3lastnamesblog

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!

                             img_4770

 
 

So, here’s what happened this weekend… March 30, 2015

Filed under: family,love,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 10:14 pm
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Demos and I were heading upstate to spend a peaceful weekend at his beautiful house set on 25 secluded acres in the woods of Brown Mountain in the town of Gilboa. Before we left, Demos called a friend “up there” to make sure the roads were passable, after all, we were just coming out of one of the worst winters in history. As we were approaching his “gated community” (please do not envision some condo community, this is a metal fence between two trees) the roads were down to the pavement and there was little snow to be seen, just as his friend had said. However, his friend did not make the ascent to Demo’s property, which apparently is some country unto itself. As we were making our way up the long, winding path in the woods, the road was suddenly covered in a foot of snow. Before we could even process what we were driving in, the truck skidded off the road and we landed sideways in a ditch. Ok, looking at the pictures, we weren’t exactly sideways, but it sure felt that way from inside the truck! Despite Demos’ protests I immediately got out of the truck thinking, “If this truck is rolling over, I am not going to be in it!” So I jumped out into waist- deep snow, made my way to the trunk and immediately demanded my two Vera Bradley bags. If the truck was tipping over with Demos in it, then I needed my stuff! But the truck was stuck and so were we. We were at least a mile or more from the house with no cell service. We had no choice but to make the trek uphill in a foot of snow to the house with a landline telephone. We decided to take just the bare essentials. Demos took food and water; I took both my bags with my blow dryer, hair products, make-up, face creams, moisturizer, fuzzy robe, Ugg slippers and all my clothes. With bags in hand, I somehow made it up the mountain, sinking knee deep with every footstep. Thankfully, it was still daylight and really not that cold, but still, it was not a pretty scene. We made it to the house which had been completely closed down for the winter. Demos called a friend from the landline who arranged for someone with a tractor to come and pull his truck out of the ditch. I told Demos to just turn on the electricity and not to worry about the heat and water which had to be turned on from a crawl space under the house. We were running out of daylight and time was of the essence. He jumped on an ATV quad and started back down the mountain. The quad got stuck and he had to come back to get another one with bigger tires. That one got stuck too. Now it was dark. So with just a flashlight, Demos headed down the mountain on foot.

But, alas, woe is ME! I was alone in that house with no heat and running water! I noticed that the snow we tracked in was not even melting. The temperature in Gilboa had gone down to 14 below zero this winter and right now, the inside of the house was less than 32 degrees.  I had to think quickly and save myself. Aha, the electric space heater! I went in the bedroom, closed the door and plugged it in. And then, well, I read a magazine. For the first hour, it wasn’t so bad. Then my imagination started running away with me. What if Demos doesn’t come back? At what point do I call 911? Do I wait another hour? Two hours? You have no idea the stress and duress I was under!  Demos might’ve been in the cold, dark woods, but at least he knew what was going on! About a half hour later he came back to the house to find me frantic and hysterical crying. He couldn’t feel his hands and toes, but big deal! If he hadn’t come back soon I was going to have to melt snow to flush the toilet!

Gratefully, a couple of hundred dollars later all ended well. A huge tractor with a plow pulled the truck out of the ditch and then plowed a path all the way to Demos’ gate. That still meant we had to walk a bit of a distance to the truck every time we wanted to go out, but it was way better than being stranded. After Demos finally calmed me down, he still had to shovel the snow to get to the crawl space under the house, slither in and turn on the heat and water.

It was quite a night and we collapsed into a long, deep sleep. At least I did.  I noticed it got a little cold, and I heard Demos get out of bed, but I thought he was just hungry or thirsty. Actually, I heard him get out of bed THREE times, but I thought he was just REALLY hungry or thirsty. Turns out the heat stopped working and Demos had to get dressed, go outside, go under the house and push the reset button for the heat. Of course he didn’t want to fall asleep until he knew for sure the heat was fully working so he kept getting up to check the thermostat. I’m happy to say, when I woke up in the morning the house was toasty warm and I had no idea there was ever anything wrong with the heat. I got up and made my Honey a breakfast of eggs and delicious sausage we had picked up at the German deli on our way up.

After a relaxing morning, we set out to do some errands and pick up some things we needed for around the house. When we came home we headed back up the mountain. I was displaying symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but we were making it up the mountain with ease until…..

…we see the “neighbor’s” car stuck and completely blocking the road. They were a lovely young couple with two small beautiful children with a car full of groceries. But, who gave a shit about them! There was no f*ing way I was walking up that mountain again!!! To make matters worse, I had just found out that the delicious sausage I had eaten that morning was made from venison! How much could a girl take, I ask you? Thankfully, Demos was able to help them get their car unstuck. Unfortunately he had to BACK HIS TRUCK DOWN the winding, slippery mountain so they could get their car to safe ground. Then they piled in our truck with all their stuff and we drove them up the mountain to their “gate”. I have no idea how, where, when or if those people ever got out of their house again, but I’m sure they figured something out. I can’t worry about them. I have myself to worry about. The snow will probably be melted in a few weeks anyway.

So, still suffering from PTSD, I decided I did not want to go see a movie in town (45 minutes away) that night. Heaven forbid something impeded us from getting up that mountain again, I would just lose it. So I cooked a yummy dinner and fell asleep by 9:00PM. It’s exhausting watching Demos do all that work.

That night the house was filled with strange happenings (the ceiling fan turned on by itself, weird noises, loud bangs) all of which Demos had to get out of bed to investigate.  I didn’t even care if the house was haunted, as long as I didn’t have to climb that mountain again. In the morning, Demos left to try to dig out the two quads that were stuck in the snow. (No luck, by the way). I took a shower while he was gone. When I came out of the shower I found him sitting in the kitchen with his foot in a bucket of snow. He had badly twisted his ankle! OMG! Are you ok? Are you in pain? Can you drive? Does this mean I have to lug everything to the car myself???? But my handsome, gallant boyfriend told me he would do everything himself. He said he’d rather have two sprained ankles than risk me getting one. Awe!! How sweet!! But then I realized he’d rather have two sprained ankles than me having one  because that would mean  a lot less whining and complaining and no trip to the emergency room. So Demos piled up a sled with all of our things and made a few trips to the truck, hobbling in the snow, pulling the sled behind him.  Ah, chivalry is not dead!

As we headed home and reflected on our weekend, Demos said, “Ya know, as long as we are together, it’s a good weekend.”  “How true”, I said.  “As long as we’re together and I have a blow dryer with an outlet near a mirror, its good weekend!”

 

One Year Later November 19, 2013

Filed under: Eulogy,family,middle age,Mothers,Mothers/daughters — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:41 am
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This was written for my mother’s unveiling on the first anniversary of her death. It was meant for family and close friends but it received such a  positive response that I decided to add it to my blogs…..

One Year Later

Hi Mommy. I know you watch over us and probably know everything that has happened in the past year, but the thing I miss most is talking to you. So I want to use this opportunity to update you on the family, plus you can’t answer me back….

You’d be happy to know that your beautiful home sold in one week for the asking price. Moreover, you should feel quite flattered that the couple who bought it wanted everything- the furniture, window treatments, art work and even the accessories. You should be even more flattered to know that it was a gay couple, and well, you know they have the best taste.

Since your passing Marla has spent literally every day of the past year settling your estate. For the last 12 months she has been in contact with real estate attorneys, estate lawyers, expediters and stock brokers. She has been faxing, emailing, copying, scanning and over-nighting documents. She has been the point person for the credit card companies, Medicare, the health insurance company, the hospital, the ambulance, the wheelchairs, the hospital bed, and the oxygen tanks. To put it in one word, she has been “Marla”.

I, on the other hand, have been busy fulfilling your dying wish for me. I joined AARP. I kept hearing your voice “For sixteen dollars you get so many discounts”. So I finally did it. And I have to say, I love the insulated tote bag they sent me and I never miss out on my free donut at Dunkin Donuts with every purchase of a large beverage.

Your grandchildren continue to thrive. Robby and Lindsay finally moved into their co-op. They made it into a modern, cozy nest for the two of them. I know, Ma- it’s hard to believe Robby is a married man and owns real-estate in Manhattan, until of course you see all his Legos displayed everywhere you look in the apartment. That Lindsay is something, isn’t she Ma?

Now wait till you here this one, Mommy. Remember when Sam changed his major from Architecture to Industrial Design and Marla called me at school to tell me we had a “family situation”. Well, believe it or not, Sam is now working at an architecture firm, doing architecture work! I can hear the “I told you so” from your grave. But the truth is, he’s hoping it will lead to a job in the design department, which is of course what he really wants to do. And Mommy, if you saw his new Facebook profile picture, he looks more like George Clooney than ever.

Now on to your Julie.  You’d be proud to know that Julie now has her own social media company ”Julie Katz Inc. “ She has been working very diligently establishing her company’s presence on the internet as well as keeping abreast of all the new trends in marketing. Now all she needs is a client. Kidding aside, we are all very proud of her but Julie lost her greatest advocate when she lost her Nana. I’m sure by now all of South Florida would’ve known about your granddaughter’s Fortune 500, international marketing business, because to you, that’s exactly what it would be.

I think out of all your grandchildren, Gabby felt your loss the most being that she had so many milestones this year- prom, graduation, getting accepted to FIT, her 18th birthday. Your picture is the screensaver on her phone and it was her idea to wear your “Cecile” bracelet to all her special occasions so she felt like you were there with her. As a matter of fact, she told me the only reason she was looking forward to your unveiling was so she could wear every piece of your jewelry.

Well, it’s true what they say- life goes on. But it is never the same.  As long as we have each other to lean on (and Gary to keep watching over us) we should all be fine. Just know Mommy that we all so deeply miss you and think about you with every passing day. We promise to honor your legacy by continuing to live a life of which you can be proud.

 

Blog Interrupted May 22, 2013

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Mothers/daughters,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:01 pm
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    I originally started blogging because I had a lot of free time, which is just a nice way of saying I had no life. But now my life is becoming busy and it’s interrupting my blog! Here’s what you’ve missed:

#1) I learned how to play Craps   I was at the Tropicana in Atlantic City. I had always watched my father play craps and I was interested in learning. So I casually sauntered up to the craps table. It was a fifteen dollar minimum bet, which for me was out of the question, so I just watched. The only thing I knew about craps was that you don’t want to throw a 7 or 11.  As the game progressed I asked questions of the man standing next to me as well as the dealer who after a while gave me that look to either bet or step away from the table. So eventually, with much trepidation, I took the plunge and placed 2 chips on the table. Apparently I placed them at a point in the game when they can’t be placed and they were handed back to me.  But the dealer talked me through and gradually I started to get the hang of the game, placing more and more chips on the table with each round. Each player seemed to get three or four chances to throw the dice and before long the dice were passed to me. So after choosing my dice I took my very first roll. The dice barely made it across the table. “SEVEN”! Oh no! I felt terrible that on my first roll I was out. But I immediately learned that at certain times of the game it is GOOD to roll a seven and that was one of them! The dice kept being returned to me and I kept rolling. There was a crowd gathering and lots of hootin’ and hollerin’. A crowd of young men in their twenties kept cheering me on, “Let’s go Shooter, C’mon Shooter!!” (Apparently I was “Shooter”.) At one point the man standing next to me told me if rolled an eight the table was going to erupt. I had no idea why I wanted an eight, but I prayed for one anyway. “EIGHT!” the stickman shouted and the table went crazy. This exhilaration continued for the better part of an hour. When my roll was finally over everyone around the table applauded and I got high fives throughout the night in the casino. I was a star.  But I forgot to mention the best part- my winnings! One dollar.

#2) I shot a gun. Well, a rifle actually. Now before you start to panic, I did not go from being a JAP (Jewish American Princess) to an NRA militia maniac (as my friend Dean put it). I simply shot at a target and was quite awful at it too. Perhaps I should have visualized an ex boyfriend or two… But, the most fun came from reading the comments to a picture I posted on Facebook of me aiming the rifle: “Oh G-d, you’ve turned into Sarah Palin” (Shelley) and “This gives new meaning to Jackie’s big guns” (Scott) as well as the myriad of inquiries if I had been kidnapped or joined a cult. Nope, none of that, just some good old fashioned red-neck fun. I reckon.

#3) I rode in the back of an ambulance. (No, this had no connection to me shooting a gun.) I was with my daughter, Gabby, who was in severe pain (She’s absolutely fine now). I called an ambulance because we needed to get to the hospital FAST! When the ambulance arrived the EMT strolled into the house like he was arriving at a garden party. “CAN YOU WALK A LITTLE F—ING FASTER PLEASE; MY DAUGHTER IS ROLLING ON THE FLOOR IN F—ING PAIN!!”  He neither altered his gate nor commented on my remark and after what seemed an eternity, we finally left for the hospital. When I inquired why we weren’t speeding and passing red lights. I was informed that only “happens in movies”.  Huh?? “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE F—ING KIDDING ME! WHY WOULD I CALL A F—ING AMBULANCE THEN? JUST YESTERDAY TWO F—ING AMBULANCES SPED BY ME!”  Where is my rifle now?? I’m pretty sure the EMT was happier to arrive at the hospital than I was. However, things weren’t much better at the hospital. It’s as if they did not see my poor daughter lying on the stretcher writhing in pain. But after much yelling and cursing and moaning and groaning (that was from me, not the patient) they finally gave her pain medication. By now it was the middle of the night and needless to say, I was a bit out of it. Thankfully my sister was with me (with Dunkin Donuts muffins and coffee of course). My daughter was finally resting quietly. The nurse asked me about diarrhea, vomiting and fever and when I told her I had none of that, my sister oh so gently reminded me, “THE NURSES ARE TALKING ABOUT GABBY, YOU IDIOT! “  I am sure the hospital staff is still talking about me.

Next up, I’m planning on going horseback riding. The last time I came close to a horse was in fourth grade. I was afraid to go near it and I threw-up from the smell.  Either I’ve evolved or I’m going to get one hell of a blog out of it.

 

Timing is Everything March 4, 2013

Filed under: Humor,Hurricane Sandy,middle age,Mothers/daughters,Real Estate,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:04 am
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If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that I don’t like change (except for husbands apparently).  Usually the things I use like perfume, make-up, shampoos etc are all eventually discontinued because after 10 years I’m the only consumer that hasn’t moved on to something new and improved. I’ve had the same hairstyle since middle school,  I’ve taught at the same school for over 25 years, and I’ve lived in Massapequa, NY my entire life (except for  2 years when I lived in West Babylon which I refer to as the Dark Ages). As a matter of fact, most of my life I’ve lived on the very same block.

So when I announced on Facebook I was listing my house, you can imagine the shockwave that was sent throughout the internet. I could hear the collective gasp of my cyber-world friends. But not to worry, I was only planning to move to Southgate- the condominium complex right here in Massapequa.  I hadn’t been totally possessed by aliens.

It was an excruciatingly hard decision to list my house, made with much apprehension and trepidation. But my youngest is leaving for college in the fall and it’s time to down size.  Despite my anxiety I began the cleaning out process. Thirty black garbage bags and several panic attacks later I was ready for an open house.  It was scheduled for Sunday, October 28, 2012… yes, the day before Super Storm Sandy. Yes, I live by the water. And yes I had to evacuate, as did half of Massapequa.

My real-estate agent suggested we go through with the open house.  I had to start getting ready to evacuate so with my insurance papers, deed to the house, birth certificates, passports, Social Security cards, irreplaceable photos and diamond jewelry, I headed to the local bagel place to hide out for 2 hours while my open house was taking place. I was all alone except for one other person in my neighborhood who also happened to be having an open house that day- my sister!!  Crazy loves company. There the two of us sat , staring out the glass windows, watching people frantically prepare for the storm that the TV hanging above us was dubbing “Frankenstorm”.  Needless to say, no one came to see our houses that day. And no one has come since.

I’m not going to lie, my neighborhood was hit hard. Not as bad as some communities, but the trailers, storage pods and construction crews are all still present even after all these months.  However, MY house stayed dry- no water whatsoever! My sister was not as lucky, but her water was at least limited to her basement.  Since the storm I’ve been asked if I’m going to lower the price of my house considering my neighborhood went from being “prestigious” to a flood zone.  Are you kidding me? I STAYED DRY IN SANDY!  I think that’s a major selling point!

That is if someone would only come see my house! It’s a sprawling 5 bedroom expanded ranch with an open floor plan and neutral palette with marina and beach club rights. (That last sentence was definitely a plug. Am I using my blog as a platform for shameless self promotion? You’re damn right I am!)

But I wouldn’t exactly call myself “unscathed”. In my haste to get home after the storm, anxious to see the potential damage to my house, I tried to drive through a “puddle” the size of Lake Erie. Of course my car went dead within 10 seconds and eventually was declared totaled. My brother in law witnessed the entire incident. The good news is, he was kind enough to wade into water waste deep and push my daughter and me off the road to safety. The bad news is, he will never let me forget the extent of my stupidity.

  At this moment I am having an open house and am sitting in Starbucks writing this blog (the bagel place has bad Karma). Don’t buy my house if you don’t like it, but at least come to see it! Is that too much to ask?

Timing is everything, and mine couldn’t be any worse.

 House

 

A One of a Kind Story February 5, 2013

Filed under: middle age,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:47 am
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 I knew “it” was in the box labeled “Jackie’s Memory Stuff”.  In that box was everything from my wooden shoes from Holland (didn’t all kids go on family vacations to Europe?), to the 1991 Massapequa Post cover of my sister and I with our kids on our lap coming down the big slide at the St. Rose Fair (the irony of the Jews at the St. Rose Fair) and of course all those pictures and letters that someday my daughters will read when I’m gone (just like Bridges of Madison County) and realize  that their mom was not sitting home alone on the weekends they were at their dad’s.

Just as I hoped, I found “it” – my very first letter to my pen pal.

It started back in second grade. (You’re thinking to yourself, wait, isn’t she 50? How does something from 43 years ago have any relevance?  Be patient!) It was the 1969-70 school year. My teacher (Miss Rice) announced that we were going to have “pen pals”. She explained she had a friend that taught second grade in Ft. Wayne Indiana and they were going to match up their students so we could write to each other.

A few weeks later a letter arrived at my house. (In those days nobody worried about giving out your home address). It was dated January 16, 1970. Enclosed was a picture of the most beautiful blond-haired girl I had ever seen.  It read:

Dear Jackie,

          I am your new pen pal. I have a puppy and his name is Bullet. Do you have a pet? What is his name? I go to bed at 8:30 and sometimes 9 o’clock. What time do you go to bed? I have one sister and a dad and a mom and me and my puppy. Do you have a sister or a brother? Please write soon.

                                                                                      Your friend,

                                                                                      Beth Anne Nartker

From that moment on a lifelong friendship was born. Beth and I continued to write non-stop through the rest of elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. I remember telling her I was engaged….

Then of course real life stepped in and the letters became farther apart and eventually ended. But not for one moment had I ever stopped thinking about her and wondering how her life was going.   Remember, there was no internet, Google, Classmates.com, or Facebook back then.

But now there is! A couple of years ago I had the idea to search for her on Facebook. I used the first name “Beth Anne” and came up empty. After months of trying different variations, finally up came a picture of the same beautiful blond-haired girl. I recognized her immediately.  I messaged her on Facebook, “I’m not sure if you remember me….”

Well she replied that of course she remembered me, had been thinking of me as well and had also tried to find me on Classmates and Facebook . (But let’s face it, with all my last names, that’s an impossible feat!)

We picked up right where we left off, taking time to update each other on the past 25 years.  Just recently, after Hurricane Sandy, Beth (now living in Arizona) reached out to me and the girls. I expressed my gratitude for her concern especially from her of all people. She didn’t understand what I meant by “you of all people”. I explained that her concern meant even more to me, considering we had never even met! She responded, “I paused for a moment when I read your comment that we have never met as I actually forget that is the case! I feel I know you so well and consider you a dear friend – and we will meet some day. : ) xoxo”

So, it can happen. Two people who only correspond through the written word (we have never even spoken on the phone) can cultivate a life-long meaningful relationship. Perhaps I should’ve written to inmates instead of going on Match.

So I ask. Do we meet and run the risk of realizing we are total strangers that have nothing in common? Or do we give ourselves the chance to finally wrap our arms around the lifelong friend we’ve grown to care so much about?  I’d ask somebody who’s been through this before, but like I promised, this is a one of a kind story.

pen pal letter 1 (2)pen pal letter 2

pen pal pic        pan pal recent

 

Babs and Me October 18, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 10:19 pm
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Last Saturday night, I’m getting ready to go to go out,  looking in the mirror,  blow drying my hair, singing mmm-mmm- memories light the corners of my mind…. when ZAP, my blow dryer suddenly sparks and begins a speedy, burning, smokey death. Now at any other time in my life, this would be cause for an all out emotional breakdown, but tonight was different. I was going to see my lifelong idol, Barbra Streisand, at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. Nothing could interfere with my sheer elation. I grabbed my back-up dryer and continued ….misty water colored memories…

I was seven years old when my mother took me to see Hello Dolly (1969). I remember the experience till this day because it was then that my love affair with Barbra began. I thought she was beautiful, funny and had the best voice I had ever heard. (Exactly how many voices had I heard at seven?) About a year later I discovered the soundtrack to the movie Funny Girl. That movie was released before Hello Dolly, but I was too young to see it in the theater. By now I had mastered all of Barbra’s mannerisms and inflections. At eight years old my dream was to someday play Fanny Brice on stage, but until then, I’d just have to save “Don’t Rain on My Parade” for my bedroom mirror.  As I got older, my obsession only grew. While other kids were buying Grateful Dead and Rolling Stones albums, I was buying the soundtrack to Yentl. My devotion never wavered.   I own every biography ever written about her, VCR tapes of her TV specials and every one of her CD’s. (Originally I had cassettes and had to replace them all with CD’s). They are organized in chronological order in a special case. I don’t have any photo albums or scrapbooks of family vacations, but I have a completely cataloged, preserved shrine to Barbra.

If you know anything about Miss Streisand, you know she stopped doing concerts after her “Happening in Central Park” Concert because she forgot the lyrics and developed stage fright. That was in 1969.  Growing up I knew I was never going to be able to see my idol in concert. But in 1994, there was an announcement. Barbra Streisand was going on tour. After waiting 25 years, and at 32 my lifelong dream was about to be fulfilled.

My sister and I were able to get unbelievable seats from someone in the music business. I remember getting to Madison Square Garden and feeling waves of electricity run through my body when I saw BARBRA STREISAND on the marquis. I insisted we arrive early and for about 30 minutes my sister and I were the only ones in the garden. Slowly the fans started to arrive as did the stars. Right now in front of me I have the actual piece of paper that my sister and I used to write down all the stars that we saw arriving. They included Liza Minnelli, Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols, Meryl Streep, Sydney Pollack, and Harry Bellefonte.  The anticipation was palpable.

When Barbra stepped out on the stage, I wept like I had just held my baby for the first time. I can say without hesitation that it was one of the most memorable, important nights of my life.  I’ve had the program stored safely away for the last 18 years. I have no idea where the deed to my house is, but thankfully I can get my hands on that program in a moment’s notice.

Which brings me to last Saturday’s concert. I know what you’re thinking….what about the last concert she did about 7 years ago? Well honestly, I didn’t go because I thought it could never live up to the concert I had already seen. Right or wrong it was a decision I made and I have to live with it. But now Barbra is 70 and I couldn’t miss what could be my last opportunity.

This time I went with my friend John. You know you’re a mega Streisand fan when you can tell a gay man things about Barbra he didn’t already know. As the opening montage was playing on the screen I wondered how many people recognized Barbra  in her role as Miss Marmelstein in her first Broadway show “ I can get it for You Wholesale” which is where she met Elliot Gould with whom she had her son Jason. Or noticed the picture of her performing at the Bon Soir- one of her first night club appearances in 1960 (two years before I was born.)

The entire concert I was keenly aware I was in the presence of greatness. It was another unforgettable night with another program to preserve and protect. Over the past 50 years Barbra has only performed 84 concerts and at least I was at two of them. I never did get to star as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl, but I do sing “Don’t Rain on My Parade” at Karaoke with the same passion and pleasure as the little girl in the bedroom mirror……….. The way…. we…. weeere.

 

Best Friends Forever (I Hope) August 30, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Turning 50,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:36 am
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I have been blessed with many great friends in my life, but one stands out among the rest. It’s my BFF Liz.  It’s a deeply rooted friendship. We celebrate our children’s milestones, we applaud each other’s successes, we keep our deepest secrets and we mourn our greatest losses.  We met when we were just young teens in Jr. High and our friendship has spanned more than thirty years. It’s an enduring relationship because we give and take. She gives, I take.

In high school, Liz and I were very different. She played sports; I was in drama club and chorus. But she was very supportive of my interests. As a matter of fact, Liz never missed one of my performances. Whether it was a concert or four nights of a play, I could always count on her to be in the audience.  Now ask me how many of Liz’s games I attended. Not many.  And by not many, I mean none.  Well, I was busy with rehearsals!  Plus, it wasn’t like I’d be in a heated auditorium with comfy seats. I’d have to climb steep bleachers in my high heels and endure bad-hair weather! (In our yearbook there’s an outdoor picture of me and Liz. She wrote, “One time in four years your hair was messed up; glad somebody got a picture of it!”)

Liz and I both stayed home for college. We commuted everyday to school and had part-time jobs. She worked at Harmon Drugs, I worked at”the mall”.  After work, around 9:30 PM we would meet and go to a diner. One night we went to TWO diners. Those were wild and crazy times. But it was during those years that Liz started traveling with my family. My sister was married and my parents wanted me to have a companion, so Liz came along. My favorite story was when Liz and I met two cute guys our age in a Florida hotel lounge (the drinking age was 18 back then).  I claimed the short blonde; she had the tall brown haired guy. We went up to their hotel suite. (Only now do I understand why my father went totally ballistic when he found out about that.) After some alone “couple” time Liz asked if we could switch guys and I gave her the blonde. So don’t say I never did anything for her!

Time quickly passed and before you knew it we graduated college and were married women. I was the first to have a baby and as luck would have it, Liz wound up babysitting Julie while I taught school.  Her son had just been born and she stopped working in the city. She needed the money and I needed the sitter so it worked out perfectly for both of us. Many years later, it was just assumed she would watch Gabby. We never even discussed it. On Labor Day, Liz just said, “I’ll pick Gabby up tomorrow” and that was that.  Of course, what she didn’t tell me was that she was pregnant (with her second child).  She didn’t want me to worry that I’d have no one to watch Gabby for the few weeks after she gave birth. So she waited until she had found a fill-in to tell me.  All in one breath she said “I’m pregnant but I HAVE SOMEBODY TO WATCH GABBY!” Gee, if I had known, perhaps I wouldn’t have asked her to “help me” put together my patio furniture the week before.  There she was on her hands and knees, hammering and screwing while I’m pouring her iced tea.  How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?

Some things never change. Last Summer I wanted to fill in my garden beds with some perennials. Liz graciously volunteered to bring over some cuttings from her own garden to save me the expense of buying new plants. She came over with all the plants, a huge bag of soil and a shovel. (She knew me well enough to know that there was no way I owned a shovel, let alone ever dug a hole.) So, she dug the holes and I put in the plants. It was extremely hot out and I was sweating profusely. I said to Liz, “Ya know, I don’t remember ever sweating this much as a kid when I did manual labor”. Liz’s response to me was, “I don’t remember you ever doing manual labor!”

A year ago was Hurricane Irene.  I love when I tell people I had to evacuate and they picture me in a high school gym on a cot. The truth is, Liz opened her home to me and it was like staying in a Bed and Breakfast. She made a gourmet dinner and for breakfast the next morning (after a sleepless night) she made a fresh pot of coffee, eggs, bacon and English muffins. Would it have killed her to make potatoes?

Of course I told Liz my next blog was going to be about her.  Kiddingly she asked, “Am I going to read it and wonder why we’re still friends?”  But the truth is, I had already asked myself that same question.  So I decided to dig out our yearbook and look back at our relationship.  She wrote, “What I love about you most of all is your outstanding wit and personality which seems to draw people to you… Knowing you has made me a better person… You instilled confidence in me I guess I always lacked…Your friendship means more to me than I could ever put down in words.”  After reading that, I realized I must’ve been giving something all these years!

She ended with, “Remember the old and look forward to the new”.  And that’s exactly what we’ve done for the last three decades. Best friends forever?  Not a doubt in my mind.

 

Om Sweet Om July 7, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues,Yoga — 3lastnamesblog @ 12:03 pm
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If you’ve been reading my blogs, you should be able to sense that I think… a lot…all day long…about every possible scenario… in every aspect of my life. I tend to “what if” the hours away, which can lead to a”bit” of anxiety (those who know me are laughing right now at the “bit”). Ok, I’m a little on the nervous side. But I’ve been that way my entire life. For instance, my daughter is now in Eastern Europe and Israel for the summer; I wouldn’t even go to day camp. At least I own up to it.

A little over a year ago, I was discussing the approaching summer vacation with my therapist.  She knows I become anxious over the summer because I have too much time to think. She suggested I take up yoga. Now why didn’t I think of that!? It’s meditative and I happen to be pretty flexible (which if you’ve been lucky enough to be with me at a party  that’s serving alcohol,  you’ve probably seen me attempt to put my leg around my neck.)

So I immediately began to investigate the best yoga studio. All arrows pointed me to Om Tara Yoga Studio in Massapequa. Next, I had to get a great yoga outfit. If I was going to make an ass out of myself, I at least wanted to be fashionable doing it. And let’s not forget I needed a fancy yoga mat with matching carrying case. Studio- check.  Outfit- check.  Mat- check. Now all I had to do was actually go.

I’ll always remember my first class.  I didn’t want anybody going with me. When I was there, I didn’t want to make new friends. I just wanted to remain anonymous. My instructor’s name was Barbara, a young sweet girl. There were lit candles and incense burning. It seemed quirky yet somehow soothing.  I had NO CLUE how to do the poses, but it was a supportive atmosphere. During a part called “savasana” you’re supposed to just lie there and not think, but of course I was making a grocery list.  At the end, everyone (except me) chanted “Om”, which up until then I thought was just a myth and quite frankly seemed silly.

Fast forward a year.

My goal of remaining anonymous failed tremendously. Within a few sessions I made a dear yoga buddy and it turned out my yoga instructor, Barbara, was not only Jewish, but she blogs! Now, I don’t “do” yoga, I “practice” Yoga. I call poses “asanas” and I know them by their Sanskrit names. I know the 7 chakras and the colors associated with them. I use ujjayi breath, yoga mudra, focus on my drishti and “om” louder than anyone in the room.  Plus, I have a killer collection of yoga pants.

But I still have a far from perfect practice. My shoulders need to relax during Virabhdrasana 2 (Warrior 2) , my hips are uneven during  Trikanasana (Triangle Pose)  and the owner of the studio has remarked that my pinky toe (yes, my pinky toe) is positioned incorrectly during  Dandasana  (Staff Pose).  Alas, I will never be going to the yoga Olympics.  However, if there’s a cute, straight guy in class, I can hold in my stomach continuously for an hour and half while stretching, extending, inverting, twisting, bending and balancing. How many young yoginis can say that?

I may still make a “To Do” list in my head during savasana, but I can say without hesitation that I am my happiest, calmest self when my yoga class is over…at least until I check my cell phone. Hey, temporary peace is better than no peace.  Namaste.