A Day of Remembrance

The Easter season is the most poignant Christian observance with its many themes of persecution, mockery, innocence, death, and, ultimately, triumph over Death.  Christ  winds up his 33 years on earth with an accelerated round of appearances and talks designed to spread God's word before he goes.  Christ is crucified, dead and buried on Good Friday.  He is risen two days later to walk among his disciples as proof of his divinity compelling them to tell the story.  It's an amazing affirmation of Life after Death.

My parents, my brother and I celebrated Easter in the same manner each year.  Mother would take us to shop for an "Easter outfit" to wear to church.  Sunday morning, dressed in our finest, we would have a big breakfast, usually prepared by my father, go out to the back yard and snap some family pics, then head to church for services.  I would miss that to this day if it weren't for my awesome family.

Easter Morning ca 1965 or 66

My brother & I in our back yard

This morning, my sons got up early.  They showered and dressed and readied themselves for church.   I wanted to attend but cannot yet drive, thanks to a recent operation.  They were there to accompany me.  My husband surprised us as well by going.  It was wonderful.  Afterwards, we went home and began the time consuming process of putting Easter dinner together.  My leg is painful and swollen so I cannot cook.  My MIL bought an 8lb leg of lamb, dressed it and had it ready to go.  My younger son tried his hand at a 40 year old carrot cake recipe that is out of this world.  My older son peeled potatoes for mashers and helped anyone who needed it.  My younger son's GF made a beautiful salad.  My older son's childhood friend and GF brought Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory apples, beer and wine.

It was a group effort.  Everyone helped.  Everyone served dinner.  The meal was unbelievably perfect.  The dessert as well.  Afterwards, there was dancing in the living room, lots of happy talk and laughter.  My husband and I sat on the sofa, watching 6 young adults have fun; telling each other how lucky we felt and how happy we were at this moment in time.

Easter Morning 2012

Happy Birthday to My Youngest

"My Name is Bond, James Bond."

The morning of the birth of my second child, the only thing I felt, as I was wheeled in to the birthing room, was a fear I can only describe as "primal". It had nothing to do with the childbirth process. It was an unreasonable, unsettling dread I couldn't shake: that something, somehow was going to be terribly wrong. My husband felt it as well but we didn't know why. All indications were this would be a healthy baby...and he was. 

Prom Night
Posing With Mom

That was 22 years ago today. My son has grown into a young man of great kindness and consideration with a generous heart. At 6'2" he is a presence. People respond to him positively. He has a winning personality and is eager to please. In some ways he is naive for his age but we raised him in a rural, mountainous region. His exposure to city ways has been limited to a couple of semesters in college and the tourists we get. But that is okay too for he has a charm more winning than his slightly more sophisticated friends.

The apprehension we felt the morning of his birth stayed with us many years. We were fearful, oh so fearful, something would happen to him. We hid that fear but I've always wondered if he picked up on it anyway. He once said, at a fairly young age, "I don't think I'm going to live too long." You can imagine how I responded to that statement! Both boys were hellions during their teenaged years but this one always got caught. Middle of the night phone calls bring a dread every parent knows. I would sit bolt upright with each one or lie in bed awake until he came home. My insomnia was such I finally had to sleep in another bedroom where I couldn't hear the car arrive in the middle of the night.

Turning 21

His twenty first birthday was a turning point for me.  He had gone to college for a few semesters, lived in Utah and was now living in a house he shared with friends.  His behaviour no longer was "in my face" so to speak.  I wasn't confronted with it and, as a consequence, wasn't reacting.  It was what many parents wait for:  a reprieve. Living with us now, he's working two jobs, seven days a week, saving money to move to Tampa. I'm so proud.  I am grateful for his presence and the opportunity to mother him just a little longer. I make his favorite meals when he can have dinner with us and I now hope the day he leaves takes its time because I know how much I will miss him.

Workin' Up A Sweat on the Florida Gulf Coast 2009

I still listen for his car at night. I still react with concern to my phone ringing after 10pm. I no longer have the dread.  It's just a parental hangover.  He's still my baby and I will never, ever stop wondering how he is.

Sunset, Holmes Beach 2009

Happy Birthday Beautiful Boy!

Embracing the Past

As time goes by I find myself increasingly looking backwards, wondering how people are whom I cared about as long ago as high school; wanting to see friends who still matter, missing a piece of my life that is gone forever but comes back suddenly in unexpected ways.

Yesterday, while perusing the Facebook photos of one of those California friends with whom I reconnected at my last high school reunion, this photo popped up. My breath stopped and for a moment I was transported back to my giggly 15 year old self, a determined girl with a major crush on the boy on the left.  Now, this photo was taken a few years before we met but I already knew his brother, on the right.  We'd gone through elementary school together as little kids.  His older brother became my first serious boyfriend.

We were a couple for eighteen months.  He was two years ahead of me in school, a senior to my sophomore.  We were one anothers first love.  It sounds corny but it's true.  He was a serious person, excellent in school, a fine guitarist who played in one of the many amateur rock bands so prevalent in those days.  I was mad about him. 

He's one of the only persons I remember who knew what he wanted to be in life:  a pilot.  He had it all planned out; ROTC at Loyola, then fly school in the USAF, then go commercial.  That is exactly what he did.  Oh, and he married one of my best friends.

He wanted to get married after I graduated high school.  I was only in my Junior year and already flirting with a new boy with whom I had one date.  I couldn't see tying myself down in marriage.  Besides, I was 16 years old!  I broke up with him on my 17th birthday and it was painful.  By then I was falling for the boy who, seven years later, would become my husband.   I actually thought I could ease his pain and assuage my guilt by setting him up with a close friend who was infatuated with him.   She probably gave him everything he needed, especially devotion. They were married after he graduated college.  She couldn't wait to get out of her house.  They were both Catholic.  My dad liked him a lot but he couldn't abide my marrying a Catholic.  We're Protestants--Baptists.

I don't know if you can see the sweetness in both boys.  I suppose to anyone who didn't know them, they look like typical teenagers.  A few weeks ago I saw a current photo of him and didn't recognize him at all.  It was a shock.  I haven't seen him since 1970.  What did I expect?  I guess I didn't expect him to remind me of his father.  He's still married to the same girl, they have two grown children and he's now retired at the tender age of 61.

But I do remember the beautiful boy with whom I fell in love thanks to this photo which  brought a smile to my face and many happy memories. 

Life can be so  sweet. Tempest Fugit.

Pep Talk

I should do this every friggin' morning!   Hahahahahaha!

Mustang Sally

'68 Mustang  Seafoam green with black landau top

My dad bought a 1968 289 V8 Mustang brand spankin' new. She became my favorite car in the world although he did not buy it for me.  This was his racy little car, a departure from the Plymouth and Ford sedans he usually drove.  She was sea foam green with a black Landau top, two-tone bucket seats in pearlescent colors Ford called  Ivy Gold.  She was fully equipped with A/C, AM/FM radio, white walls and chrome wheel caps with the Mustang emblem on them.  She seated two comfortably in the front and two uncomfortably in the rear.  I usually crammed three in the rear as none of my girlfriends had cars so we took turns driving our parents'. We once made the six hour drive to Mammoth with five girls in the car plus our skis and poles inside down the middle between the bucket seats and our luggage crammed into the trunk, listening to Wolfman Jack on XETRA radio out of Mexico.

Dad always told me he'd never give me a car but he eventually gave me the Mustang.  It was many years later, 1974, before my final year of college.   I needed a car and he wanted a new one so I lucked out big time.  I kept this car until 1982 when I felt I had to sell it because I was putting over 500 miles p/w in sales in San Diego County.  At this point, we'd had her restored and she was a beautiful yellow with a new black top, all back interior and chrome wire wheels...way more sporty than the original colors.   Restoring a car not to original specs is a no no but I wanted something a little more sexy than seafoam green.   She was on her third or fourth engine by then.  We had the work done in South LA where alot of cars were restored, retro-fitted and such. They did her proud.  Great interior, looked terrific.

Letting her go was painful but I did not want to risk the wear and tear of high mileage.  I found a guy in his early twenties who was crazy about her and sold her for $3500, just $300 more than Dad originally paid.  I've never forgotten her and I still gaze at Mustangs with wonder whenever I see a classic.

Driving in cars with Boys or Whoever had one!

Growing up in the Sixties, we were all about cars:  muscle cars, surf wagons, VW, low riders and dune buggies.  That's what I remember.  Those who had the mechanical ability from taking shop or learning from their dad's, bought & fixed up  whatever they could afford and that made for some pretty spectacular restorations.
 
My husband had a '64 GTO.  Several of my close friends had Chevy Impalas low to the ground w/ hydraulics, one guy had an old rounded Chevy with bright red metal flake paint and the coolest tuck & roll you ever saw.  Those who saved their own money to buy a car bought a VW.  As I recall you could buy a new Bug for about $1200.

One high school boyfriend of mine had a dune buggy which was a blast!  We'd take it down to the beach, north of  Trancas, on  PCH and ride up and down big dunes.  The surfers had VW vans or station wagons.  The lucky ones found old Woodies and fixed them up.   The woodies were becoming scarce by the late Sixties.  They were already collectible and it became quite a sight to see one.  VW camper vans loaded with surfboards and teenagers are what I remember best.  By the early '70s they were the preferred mode of travel for anyone who surfed
or skiied.

 As a girl, I didn't need a car.  I bummed rides with my friends.  As a guy, you had to have a car.  L.A. is a big place and you could not expect to do much of anything w/o one as my husband so often points out.  It was great to drive the LA freeways in those days.  Traffic was only morning and afternoon drive, evenings were wide open.  We could be at the beach, in Westwood, in Hollywood or even at the airport in 45 minutes.  Try that now.

Inner Child

Sunset Northern NH

Today's appointment with the therapist was, ostensibly, to discuss our new living arrangements with MIL.  It began, however, as a rant of frustration with my younger son who'd agreed to attend the therapy session then bailed last minute because he was out late partying.

My therapist is a wise man.  The anger I was feeling towards my younger son came blurting out first and next thing I know, I'm asked to examine the feelings behind the anger:  disappointment in my son, insecurity about my parenting skills.  He then proceeded to have me break down the insecurity as it related to being a child.  What's the earliest incident of insecurity I remember?  I immediately focused on my discomfort in Jr. High, as a nerdy, unattractive girl with few social skills outside my own small circle.  From there I remembered an incident in the 4th or 5th grade where the cliquey group of kids to whom I did not belong, they called themselves "The Royal Family", persuaded me to join them in pelting my best friend with orange peels during a lunch time fracas in the girls bathroom.  My best friend!  It bothered me forty years til we re-connected and I wrote to her about it, apologizing.

I was asked about my home situation at that time, how did my parents get along?  I replied that my father would pick fights with my mother when he was tired or in a bad mood.  He'd browbeat her and she'd protest but take it, rarely fighting back.  There were no obscenities or physical abuse, just anger directed at Mother.  I hated it and wanted her to leave him.  

The therapist asked me to be the nine year old, to get in touch with the feelings I had then.  Hard to do.  Eventually he pointed out how being a young child in an unstable family situation would imprint insecurity and teach me to retreat from standing up for myself, etc because that was my role model. This leads to anger and lashing out, etc.  I protested saying I'd found my voice as an individual when a teenager and probably went too much the other way...standing up for myself to the nth degree, getting in people's faces (including my fathers') when I felt I'd been wronged.  He showed me how I carried this insecurity and anger to the present day, suppressing my fear/anger/insecurities with the real situation and later lashing out at a loved one.  It's a learned pattern.

I am now asked to "be with that little 9 year old girl" whenever these feelings arise.  I am to provide a safe place for her to come and be protected.  I am to learn to help her.  It's a tall, weird order but I think I can do this.  I'm just amazed at how much I still have to learn about myself, others and life.

Incredible series on this subject on PBStv right now.  Check local listings for:

This Emotional Life explores ways to improve social relationships, learn to cope with depression and anxiety and become  more positive, resilient individuals.
Part 1: Family, Friends and Lovers demonstrates that relationships are not only important, they are central to our emotional well-being.  Part 2: Facing Our Fears examines negative emotions such as anger, fear, anxiety and despair and how they play a part in the balance of life. Part 3: Rethinking Happiness offers research supporting the theory  that many people look for happiness in the wrong places.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

Every Christmas, Santa fills my stocking with delightful small items; but this year he blew it.  This year, he  included something I viewed with intuitive alarm:  a small, round extreme magnification make up mirror.  Now, I don't know about you, but when you are a women of a certain age, you do not want to view yourself in the extreme.  You may need an average magnifying mirror in order to better see your face without squinting while you apply makeup.  Extreme is another matter. The number of times this thing enlarged my eye was so unexpected and abrupt, I dropped it in dismay. 

I look in the mirror every morning before and after makeup.  I am an optimist.  I generally feel I have very few lines or wrinkles or even age spots.  My skin is still on the oily side so I haven't the crepe paper texture so often associated with aging.  However, this mirror shows all my blemishes, crow's feet, enlarged pores and more.  It's like putting myself under a microscope and recoiling from what I now see.  Aarrggh! 

Don't get me wrong, I am trying very hard to age gracefully, sans face lifts, botox and whatever else people use to slow the process.  But, I still have my illusions and that mirror will shatter them if I keep it.  Can't break it as I'll have seven years of bad luck.

I think I'll wrap it and give it to one of my friends.

Photo from freeimages.com

Good Friends

Last March, my girlfriend & husband threw a party. The weather outside was frightful but about 60 people drove to her home in the Maine countryside to enjoy a lively and "informal Tex Mex" banquet. She comes from a restaurant family and is a very good cook. She prepared empanadas made with slow roasted pulled pork, refried beans, hot hot chili, corn bread, several kinds of salads, fresh fruit & cheese, enchiladas, guacamole, roasted asparagus, taquitos; it was grand. I prepared a double layered lemon cheesecake with lemon curd topping. Someone else made a Mexican chocolate & cinnamon cake with milk frosting. There was a slushy machine churning out margaritas. You could just walk up, pull the lever and "that frozen concoction" came pouring out.

These photos are from the party. Left is the party giver and artist, Joelle. In the middle is our Swiss friend, Ladina, an amazing skier and athlete. I'm on the right. We girls met when our sons were in third grade. Between the baseball, football, soccer and more, we found ourselves car pooling, cooking for team dinners, planning picnics and time for the families to share with one another. We incorporated our husbands which forever cemented our relationships. Over the past twelve years we have exercised, partied, cooked, played, cried, clung to one another and laughed our asses off over anything we can. In the photo above, we are discussing the benefits vs the defects of high heels while holding Joelle's 4" heels which she has now taken off because her feet hurt.

I'm now 57. Ladina is 51, I think. Joelle is 40. Our friendship is based on a mutual love of the same things and the enjoyment and respect we have for one another. Raising our kids has been easier because we share our frustrations and fear, give good advice when we're asked and sympathise with one another. Our parenting skills are in synch. One night, Joelle and I ferreted out the location of an illegal kid drinking party, drove there, walked in the front door, big as life, pointed to a group of sullen looking boys and said,

"You, You, You...GET IN THE CAR!"

Out came our three boys. I think they were freshmen in high school. Boy, were they embarrassed. My son said it took two years to live that down, heh heh.

Every time we share a meal, we touch glasses and say,

"Here's to us! Here's to good friends."

Happy 50th Barbie!

I love Barbie. I think it's incredible she's still an icon at 50. Barbie is going strong. I still have my dolls: Barbie, Ken & Ginger, a later incarnation of Barbie with a platinum bubble hair style. Remember those? My Barbie is original and so is my Ken doll. I did, however make up her face and take down her hair to twist into a chic chignon so she's not collectible.

My dolls were played with. They were loved. They dated. They lived together in my Barbie house...Barbie & Ginger not Barbie and Ken. I have all my original Barbie clothes in a Barbie wardrobe and they are in pretty darn good shape. I have the accessories too. Barbie the artist with the portfolio, Barbie the secretary, Barbie the business woman. Ken the tennis hottie, Ken the golfer, Ken the...I don't know. He never seemed like he was enough for her even to my 10 year old eyes. He was always just Ken. Kind of dull of but handy.

Barbie and Ken played tennis, went out in their evening clothes, had sex although Ken has no equipment. They eventually married. I have the tux and bridal gown, bouquet, veil, cummerbund. They dominated my 8-13 year old life. I don't think I stopped playing with them til I hit 9th grade, grew out my bangs, wore a smidgen of eyeliner and a ghostly pearlescent lipstick and became too cool for dolls.

Fashion Plate by Cole Scott Images

Girls Kick Ass by Cole Scott Images

Untitled by Cole Scott Images

My parents moved out of the house I grew up in when I was 22. I had lovingly put away all my dolls at fourteen. My parents were kind enough to keep them for me all those years, up in the attic of their retirement home. Once in a while, when I'd visit, I'd take down a box and look through it. I still have my beautiful Madame Alexanders and their wardrobes too.

My husband became fascinated with my Barbies earlier this year. He could not believe all the clothes and accessories and the way I'd kept them. He arranged a few scenes for a photo session. I like the first two. The last one bothers me. I look at it as Barbie erotica. He says it depicts closeness and sweetness.

She's kept her figure and her looks. That's a hell of a thing for a gal at fifty!

For more fun facts and stories on Barbie at fifty go to this page.

The Secret Life of Bees

Still photo from wildaboutmovies.com

"The Secret Life of Bees" was a NY Times bestseller I intended to read but studiously avoided, fearing I'd become depressed by tragedy, racial discrimination, death and more. I was more aware of it as a successful book than I was of the content. So, I never read it. What a mistake.

Typically, I read a book and, if I love it, reluctantly see the movie which is almost always a disappointment. With few exceptions, "Cider House Rules" and "Gone With the Wind" come to mind, the movies are glamorized, edited, re-written for a larger audience, sanitized, etc. by Hollywood and the original story lines suffer in comparison.

Last night, my husband and I watched the film version of "The Secret Life of Bees". We loved it.
It was a surprise. I did not expect to like it. I expected it to be a cliche version of some white vs black racial thing...sugar coated for good measure. Instead, my husband and I watched a sweet, sad story about a little girl searching for truth about her dead mother, herself, and life. She finds it in the home of three African American women who make honey. She finds it with her African American friend whom she helps escape from a hospital jail after she's beaten by white men in a small southern town.

I was curious to see if the film was widely panned as I thought I remembered. For the most part, yes. The larger papers, NY Times, Chicago Trib, LA Times, are not positive. There is a lovely review by the Florida Sun Sentinel that praises it for being about "women helping women".

Perhaps the more interesting place to find information is the author web site. Sue Monk Kidd was raised in Georgia during the Fifties & Sixties, a critical and tension filled time. Those of us who remember the race riots, the National Guard/martial law, the murders, beatings, fire hose spraying, dog attacking incidents of those times, well, it's amazing how quickly we forget. I don't know if the story is too redemptive. I don't see what's wrong with redemption. We all want to be saved.

I'm going to read that book.

My Best Friends

These are six of my girlfriends. With one exception, we all went to high school together. We were friends when this photo was taken almost twenty years ago and we're friends today. The basis of our enduring friendships are probably more complicated than I can explain but I guess we just worked at it. Long term friendships are a combination of loyalty, love, caring, empathy and being there for the other person whenever possible. At least, those are the traits I most admire in a friend.

My husband can have his dogs, I'll take my girlfriends!

More On Levi Stubbs, the Four Tops & the Music Industry

I picked this video off a blog I regularly read, Inside Music Media, by long time radio industry insider, Jerry Del Colliano. Jerry writes

"When I heard that Levi Stubbs, the phenomenal lead singer of the Motown group The Four Tops died Friday I had all the usual reactions someone in this industry would have.

And a few more.

Stubbs, the handsome rough voiced baritone, was a special part of a very special group.

And I'm not just talking about singing talent.

This was a man who was loved and who loved the business as well as his fellow group members. He turned down chances to star in the movies deciding instead to remain with the group -- a special guy in an entertainment industry populated by divas.

I have a point to make about the music industry and radio that I think you will relate to.

My friend Brian Pastoria sent me this 50th anniversary tribute to The Four Tops by Aretha Franklin at the Detroit Opera House. Stubbs was hobbled by cancer and a stroke but he showed up on stage in a wheelchair with the Tops and one last survivor Abdul "Duke" Fakir and a microphone. Take time to watch it. I promise you will not have a dry eye."

Standing in the Shadow of The Four Tops

Four Tops singer Levi Stubbs dies

The greats are falling. Last week it was Paul Newman. This week, Levi Stubbs. What a voice! What a group! What memories I have of their music intertwined in my high school and college years. I was lucky enough to see them perform in Anaheim at a theatre in the round. We sat right next to the stage and they travelled up and down the aisles singing to the audience. Levi was the most powerful singer in the group and his was the signature voice for most of their songs. I remember how handsome he was. It was a thrill. Those were the days when every song tied me to an event in my life. They all mattered.

I think I'm gonna go find my 33's and play 'em and remember.

Paul Newman...Peace Out

Paul Newman... humanitarian, wonderful actor, gorgeous guy. From what I've read, he apparently wasn't too comfortable with his looks but he sure made women feel good. There are alot of stories going around the internet now that he's passed. No idea if they are true or made up. But I have a true story to tell.

Back in the early 70's, while I was in college in Los Angeles, my friends and I often took weekend ski trips to Mammoth Lakes. In those days it was a 6 hour drive and you really had to want to go to hustle up there in back in two days. One Thursday night I received a call from my girlfriends to head up to Mammoth the following Friday afternoon.

"Paul Newman is going to be there!" said one of them breathlessly.

"Yeah, right," was my sarcastic response.

In LA, you were always hearing stuff like that. These friends were three blondes a year ahead of me, all very pretty, two linked to show business. One was the daughter of Peter Marshall host of Hollywood Squares, one the daughter of a character actor, the third was their best friend, senior class May Queen, Prom Queen and cheerleader. We all loved Paul Newman.

They went without me.

They met Paul Newman and his son, Scott, while skiing. I don't remember details but he invited the girls to have lunch with him and his son. As the story goes, Suzi, the daughter of Peter Marshall, led the conversation. Sandy, the cheerleader probably chimed in a great deal. Lori, the daughter of the character actor said she just sat there, speechless, with tears running down her face; she was that overwhelmed. I remember that part exactly because Lori was drop dead gorgeous, Farrah-style, but shy. I don't think they had much to say about his son, who died tragically of a drug overdose a few years later. But Mr. Newman was charming and friendly. He flipped them the peace sign when he said goodbye. They groaned in unison but...whatta ski trip! Whatta man! What a memory.

Brave New World or Same Old Same Old?

I'm underwhelmed by the choice of Sarah Palin for running mate to John McCain. She represents pretty much everything I detest: the NRA, anti-abortion for any reason (including rape & incest), drilling in Alaska...and Rush Limbaugh's been talking her up since Feb. 08, according to slate.com.

I'm not all that impressed that she's a working mother of five either. I no longer believe a working mother can really have it all. Something has to give. As the mother of two sons who had to work for most of their growing up, it wasn't easy, it wasn't fun and I had many days of doubt. I retreated from a management position and subsequent offer because it was too time-consuming. I was working way too many hours spending more and more time at the office and less and less with my children. They were being raised by a series of nannies and that, in itself, became a problem. My biggest saving grace was being in sales. I could go home during the day if I wanted to check on them. Most women can't do that. I remember wishing we could start a daycare in our office building. I pushed for job sharing in its infancy. I finally convinced my boss, a bachelor, to let me work part time instead of full time so I could be home with the boys in the afternoons. My sales didn't suffer. In fact, my productivity increased because I was so happy. That ended when his replacement, a woman, wanted me to break up my sales accounts because I "couldn't possibly carry a full list and do it justice." I quit.

At that point, I was lucky enough to stop working for four crucial years. They were 6 & 7 and they needed Mom around to help them with school projects, sports and homework. It was a wonderful time for the family and especially for me.

I understand Gov. Palin has a stay at home husband, to some extent, and he can parent them in her absence. That is a good thing for her children. I'm not a proponent of child bearing to the extent where we do more than duplicate ourselves. The planet is truly overflowing. Many of the problems we face are because there are just so many people competing for the same things and using all our natural resources.

This probably sounds like backward thinking from a woman who believes in the liberation of women. I may be way off base making these statements. Most women do what they can to provide for their families and make their way through the work place. I believe women are equal in the work place and certainly capable of achieving greatness in all things. But I also know we are the nurturers, the caregivers, the housekeepers, the cooks, the laundresses, the nose-wipers and the comforters. Somebody has to be there. Yes kids learn by example but they also need guidance to get the wisdom required to recognize the example. Should it always be the woman who gives in? Of course not. But somebody needs to parent the kids.

I don't really see the Republican party or their nominees as the answer to our diverging class system, our economic problems, our ability to protect and provide for our children. If they were the answer, we wouldn't be in the mess we are today, seven & one half years after the Democrats left office. We should be focused on feeding our chidren, helping the poor, solving our energy crises and providing reliable health care. We should get out of Iraq, bring our soldiers home and concentrate on our citizens, our needs, our challenges.

High School Reunion: Prelude

I can't believe it but I'm going home for a 40th high school reunion. It sounds so old it's frightening. I had been looking forward to it for a while. Many of my friends wanted to go and, as I planned to go home anyway, I thought it would be great. As the date grows ever near, however, many of my friends are changing their minds. Now I find myself going with my one girlfriend from elementary school, who is also flying to the left coast from the right. We're spending $110 for the event, $140 for the room (I know, cheap for a Marriot...but STILL) and who knows what for a flattering dress and foundation garment that will suck in all the places that need to be girdled. That's alot of places.

My husband is encouraging. "Go!" he says. "You always have a good time."

I hope so. It hardly seems worth it. I mean, the people I thought I'd be hanging out with aren't going, except for a handful. And the memory of the last one I attended, the 25th, is that I had to squint at every name tag to figure out who the hell I was talking to. It seemed rude but also embarrasssing.

Well, I will notate my trip and it should be memorable. I have 10 days of visitng friends and family in California before the fated affair. We shall see.

One thing I should note, now that only a few of my closest friends are going, I no longer feel that terrible need to wear a dynamite dress, create an un-wiltable hair style, and wear makeup that won't melt. I am wearing false eyelashes. Love 'em and they are back in vogue. Other than that, eh!

Wow! I looked pretty good back then

Isn't it funny how we tend to review photos of ourselves with a critical eye, dismissing the majority of them with lines like "I look fat" or "Look at that double chin" or "What's with the circles under my eyes" etc etc? Now, I'm not talking about photos taken after the tender age of forty. I remember saying that about photos taken in my teens and twenties when I was thin and pretty and fairly self confident. In fact, when I sift through old photos of myself and my friends, I often come across pictures I hated at the time and now look at and think, "Wow! I looked pretty damn good."

I am continually amazed by my youthful self-criticism. Of course, it extends right up to the present. What is funny about the present is, I now come across photos taken just a few years ago...even one or two years...and think "I looked pretty good then!" It's that relentless march of the aging image in the mirror vs the ageless image in the photo. We can't go back but we sure can wonder why we did not appreciate what we had when we had it.