a constant source of worry (it’s too humid out, it’s too dry out, my hair is too frizzy, too flat, too short, too long, too curly…..) After high school, it took me years to grow out the layers from my shag which resulted in hair similar to Rosanna Rosanna Danna from SNL (back in the day when it was actually called Saturday Night Live not SNL- kind of like Kentucky Fried Chicken and KFC). By this time I had been through several hairdressers and I decided to try the new hip hair salon in Massapequa called Imaginations. I had my hair washed and was escorted to my chair and there to greet me was CHER! She looked as cool as ever with her big hair, cut-off sweatshirt (a la Flashdance) and motorcycle boots. I on the other hand, had my wet hair wrapped in a towel and a plastic gown over me. I hesitantly told her that I remember her as far back as Jr. High and she of course had no recollection of me. Why would she? Something tells me she didn’t go to many of the school plays or spring concerts.

She proceeded to tell me that she wanted to put layers in my hair to bring out the natural curls. WHAT? NO WAY! I had just spent a traumatic four years growing them out and you want to put them back in? She insisted she would keep the layers long and it would create beautiful soft, silky curls that will finally free me from all my hair-stress. Well, one of two things was going to happen as a result of this haircut. Either I was going to sue the salon or I was going to latch on to this girl like a puppy in a pound and never let go. I’m happy to say it was the latter.

As our friendship grew I don’t think Rose realized what she was getting herself into. When she gave birth to her first child she decided she was no longer going to work from the salon but rather out of her house. Her husband was going to build a salon set-up with a chair and sink in the spare room. I had been calling and calling for an appointment but there was no answer and I desperately needed a haircut. Finally Rose answered the phone and let me know she had given birth a day and a half ago and had just gotten back from the hospital. “What great news!”, I exclaimed! I was truly happy for her but to me the great news was that she was home and could possibly cut my hair! Never wanting to disappoint me, she told me she had nothing ready but to come over anyway. So while her mom held the baby, she washed my hair in her kitchen sink and gave me a great haircut. That was over 22 years ago and since then, my dear friend has never let me down. She has cut my hair with a bad back, migraine headaches, 2 days post surgery and wearing a mask.

But amazingly enough, as we grew older our lives became increasingly similar. We were both single moms raising our children the best we could with the circumstances we were under. We supported each other during our struggles and applauded the triumphs. We watched each other become independent, confident middle aged women being thrown back into the dating world. We cried, we sighed, we gasped but most of all we LAUGHED. It’s amazing the things you’ll open up about while your hair is saturated in dye with a shower cap on it. I can confidently say, there is nothing left unsaid between us, and I mean NOTHING!  I still chuckle when I think about the time Rose, how shall I say it, was in a “compromising” situation and all she could think of as it was happening was “wait till Jackie hears about this one!” Now with technology we don’t have to wait. We’ll send texts as a situation is unfolding so we can be there for each other in real time.

Our conversations through the years have included but were not limited to: our kids, boyfriends, sex, work, money, sex, fashion, TV, sex. And of course we often reminisce about our Jr. High days and how unlikely it was for us to become so close. But here we are. And when I say “only my hair dresser knows for sure”, the last thing I mean is hair dye!

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The True Meaning of Ordained April 28, 2014

Filed under: friendship,gay marriage — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:57 pm
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I am a Jewish minster.  I know what you’re thinking.  A  Jewish minister is an oxymoron like jumbo shrimp and sugarless candy. But I am not a contradiction. One of the definitions of minister is “a person serving as an agent for another by carrying out specified orders or functions”. I will be doing just that when I officiate my friend’s wedding. It was a long and arduous on-line process to become ordained. I had to fill in my name, address and telephone number and press “Get Ordained”. But please, no formalities are necessary. Minister Jackie will do just fine.

I will be officiating the wedding of my dearest friend John to the love of his life, Eric. It is a gay, interracial marriage with a Jewish minister. I am honored to be part of a ceremony that does not discriminate based on sexual orientation, race or religion. It’s just about the love. In New York Sate a notary republic cannot perform marriage ceremonies. But I can. This may sound like a farce, but let me explain why I think I am the most qualified person to marry these two gentlemen.

First of all, John and mine’s relationship began over a decade ago. He started teaching in the same school as me and we became quick friends. I knew when he told me I was the funniest woman he knew, he was going to be in my life for a very long time. I’m not sure John realized exactly what that meant for him.

You see, I have some issues. One of them is, I am afflicted with a new disease every week, at least in my head anyway. John has humored me through glaucoma, lymphoma, deep vein thrombosis, Lyme’s disease and most recently carpel tunnel syndrome. Several months ago, I was sitting next to a man at a bar with a terrible cough. I was sure he had given me Tuberculosis. I was with my sister when I diagnosed myself and told her I had to call John immediately to let him know of my most recent illness. She reminded me that John had just gotten his gall bladder removed and that maybe I shouldn’t bother him. Was she kidding me? Everybody knows that TB trumps gall bladder! Needless to say, I called John and he sympathetically listened as I explained my bout with TB. I mean c’mon his gall bladder surgery was laparoscopic. That’s like what, one stitch?

John is also my Karaoke manager. By that I mean, he is the lucky one who gets to go with me to Karaoke every week and listen to me sing the same songs over and over. Also, when “regulars” come up to me to say hello he quickly whispers in my ear their names because he knows there’s not a chance in hell I will remember them. He also is equipped with the names of the bar tenders, my colleagues, my neighbors, my students’ last names and distant family members because one never knows who you’re going to run into at Karaoke.

Another responsibility John has is to answer certain questions such as “How does my hair look? “, “Do I look fat in this outfit?” and “Can you notice this zit on my face?” This of course is a no-win situation for John. You might think that just to play it safe, he should lie. However, John has tried that, only to find himself in deep trouble when I see a picture of myself and clearly the zit looks like a second nose on my face. So now John has a politically correct response to which men all over the world should take heed…. “Well personally, I think your (hair) looks great, but I know it’s not how YOU like it to look”. Genius! When I ask my boyfriend similar questions I actually hear him think aloud, “Hmmmm. How would John answer this”? I think I understand now when John told him “She’s all yours!”

But I have helped John too. I have given him much advice both professionally and personally. Actually, when I first met John he wasn’t “out” to his parents yet. He was nervous about telling them and I told him I was certain they already knew. My advice was to keep it simple- sit down to dinner and say ‘I’m gay, pass the ketchup”.

And finally along came John’s love Eric and it was love at first sight (for me that is, I can’t speak for John.) He has fashion and decorating sense where John is lacking. Together they make the perfect gay man. At our first meeting we played a game. By the colors I chose Eric was able to tell me about every aspect of my personality including my sex life. This was my kind of guy! I knew when Eric told me I looked so much younger than my age; he too was going to be in my life for a very long time. I’m starting to think I’m like a duck- throw some bread at me and I’ll cling to you till you start running from the park.

So I ask, who better to marry these two men than me? They will not be giving their vows to a stranger, they will be speaking to ME, someone who loves them and is invested in their future. I am ordained by the power of this friendship. They have to answer to a higher order- ME! They just better make sure they speak the truth, because I want to look good in the pictures.

I would like to end with the Seven Blessings that are traditionally recited at Jewish weddings. Below is a non-denominational interpretation of these blessings which I feel perfectly fits the union of John and Eric. I would like to take credit for this version, but I found it on line.

  • May you be generous and giving with each other
  • May your sense of humor and playful spirit always continue to enliven your relationship
  • May you always respect the diversity of human kind
  • May you act with compassion to those less fortunate and with responsibility to the communities of which you are a part
  • May you appreciate and complement each other’s differences
  • May you always share yourselves openly with your friends and family
  • May your home be a haven of blessings and peace

  Can I hear an Amen Sista! (Okay, that one was mine!)

I love you, John and Eric and can’t wait to celebrate YOU on your special day!

Me John Eric