The end of summer means the end of summer produce, so get your caboose to the nearest farmer’s market and stock up on as much as you can before beautiful fall produce hits the shelves. Let’s rejoice in cooking for each other, ourselves, and just for the sheer hell of it. And to whet your appetite, here are some of my favorite cooking movie scenes.
“Burnt” with Bradley Cooper: When Matthew Rhys makes this perfect omelette for hungover Bradley Cooper, and pours him the perfect espresso from a lovely French press, in the cooking world, it just doesn’t get any better than that. If you’ve never seen this perfect splendid movie, you’re missing out.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5ZWNcUfzwM
“Chef” with Jon Favreau: Widely considered to be one of the best if not THE best kitchen movies ever made. The cubanos scene speaks for itself.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNwbdMwI0MU
“Spanglish” with Adam Sandler: Simply known as the Spanglish sandwich scene, top chef John Clasky comes home from a long day of work to make himself the perfect egg sandwich. A bonus is how he pours his beer to the top of his Pilsner glass without looking. Just a delight to watch if you enjoy high-quality sammies.
“Ratatouille”: Ratatouille scene. Sometimes food is not just food. Sometimes it’s joy. Celebration. Mourning. Or the love of one’s mother.
“It’s Complicated” with Meryl Streep and Steve Martin: One of my favorite new rom-coms to veg out to. In this scene Jane and Adam make late-night chocolate croissants together.
“Julie and Julia”: Food editor tries Julie’s Beef Bourguignon, and is reduced to one word: “Yum.”
“Big Night” with Stanley Tucci and Tony Shalhoub: Primo and Secondo make Timpano and elicit the line: “This is so fucking good I should kill you.”
“Pulp Fiction”- And then there’s the basics. Here’s to cheeseburgers and $5.00 milkshakes. “Goddamn that’s a pretty good fucking milkshake.”
When you think of abrupt transitions, transitions that make you mutter to yourself, “Just gotta get through this day…,” what comes to mind?
How about the first day back to work after a fabulous extended vacation? Or that first week back to the office after a year of Zoom? Or the first day back at the gym after a week off to enjoy a holiday?
As an educator, two abrupt transitions come to my mind.
One is the first day back to school after the New Year. After two weeks of flying high on eggnog and tinsel, gluttony, parties and family gatherings, teachers and students are suddenly thrust back together into a small airless classroom with nothing to cut the tension except for five pounds of fruit cake. Your students glare at you malevolently as if you are to blame for their lot in life. The classroom decorations that seemed festive in December now seem dour and sad, and mock you with their forced cheerfulness. The same students who were weaned on extensive classroom viewings of “Elf” just ten days earlier think fondly of the times when you referred to them as cotton-headed ninny muggins.
They wish you dead, and so do you.
And if you taught seniors, it was all the more brutal. Because everyone knows that the first day back from the New Year is the unofficial inaugural beginning of the end of the senior high school career.
‘Tis the season to do as little as possible, fa la la la la la la la la.
But to me, the most difficult transition of any calendar year is leaving summer and starting the school year.
Don’t misunderstand me, I love getting back into the classroom. Any teacher worth his or her salt enjoys going back, even if only for the comaraderie of seeing colleagues and greeting students. My reticence is never mental, but physical, and begs the following question:
How to emerge from the barefoot beach season of salt water and sundresses back into the grownup world of polish, perfume and polyester? I mean, I go through the summer looking mostly like a crazed tan poodle. You know the clothing line Sweaty Betty?
I’m Sweaty Yetty.
My hair does not react well to humidity, and I don’t try to fight it. I don’t feel like getting keratin treatments and Brazilian blow-outs only so as to be forced to sit inside like a pampered princess. I like working-out, swimming, hiking, biking, and boating, not sitting in a salon trying to figure out ways to resemble a Barbie doll. Barbie is tough to maintain, and summer is too fun.
But the week before classrooms open, I look at myself objectively. I need a pedicure. To have the frizz removed from my hair. To refresh my make-up, maybe even out an uneven tan from different cuts of bathing suits. To re-visit my shapewear drawer.
I start with my closet. Pulling my professional clothes up in the rotation and pushing summer clothes back (not too far back, I’ll still be wearing them for a month) only takes a couple of hours, and it helps me see what I have and what I need. I hit the Nordstrom sale yesterday and updated my wardrobe with some key pieces- crisp white tanks and t-shirts, an oversized blazer and couple of sheath dresses that can be worn alone now, and paired with a blazer or an oversized cardigan once it starts getting chilly again.
Some tips for late-summer professional polish:
CLOTHING:
Look to nudes, beiges, tans and whites. Navy looks nice in this transition season as well. If you’re over 50 like me, going sleeveless depends on personal opinion and workplace. If you work in a conservative office, wear the sleeveless sheath, but have a sharp cardigan to put over it.
No stockings. Give them the heave-ho, yo. Get a spray tan or self-tanning mousse if you want tan legs. Click on hyperlink for my favorite on Amazon, and get a tanning glove to avoid orange hands.
SHAPEWEAR:
Do it. But keep shapewear thin and airy. I swear by Thinstincts by Spanx to pull me in and keep me cool.
FOOTWEAR:
Excessive heat and humidity makes our feet swell, so avoid sky-high heels or anything too spikey. Go for low to mid-heeled beige sandals- they are a must-have, and look good on everyone.
JEWELRY:
My jewelry gets stashed in the summer, but it re-emerges triumphantly in the fall. In this transition time of heat and humidity, think light. Pearl studs. Silver rings, a thin tennis bracelet, dainty hoops, a gold cross. Avoid costume jewelry or anything too chunky.
HAIR:
Leave-in hair conditioner and anti-frizz spray will help with the frizzies, and a great cut will keep you looking modern. Time to get that Brazilian blow-out now. Be careful with hair product- too much will weigh your hair down.
MAKEUP:
Remember KISS- Keep it simple, silly! Less is more in the summer.
Oil-free moisturizer
Prime
Powdered bronzer for a quick glow
Nude shades for under
Fun color for over, like poppy lips
Lip stains instead of lipstick
Setting spray like this one that I use from Sephora.
If you’re sick of the heat and humidity, cheer up. Only a few more weeks until sweaters, boots and pumpkin-spice lattes!
There was a Pool Family at the resort where I stayed this past week. There’s always at least one Pool Family at any resort.
Pool Families go on vacation just to sit by the resort pool and swim. They set up their spots at 7:30 a.m. so as to get the chairs they want, and by 9:00 a.m., they are Pool Royalty. They wield things like swan-shaped floaties and donut-encrusted tubes into the water, and by the second or third day, they are so experienced that they are informing other pool guests where they can get smoothies, how cold the water is, and whether the hot tub is working. Kids of Pool Families always wear neon green and goggles, brandish pool noodles, and scream. A lot. Siblings play pool games, and say things to each other like, “Eva, you have to watch me swim to the ladder, and if I don’t make it in thirty seconds, make me swim twenty laps! Eva! Eva! EVA!!!!!!!” Pool Family eats lunch under a table with an umbrella, usually things like Uncrustables and Cheez Doodles and apple slices. Mom never goes into the water because she is busy ignoring her kids and playing on her phone for eight hours straight, and doesn’t want to mess up her blow-out. When Dad goes into the water, he is fun at first and acts like a sea monster until Cody starts playing too rough. Then he yells something like, “Too rough, Cody, too rough, ow!!!! Stop!!! I mean it, stop!!!!”
(I liked this pool family, even though the kids were loud and dressed like Kermit the Frog. Best line I overhead from Mom:
Eva: C’mon Cody, let’s have a diving contest, Mom is going to be the judge!”
Mom: (Swigging her drink and not missing a beat): “No, she’s not.”
I laughed out loud because it sounded like something I would say.
Best line from Dad:
(Dad floating around the pool with Eva and Cody all over him, and kids start calling him Daddy Sea Monster. He capsizes his floatie, gets out of the pool, and says):
“Yeah, well, Daddy Sea Monster needs to make reservations for dinner and drinks, because his Sea Children are annoying as hell, and ate all of his sandwiches.”
Beach families: They are the same as Pool families, just better dressed, and instead of pool noodles, they have boogie boards and snorkel masks. Beach families, like Pool families, go on vacation to sit on the beach, and do nothing else.
Resort families: These families are super fun, and work hard to utilize every single amenity at the resort. At any given time, you can see them doing the Hokey-Pokey at the activity center, playing with the oversized chess set, going to Family Game Night, and making S’mores at the firepit after dinner. They join every contest, and work really hard to win. Their kids are eternally walking around with Virgin Coladas, oblivious to the scowling bartenders who are forced to blend them.
Boat families: Everything must take place on a boat. Boat Families snorkel, scuba dive, fish, wakeboard, and whale-watch off of boats. Dad makes sure everyone within hearing distance hears him say he owns his own boat, so he doesn’t need a Captain. After they return from their day of boating activities, everyone must hear about what they did, because boat activities are so much more fun than other activities.
Park families: Mom and Dad have been planning this trip to Disney their entire lives. They have taken classes to learn how to get around long lines and extra expenses. They stay at hotels where they are picked up at 7:00 a.m., and dropped off at 10:00 p.m. They are all dressed thematically, and Dad doesn’t care how tired anyone is, or how nice sitting by the pool sounds, because “we are getting our money’s worth. Besides, fireworks don’t go off until 10:00.” When the kids complain, he suggests they take a quick nap in the street.
And finally:
Off-the-Grid families: The only time you see them is in the morning when they are talking to the concierge. They look very intense, the children included, and do things like zip-lining, swimming with the dolphins, Moto-cross, go-karts, and survival mazes. The children are always clutching on-the-go food like drinkable yogurt and granola bars, and they are all wearing expensive active wear and treaded sneakers. Mom and Dad have daypacks over their shoulders, and each kid has his own hydroflask with cool stickers that announce all of the places they have been.
I suggest a reality television show where families arrive at a resort, and get a colored-card that indicates what kind of family they will be. Throughout the week, scores are given based on the amount of whining the kids did, the number of times Dad lost his temper, and how much Mom drank. The family with the lowest score wins.
(I received an email from a reader that my humorous posts about my sons are her favorite. This one’s for you):
So I had this presentation on Monday, right? Since it was virtual, I had to pull out every stop to ensure that the house would be quiet and unoccupied between the hours of 12:30 p.m. and 3:00 p.m., so I began preparing before the weekend with a text to the boys:
Big presentation on Monday. No one in or out of the house between 12:30 and 3.
No answer. I text again.
Capiche?
Finally, after three hours, a text from a boy:
What? Is that fish?
Me: Huh?
“Capiche?” Isn’t that a fish?
Me, thinking: You mean “ceviche?” They’re not even pronounced the same. Enough, I’m just asking you if you understand.
Understand what? What ceviche means?
Omg. READ THE FIRST TEXT.
That would require too much energy. Three hours of silence, then a different boy:
Roger that Momma.
Me: Repeat it back to me.
No one in house between 12:30 and 3.
Me: Good.
Monday arrives, and I send an early morning text, even to the boy who works in New York during the week:
Me: No one around or bothering me between 12:30 and 3 today.
Another boy: We got it, we got it, jeez.
11:00 a.m., same boy: Can you pick me up? I rode my bike here, and don’t have my truck.
Me: Are you aware that today is my presentation?
Yeah, but if you don’t come get me now, I might be banging through the house later. It’s the best choice for both of us.
I pick him up, and read him the riot act. He is, as always, unperturbed and indifferent. When we arrive home, boy #2 asks me if I can make him eggs.
“No, I have to be ready in one hour. Have a quick bowl of cereal, or go out to eat.”
He looks at me uncomprehendingly, chewing a banana.
Noon arrives, two boys still skulking around the house. One looking in fridge for food, one barreling through the house fixing an old skateboard. I warn them that at 12:30, the house will be barricaded like NORAD in the movie “War Games.”
“No one in or out. The doors will be locked. Get everything you need.”
They emphatically assure me that they will be gone by 12:30. It is now 12:15, and a text comes through from boy in New York.
Did my gift card from my company come through?
I text back:
I can’t do this right now, you know I have this presentation in 15 minutes?
Can’t you just look real quick, it will only take two seconds.
I look in the mail.
Yes, it’s here.
Can you open it and take a picture of it?
Huh?
I want to see it.
Why? I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, STOP TEXTING ME.
Can you get Tommy to do it? Please?
Fine. And no texting me after this, I need my phone to communicate while I present.
It is now 12:20. Two boys still banging in and out of the house, and one boy begins doing a load of laundry.
“Ohhhhh nooooo,” I say. “No laundry now. Are you out of your mind? I told you I want a quiet house!”
He looks at me. “I’ll put it on gentle cycle. I have no clothes to wear.”
“No. You should have thought of that earlier. What part of 12:30 don’t you get?!”
Mutters under his breath as if I am being unreasonable.
“Don’t mutter at me, you’ve had plenty of time. It’s time for you to skedaddle now, OUT!”
“I’m waiting for Tommy to finish fixing his skateboard.”
“OUT!!!!”
“Fine.” He slams out of the back door.
12:30 arrives. I lock all doors and get set up in front of my computer. Since my house is a fish bowl with windows that span around our entire corner, I can watch the two boys walking pathetically around the house, peering in dejectedly. One boy catches my eye through the side window, and raises one finger as if to say, “I only need one more thing.”
I shake my head and gesture ominously. I begin to get set-up, and communicate with my supervisor as I watch them flop down onto patio chairs and gesticulate morosely to each other. By the time my presentation begins at 1:00, they have realized their fate and taken off.
The house is quiet, and I am safe. I begin my presentation.
Phone rings from boy in New York. I can’t believe my eyes. I don’t answer, then a text comes through.
I don’t want to bother you, just wanted to wish you luck on your presentation.
How important are you to you? Really ask yourself that question, because today is my birthday, and my gift to myself, other than a killer hike, a massage and a few margaritas with a friend, is to deliver some KAPOW!!!! into your day.
If you have a problem with tangents, deal with it, because it’s my party and I’ll stray if I want to…
So let me start off by sharing Thor’s opinions of human beings:
Thor is right. We all stoop to pettiness, it’s human nature. And we all have petty people in our lives, people with only one goal: to try to undermine our happiness by using emotional blackmail for some imagined or real slight they think has been perpetrated on them.
The question isn’t whether they exist, or whether they’ll be petty. The question is if you will allow them to get to you.
I admit it, I’ve been plenty petty in my 55 years of life. I’ve mostly overcome it, but it wasn’t easy. It took four long years of constant vigilance, intense practice and serious solitude to get out from under it. But for the most part, I’m free. Toughest work I ever had to do.
Toughest work I am still doing.
Most of the time pettiness is not personal, but stems from an insecurity or jealousy from the petty person’s past or present (that was a lot of “p’s”). A petty person could be suffering from low self-esteem because they weren’t “popular” in high school. Maybe their mother never told them they were worthy of much. Maybe they have career insecurities, maybe they have run out of options to get attention.
But I disagree with the experts who say pettiness is never personal. Sometimes it is personal. Maybe a person wants retribution for something you did to them in 2004, and it just makes them feel better that they finally “got” you. They figure trying to piss you off is better than nothing.
So fine and dandy. Let them have their “victory.” Who cares? Don’t enable a petty person by letting him affect your day, your mood or your family. There are only two possible reactions:
Silence or laughter. That’s all they deserve.
Now, if you read my blog with any amount of regularity, you know I have this ability of not letting other people’s comments, criticisms or petty overthrows affect me in the slightest. It’s my superpower.
I’m Deflection Woman.
I live by this quote from Dr. Phil, who responded to a guest expressing worry over hurting the doctor’s feelings:
“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings because I guarantee you not one bit of my self-esteem is tied up in your acceptance.”
Boom, roasted. Great moment, wish I could find the clip for you. And that happens to be my personal mantra.
It’s genetic, I guess, but I can also ascribe my implacability in the face of judgment as a result of having been a journalist and high school teacher for 35 years. Whatever it is, I thank God for it. But it’s not easy. Society doesn’t like implacability. I was speaking to a colleague about the lives of introverts, and we both agreed on the same thing:
Society doesn’t like us. They think we’re dangerous for wanting to mind our own business, to just live our lives. Say you remove yourself from what you consider a life of greed, abuse, anger, addiction, ingratitude, mental instability, whatever. You’re doing something good for yourself, right?
Of course you are. And that’s healthy.
But to remove yourself from that life, you must be vigilant. Because that life will try to pull you back, again and again. And if you somehow manage to prevail?
Society will try to beat the shit out of you.
In The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier, Jerry Renault got murdered for refusing to sell chocolate bars in the school’s fundraiser. The Chocolate War is so subversive, it has been removed from many schools. Not banned, just removed as an option. My favorite quote?
“They tell you to do your own thing but they don’t mean it. They don’t want you to do your thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too.”
Yeah, society can be brutal and petty when you don’t fit the part it wants you to fit. Society likes joiners, agreers, brown-nosers, preeners, head-nodders, conformers.
And pettiness.
Let’s look at verbal pettiness. This is a tough one, because it’s easy to deflect petty actions. Say someone deliberately ignores you at a party, to display their “power” over you. So who cares? Let them have it. No skin off your back. Just talk to someone else.
But petty words are tougher. And unless we’re all prepared to become hermits in the mountains, we all need to know what to do in the face of these kinds of people who want to hurt you with words, or over social media.
My advice? Silence. Nothing, I repeat, nothing, speaks volumes more than silence and indifference. The message you send is this:
No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, no matter what tricks you pull, you can’t hurt me.
Let’s say you just got a semi-prestigious job doing some side marketing work for a small but passionate company. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a great step towards your dreams of a marketing career, and the addition of it on your resume and the networking you will have access to is priceless. You announce it proudly on LinkedIn. Later that day you get a text from Petty Patty.
PP: Hey, congratulations, I saw on LinkedIn that you just got that little job doing social media marketing. How cute! It seems like a lot of work for not much money, but I’m so glad that type of thing makes you happy! I know I couldn’t do it!
She just basically called you a foolish low-wage earner. Oh, and let’s not forget that she just tried to belittle your basic existence. How in the world to respond to this nitwit?
Silence.
Let’s continue. That job leads to a better one, with more pay. Here’s the same idiot when you bump into her at the supermarket:
PP: Wow, that’s awesome. That’s a shame it cuts into your weekends and that you have to travel. Ugh, traffic is the worst. But if it fulfills you, great! And I know those really high-paying jobs go to people with Master’s degrees and years of experience, so don’t lose hope, you’ll get there!
So now she has accused you of having no social life, and of being an uneducated hack. And my biggest pet peeve, faux pity, the tool of the unsophisticated and intellectually dim.
Don’t respond. Tell her that melons are BOGO, and move on. She’s just sad. You think she feels good after talking to you like that? Maybe for a few seconds, but that kind of shit comes right back to people, and becomes part of their flesh. That’s why her face always looks so pinched and constipated.
You ever meet a mean old person who doesn’t know how to speak lovingly, and still enacts pettiness even at an advanced age? Don’t worry about them. Let them do what they do, and let Nature take care of that shit. What goes around comes around, bitches.
Last scenario:
You finally have it. All of your hard work has paid off. All of the late nights, long drives, fast-food meals, have paid off. You have the job. The salary. The prestige. The power. And whattya know, here comes Miss Thing on Facebook messenger:
Hey congrats! I’m in Turks and Caicos, but I wanted to send my congratulations along! Have fun being busy, some of us just like to stay unemployed and travel, haha! Someone has to work and be successful, and it ain’t gonna be me! I’m toasting you with this peach margarita! Love you!
How can you not just laugh and feel sorry for this person? And by the way, if this sort of thing ruins your mood or day, and you can’t just laugh at it, just get the hell off of social media. It’s the devil, and the only way insecure people can get attention.
So choose your life by choosing not to entertain pettiness. You’ll be amazed at how much better you feel, how much better your life is, when you choose what NOT to respond to. According to Seth Godin, ultra-marathon runners decide before a race under which precise circumstances they will quit. They don’t make a reactive decision when the pain sets in.
Decide what you care about and what you consider worth reacting to. Personally, there is no force powerful enough on the face of the Earth that can shake my peace. None. And at the end of day, guess who is in my house, and in my heart?
My boys. Oh, and myself gazing lovingly at my reflection in the mirror.
I’m 55. And yep, I do dare to disturb the universe.
By the time you read this, my two-hour Monday presentation to a dozen high school administrators will be over. But at the time of this writing, thoughts of it consume me.
In the world of presentations, this one is not monumental. It’s not like I’m appearing before Congress. It’s just a small passionate workshop for an educational consultation company about effective teaching practices.
A normal person would prep for a few hours, maybe make up some index cards, do a couple of run-throughs. Do their best, and not stress out about it.
It’ll go fine, a normal person would say. Not the end of the world. Take the day off. You work too hard. You’ve already won, just by trying. Relax, enjoy. Stop taking everything so seriously.
Here’s to abnormalcy.
According to the book W1NNING by Tim Grover, when an individual strives for excellence in career, his head is always filled with a minefield of ideas and warnings and questions…and winning detonates them all at once.
Whether you are an elite athlete, the CEO of a company, a student who dreams of career success, or even just your average Joe (or Josephine) read W1NNING by Tim Grover. If you are obsessed with succeeding and improving, read it. I only read a few pages of W1NNING at a time, and they course through me like a shot of adrenalin. Grover’s words are so familiar and so powerful in my life, that I ingest them slowly and over time. If you are happy and content in your life, and desire no more than what you already have, Grover’s words will sound manic, and maybe bonkers. But if you want something so bad that the image burns you while you’re asleep, this book is up your alley.
Thoughts of winning keep fighting even when you’re asleep, preparing for the threat of imagined battles that haven’t happened yet. They might happen. They might not.
As the days lead up to the presentation, things that could go wrong fill my head. Much like an athlete who wants to perfect that shot, that move, that stroke, I want this presentation perfect. Seamless. I want it to resonate in my audience’s memory, to permeate their school year. I want them to tell my supervisors that it was the best presentation on teaching practices they have ever attended. That they’d like me to come back, and speak again.
(Note post-presentation: It was not perfect. It was not seamless. It did not resonate. It was not a disaster. It was mediocre. But I learned, man oh man, did I learn what not to do)
Thoughts of the presentation fill my head, even when I sleep. When I wake, I’m still exhausted, and when my eyes pop open, my mind crawls right back to thoughts of that presentation.
You go to bed tired and wake up tired because there’s a raging onslaught of chaos in your head, and there’s no nap that can erase that. The minute you wake up, you’re fighting again. Your mind is so overrun with conflict that you can’t even remember going to sleep (42).
People who see me ask me if I’m far away, because I seem distracted. I am. I’d love to relax, trust me. I try. But as I try to find peace and serenity, instead I am enmeshed in a wild mental war zone with smoke and explosions and screaming. Every time I diffuse a doubt or a fear about the presentation, another approaches.
When I begin to feel confident about tone and approach during my introduction, I begin to stress over research and feedback during group work. When I conquer that, I worry about overall timing and pace.
You’re fighting fires everywhere, and as soon as you extinguish one, another bursts into flames.
Winning loves that battle.
How much can you take? How far can I push you? Are you having fun yet?
Great video to watch:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVTlpgigdBU
Your mental battlefield is the command center of every decision you make. If you decide something is a problem, then it’s going to be a problem. Before a game or a meeting, you can think of all the ways you could screw up, or you can mentally walk through the details you’ll need to make it all work.
Winning doesn’t visit you in your dreams…it sees you in your nightmares.
Thoughts of doubt are fine, as long as they are a blueprint for improvement. Did I get this right? Can I do better? I know what to do, I need to make that happen. And they move in on those bombs, inspecting them from every angle, until they can extract and defuse them.
Forty-eight hours from now this presentation will be a thing of my past, but that won’t mean it’s over. It will simply be yet another diffused mine on the battlefield of my life that I will learn from, even if it goes as well as I’d like it to. And once it’s over, something else will take its place. A lesson to teach, a meeting to attend, a talk, a workout.
(Hey, take a minute to check out my new beautiful butterfly logo on my home page!)
My birthday is on Wednesday, and I thought it would be fun to write a blog about the fun of turning 55.
I don’t have hang-ups like many women about getting older. It’s a cliché, but to me it’s just a number, like the scale. I don’t pay the slightest bit of attention to either one, because they’re both lying jealous whores as far as I’m concerned. If my clothes fit and I look good in pictures, that’s enough for me.
I always hike on my birthday, arduously, in a different location every year, then usually get a deep-tissue massage and use a hot tub, so I always turn my phone off on the 25th. If you get a Facebook birthday notification for me on Wednesday, please feel free to ignore it, because I will either be huffing and puffing around mountains or moaning in pleasure. And if you want to wish me well, thank you- it always comes as a nice surprise when anyone shows interest in me.
Let me try and do a fun Onion-like slideshow entitled:
The Hidden Benefits of Turning 55
I can finally put the twenty backscratchers I’ve gotten for assorted holidays throughout the years to good use.
I can no longer reach my itchy spots. I can only blame my skeletal system, and the fact that I have no hot guy to reach them. I know, I know, yoga would help. Fuck yoga. I actually snuck a Bear Claw Backscratcher into my car, and one into my work bag, just to be safe. It’s better than rubbing up against walls like some kind of psychotic animal.
I get to look forward to a home colonoscopy kit.
I once re-created this photo in my powder room for my sons, and their laughter remains a highlight of my life as a mother.
You should have seen me the other day. I have a few things ordered, and when I saw the box on the front stoop, I thought it was either my makeup or my sneakers. Excited, with my endorphins pumping and my face flushed, I tore that box open not to Thrive Cosmetics Eye Brighteners, but the Cologuard box. Bummer. Hey, it’s still better than going in person. (Note: I know you know this, but it behooves me to mention that if colon cancer runs in your family, you should get the in-person one every year).
It’s not a lie when I use this excuse to get out of doing something I don’t want to do, or when I want someone to feel sorry for me:
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m attending to some minor medical issues, nothing serious but I’ve just been lying low.” Mid-to-late 50’s is all about minor medical issues, and we don’t have to explain them. All I had to do was drink Super Beets, but how do they know it wasn’t more serious?
I can say “I have Uggs older than you” to most people and it’s usually true.
When watching a movie with a hot actor like Ryan Reynolds, Chris Hemsworth, Henry Cavill, or Michael B. Jordan, I can say:
“He is so hot,” and elicit disgust from my sons. I can feel their disapproving gazes bore into my soul. I love grossing them out, it’s the best perk of being older.
Whatcha got going on this weekend? Our family is flirting with perhaps a long (or short) boat ride to the Cove, a new horror movie opening, maybe some spirited games of Clue? My youngest is getting ready to head back to campus next week, so there’s that chaos. I have a few new recipes I want to try out, some swimming to do, and lots of research, schoolwork and organizing to finish.
Here are twelve yummy things we are loving for the weekend here at Chrysalis Collective:
Ice Barrel. I’m considering getting this for myself for Christmas. Cold exposure improves mood and brain health, and activates the nervous system. If it wasn’t so expensive, it would be in my house right now. I took an ice bath at a fancy spa a year ago, and I can’t tell you how good I felt afterward, for DAYS. The price just needs to come down. They are one of my affiliates, but yowsa, the $$ is pricey. Check it out.
“Night House” coming into theaters today. We’re going to see it on Sunday.
“Women of the Week” on M.M. LaFleur. I swear by M.M. LaFleur and Modern Citizen for my teaching style, and their message of feminine power through professionalism and career resonates with me. If you like to look sophisticated and polished, give it a look. I love putting on my work clothes to teach my classes in the fall, then coming home to put on fluffy sweatpants and cashmere sweaters. Is there a more yummy feeling? Live with purpose, ladies.
The iconic American Giant hoodie dress just came out in plum. OMG. I have this hoodie dress in black, blue, and green. They are my casual hang-out, run-errands, read-on-the-patio go-to dresses in the fall, and the first articles of clothing I roll up and put into my luggage when I travel. They are thick, flattering and versatile, and again, not cheap, but I bet my American Giant hoodie dresses will last longer (can you say forever?) than anything you could get at Marshalls.
Another funny slideshow by the Onion: “Major Things Your Teacher Glossed Over in Sex Ed.” Warning: rated R+.
This obscure sweet lilting Lyle Lovett song, “If I Had a Boat.” This song works its way into my heart, lodges in my throat, and reminds me of everything in the world that is good and right and pure. Close your eyes and turn it up.
Finally, drum roll please….“To Kill a Mockingbird” starring Jeff Daniels as Atticus Finch coming back to Broadway. Huzzah!!!! I’ve seen it twice, third time is the charm. Anyone want to join? Email me and have a great weekend!
Listen, there’s no way anyone is going to goad me into blogging about Afghanistan. Even if I had the intellectual acumen to tackle that subject, I don’t possess even the DRAM of knowledge needed about Afghanistan politics to be proselytizing about it. And if I lack the confidence to discuss a topic intelligently and fluently, I keep my mouth shut. I promise I’m watching the news and learning as much as I can. It took me two whole days just to research the similarities between the fall of Afghanistan and the fall of Saigon.
So until the time that I have either educated myself fully or been appointed to a chair on the Committee on Foreign Relations, please consult your smart Uncle Stan, Grandpa Joe, your AP History teacher, or Quora about Afghanistan. And please don’t email me questions about it. I mean, you can if you want, as long as you don’t mind being ignored.
I send news blurbs twice a week through my marketing team to a national publicity summit, in order to garner radio and television interviews. Sometimes my stuff hits, sometimes it doesn’t. The subjects are different every week, and the last blurb of mine that went viral was my likening the reunion between Ben Affleck and JLo to homemade macaroni and cheese.
Deep stuff.
What do you mean, you don’t see the analogy there? Isn’t it blatant?
This week the subjects were Afghanistan women, masks in schools, and family vacations gone bad. And while I assure you I have a very distinct opinion about the fate of Afghanistan women in the wake of the resurgence of the Taliban, that is all it is for now. Opinion. So I opted out of that one, until I can research further so as to write clearly about it.
And family vacations gone bad? Hell yeah, I can write a book on that one.
As far as how masks and this new Delta variant affects schools and students, I need to be careful, as a teacher. I exist in the classroom to provide my students with fair, unbiased and safe instruction. That’s where it ends. So I will leave it to the brilliant Onion to give you the laughs in this slideshow titled, “Things Every Teacher Returning This Fall is Dreading.” I will embed below, but please note this is a slideshow for people with a sense of humor. If you are a Debbie Downer (wah wah), go back and brood in your darkened closet while the rest of us yuk it up and remember that life is too important to take TOO seriously.
I’m procrastinating. I have this pesky To-Do list that mocks me every morning from my kitchen counter. Nothing big, just stupid stuff.
Call the timeshare company to re-book.
Return dress.
Get bike serviced.
Set up Zoom account.
Call medical insurance.
Send thank-you notes.
Order new business cards.
Ad nauseum.
For some reason, I just don’t feel like digging my teeth into this list. And this is no small admission because I am NOT a procrastinator. When something needs doin’, especially something unpleasant, I do it.
I just feel…stuck.
Not just geographically. No, it’s like I’m treading water. With my dad on hospice and the world once again in a nonsensical pandemic free-fall, I’ve decided to not travel this fall, but rather stick close to home and get back into the college classroom. This past year was the first in 33 years that I did not have a student roster. So with a full teaching schedule and other passion projects I’m involved in, I have more than enough to keep me busy for the remainder of 2021.
So why do I feel stuck?
I have this uneasy feeling that it has something to do with my dad.
According to Ingrid Lee, stuck-ness is “essentially a feeling that life is on hold, that you’re not making the progress you’d like to in some part of your life. It often happens when we’re waiting for something in our lives to change, whether we’re ready to find a partner but are struggling to meet the right person, or we’ve hit a plateau in our career, or there’s a global pandemic and we’re waiting for case numbers to finally drop so we can get back to traveling, socializing, working and enjoying life.”
Feeling stuck means you are reluctant to invest energy into your physical or emotional space because you refuse to commit to your present situation, or home. If you refuse to commit to your present home, there’s no way you can commit to your present life.
When someone you love is on hospice, you are waiting for them to pass on, and nothing much else has any meaning. There’s no way to glamorize it, or sugar-coat it. It is a long, stressful, worry-laden process that can shake even the strongest family to their core. When I look back on the end of my father’s life, I want to be able to say that the end was good. Full. Prescient. So we work hard together as a family to ensure that.
But it’s not easy.
I’ve talked to many people who have had elderly parents on hospice, and I’ve read many articles about it. And other than grief and fatigue, the same emotion rears its head over and over in these conversations:
My mom hasn’t ate or drank anything in almost 9 days. Why won’t this end? It’s becoming hell for me. Me and my sister have been watching over her in 12hr shifts and every one gets harder and harder. I find now I’m past the point of sadness and am angry now. Angry she won’t pass on, angry my mom has to suffer like this, angry me and my sister are being put through this hell for SO LONG. Even the nurses here seem bothered by it. At this point I’m here more for my sister than my mom. I don’t think she will let mom die alone and I can’t leave her here to do it by herself. I just don’t feel like this is right anymore and it now just disturbing. I don’t think my mom would want us here watching her die like this. I just want to move on.
I’m not a therapist, and emotions like this can’t be addressed in a silly blog post. But the quote above sends home this message:
It’s hard to move on when someone you love doesn’t want to. Or maybe they want to, and don’t have the faintest idea how to. Or even understand why they haven’t.
But move on we must. Humans move on, it’s what we do. Forward motion is life. So I’m going to unstick myself, and stop feeling paralyzed by a silly to-do list. I’m going to be grateful for the time I have left with my dad, and grateful for a 34th teaching semester.
34 years. Wow.
And I’m going to heed my own advice:
Get your shit together. Don’t wait. Do it now. Be you now. Now is all you have.
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