3lastnamesblog

A Hunting We Will Go November 16, 2014

Filed under: family,Humor,Mothers,Mothers/daughters,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 3:26 am
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My boyfriend hunts. This is quite extraordinary considering we met in yoga and I can’t think of anything more un-yoga like than hunting. However once I got past all the Bambi parables, I was able to accept it and have even learned quite a bit about the hunting “culture”.

I used to think hunting was just grabbing your rifle and heading for the woods. No, no, no! Hunting is actually a sport with rules and regulations. Hunters first must obtain a license and will only hunt during the legal season which is just two weeks in November.  Some hunters have motion detectors on their secluded property with monitors in the house so as not to miss any potential game while they sleep. They rise in nearly the middle of the night, shower with special soap that eliminates any and all human scent. They dress in camouflage coats, orange hats and heavy boots. They set out for the woods in the dark of night, rifle in hand, climb up to a tree stand and…..WAIT.

Yes, you heard me correctly. Hunters don’t really hunt, they WAIT. They sit and hope for a deer to come to THEM. Well no wonder it’s such big deal when you finally kill one! Yes, it takes spot on reflexes, and precision aim, but still, wouldn’t it be easier and quicker to just go find the deer?

This is why women don’t hunt animals. We don’t have time to sit around and wait. However, we do hunt; it just doesn’t involve deer and woods. For instance, I just went hunting last week. Let me tell you about it.

My daughters (Julie and Gabby) and I had just finished a lovely Sunday dinner I had prepared. Julie, on her way home, dropped Gabby at the train station.  Gabby called me from the station and said that Julie can’t find her cell phone (a brand new iphone) and asked if by any chance she had left it behind. I searched and searched but found nothing. Julie then drove back to the house to search herself. Nothing. In addition, we used flashlights and emptied every item from her car. Nothing. The locator feature didn’t work because the phone was dead.  Finally it occurred to Julie that she may have driven away with the cell phone on the hood of her car, remembering that she put it there while she was making room in her backseat for Gabby’s things.  I immediately told her to go trace her path but she told me she had already done so on her way back.

Now I could tell you about the screaming and yelling on my part, but that’s not the point of the story. And in hindsight, I can’t really fault her, because that particular gene she has definitely inherited from me considering there is not a store, restaurant, or restroom in which I have not left my cell phone, pocketbook, keys, glasses, wallet, umbrella or all of the above.

So, Julie went home and I was left alone with my despair. I got into bed and tried to relax.  I watched TV for about 45 minutes but something was gnawing at my gut.  My motherly instincts were telling me to go hunt for the phone. So I rose from my bed in the dark of night, put on my robe and fuzzy slippers, and with car keys in hand headed out into the cold, windy night. Slowly and methodically I traced the route to the train station, waving on the cars behind me to go ahead. Then after about 2 miles…I FOUND THE PHONE! There in the reflection of my high beams, like a deer in the headlights, was the pink Otter Box. With my spot on reflexes and precision aim, I pulled up next to the phone, opened the car door and swooped up the phone into my hand. SCORE!!  The phone only had some minor damage which was able to be fixed! HEIGH HO THE DAIRY- O!! If I could mount that phone on a plaque and hang it in my living room I would!

So to all the women out there that have saved the day, I say this. We may not hunt with a license, special wardrobe or a weapon, but our instincts are KILLER!

 

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

 

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

 

My Mother’s Eulogy November 12, 2012

Filed under: Eulogy,Mothers,Mothers/daughters,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 4:19 pm
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Fifteen years ago at my father’s funeral my sister and I each wrote eulogies. At the shiva my mom asked, “What are you going to say about me, that I made a great banana cake?”Well it happens that a few weeks ago I told my mom that I’ve had that opening line to her eulogy for years and years. At first I wouldn’t tell her but then I thought why not; it’s not like it’s going to spoil it for her! So when I told her what it was she laughed and said “I still think the same thing!”

Due to my mother’s extraordinary strength, she was able to live alone in her home throughout her illness. Two weeks ago my mother called 911 and was rushed to the ER. Turned out she was passing a kidney stone- no easy feat for a woman in her condition. I came down to Florida and when I walked into her house I thought to myself what a beautiful, bright, spotless, airy, fresh home it was. Everything was in its place- the bed was made, no dishes in the sink. No one could ever tell that an old sickly woman lived there, let alone one who was rushed off to the hospital. If I had been rushed off by ambulance and someone came into my house, they would think it was looted. But my mother’s home looked like it could be photographed for a magazine. I remember thinking she will never get the hospice services she wants with a container closet as neat and organized as hers. But the epitome of her organization was leaving my sister and me all the information we would need to plan her funeral right on her kitchen table. Well actually, the note was addressed to just my sister. My mother had enough foresight to know that Marla would manage her grief by springing into action mode, while all I’d want to do is nap and have cinnamon Pop-Tarts (which of course, she had a box of in her pantry).

Somehow my mother was always right. I would speak to her every day on the phone and a typical conversation would go something like this…

” Hey Ma, what’s doing?

“What should be doing?”

“How do you feel?”

“Eh whatever, but what, you have a cold?”

“I don’t have a cold, Ma”

“Well you sound stuffy; you have a cold don’t you?”

Ma, I feel completely fine, I DO NOT HAVE A COLD!”

“Alright. What are you doing this weekend?”

“I’m going to the beach on Sunday.”

“Sunday? I heard rain for Sunday in New York”

“Ma, it’s supposed to be beautiful on Sunday. You’re telling ME the forecast for New York from Florida?”

Well, I never did go to the beach on Sunday…. because it was raining…and I had a cold.

Of course if you know anything about my mother, you know she lived for her grandchildren, Robby, his wife Lindsay, Sam, Julie, and Gabby. She somehow made them each feel like they were her favorite to the point that they would actually argue over it. Robby would say, “Nana loves ME the most because I’m the first born grandchild. Julie would say, “Nana loves ME the most because my mom and I lived with her and grandpa for 2 years. Gabby would say, “Nana loves ME the most because I’m the baby of the family”. And Sam would say, “Nana loves ME the most because she thinks I look like George Clooney!” But the love she gave them was only mirrored by the love she received. Seldom have I ever seen grandchildren that adored their grandmother the way they do. And to their credit, she was well aware of their adoration till her very last day.

Robby and Lindsay’s’ wedding was this past August (2012). We knew there was no way my mom was going to pass before then and risk dampening the festivities. She wasn’t able to be there but she was able to watch it streaming live on her computer, connected to her TV. Like everything else in her final years, she made the most of it. She invited friends and family, catered food and created her own celebration. She wanted to be included in all the talk and excitement and tried never to seem maudlin that she couldn’t attend, even though we all knew it was killing her inside. When my mother finally received the DVD of the wedding she spent hours and hours poring over the footage- rewinding, freeze framing, slow motion- it was like she was investing who shot JFK.

Gratefully, my mother’s mind was 100% until her last breath. Her friends and family were not ready to let her go, but she wanted to go. Independent and strong till the very end, she wanted to end her life on her own terms, with grace and her dignity intact- and that is exactly what she achieved.

And about that banana cake…Just a few days ago Gabby and I were cleaning out the refrigerator at the beginning of what is now day 9 of the power outage from Hurricane Sandy. I found in the freezer a piece of banana cake that my mother had made that I’ve been saving. I don’t know why I’d been saving it, but for some reason I never wanted to throw it out. Gabby said, “Mom, no matter what, don’t ever, ever throw out that piece of cake no matter how much mold it gets covered in.” So now in my empty refrigerator sits baking soda and the last “piece” of my mother we will ever have.

Mommy, I love you so, so much. Rest in Peace, you’ve earned it.

 

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.

 

Nothing Says I love You like Chicken Cutlets July 30, 2012

Filed under: Humor,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 12:45 am
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It must’ve been about ten years ago. My friend Nancy was driving us to Jones Beach. It was a bright sunny morning; the windows were down, our hair was blowing, the radio blasting when suddenly I yelled out “OH MY GOD, THE CHICKEN CUTLET!! Not  a sentence most people say, but I kept screaming “THE CHICKEN CUTLET! THE CHICKEN CUTLET”!!

You see my nephew Sam was away at sleep away camp. The only thing he asked my sister to bring him on visiting day was one of Aunt Jackie’s chicken cutlets. I had one frozen in the freezer and was supposed to drop it off and I forgot.  Fortunately, my sister lives around the corner and was able to pick it up.  If he didn’t get that chicken cutlet I would never have forgiven myself.

Sounds ridiculous, I know. But in my family, my chicken cutlets have become an expression of my love.  It’s an “event” when Aunt Jackie is making her famous chicken cutlets. Word gets around and the family gathers together for what is sure to be a special meal.  It takes me hours to prepare. Not only do I prepare enough for the dinner, but I make enough to give home to both my nephews (who are now 23 and 26). It is somewhere around the second hour of frying that I think to myself “Why can’t they like my roast beef?”

Now, just so you know, my nephews, for whom I would throw myself in front of a train, refer to me as “Crazy” Aunt Jackie. They try to tell me it’s a term of endearment.  So while writing this blog I texted them and asked them to give me some examples of why I’m “crazy”. Well the good news is, they didn’t come up with anything off the top of their heads. The bad news is, about 24 hours later they called me with a long list, and yes, I’m indeed crazy. It’s enough for a blog of its own.  But the one thing they didn’t mention was the time I took them out for lunch to the International Café. They were probably 5 and 8 years old.  I didn’t know the restaurant only accepted cash so I had to leave to go to the bank and I left them as collateral.

My nephew, Robby, is getting married in just a couple of weeks. I recently attended his fiancée Lindsay’s bridal shower. The invitation asked to bring a recipe. I wrestled with the idea of giving her my chicken cutlet recipe, but I just couldn’t do it. If she had the recipe then Robby wouldn’t have to come to Aunt Jackie’s for his chicken cutlets; he could get them right at home. That was not happening! Instead I gave her a “recipe for a successful marriage”. I wrote, whatever advice I give you, do the opposite!

I’m sure you all have your own favorites- your mother’s chicken soup, your Nana’s banana cake, your aunt’s sweet potato pie. But is it really that much better than any you’ve ever had, or does it have more to do with the person that’s making it? People ask me all the time what makes my chicken cutlets so special. I tell them, it’s not the ingredients; it’s being around the table with the people you love most that makes everything taste better.

So I’m sure Robby and Sam will add to their list that I wrote an entire blog about chicken cutlets.  Yes, I’m crazy, but I think they love me all the more for it!