In The Heart of A Former Hippie

The Life I Want

2011-08-07T20:08:00.005-04:00

It seems to be the irony of my life that the only way to get me to stop moving was to put me in a neck brace for 4 weeks. On day 2 after my spinal surgery I was already ready to blow my brains out. I knew it would be bad, but just how much awful can television get if the only thing I can find on a Friday night is a rerun of the 1972 version of the Heartbreak Kid. I’m not good at this laying low thing, but through the magic of organization, it can be a time to review the past and become hopeful for a great future.

It started on day 3. Beginning small, I sorted out and clipped together the business cards of restaurants I have been to into the states of the union, their neighborhoods and those that I have not been to but want to try. I next attacked the larger, challenging, travel file drawer, which is divided into travels past, travel in the near future and travel done and gone.

The travels past drawer includes the local information and restaurants we went to on our vacations (Italy, California, Southwest and Greece, et al). This collection of ticket stubs, town maps and event schedules that dates back too long to be relevant makes me think of whether I should continue to keep them. Until I have no room, I’ll keep them for the sake of good memories. Travel of the near future holds newspaper clippings and magazine articles on places yet to see (Austin, Berlin, New Orleans. Machu Picchu, et al). There is a sub-folder in the works for areas in upstate New York that my husband and I may consider retiring to. That folder also includes St. Augustine, Florida. All of these represent things to come but the retirement one is just so hard to commit to at this time. Then there is the folder of places I visited doing things I will never do again. After having spinal surgery for the second time, I probably have to give up skiing. I love it, skiing is great but if I fall, it could be a real end to do alot more. It saddens me to do so, but I look at my brochures from Banff and Whistler and know I skied in some of the best places ever. I wish I skied Aspen or Vail, but I didn’t and won’t. But I will surely live, literally. The travel collection just represents what I want to live for but it is my health that I want the most. My restaurant visits and travel days rely on my being able to eat anything I want, go anywhere I can and to keep my money (and make more of it) so I can afford it all. Aside from relieving me of my pain, I had this operation in the hopes that I could go on to lead the life I want. Last night, I booked a flight to Belize in October; something different and maybe a new door. I learned to ski at 50. I might learn to swim at 60, or I might not. It just matters that I have my health and I can try.

Inside Anthony

2011-03-19T15:43:00.007-04:00

There are things that people do in life that makes sense to them but that others do not understand . These are individuals who put themselves out of their comfort zone, take chances and work to achieve their goals with all the mental and physical strength they have. Prepared, they go to battle to conquer their chosen task, worried about the outcome yet willing to take the risk. That is my son, Anthony.

Those who know Anthony, would describe him as a kind soul who puts the feelings of others ahead of his own. Much like the superheroes of movies and books that come to the rescue of those in trouble, Anthony is the one his friends and family call when they need help, advise or a good ear. He supports them and is there for them. But there is another side of him, the competitive side that pushes him beyond that self imposed Maginot Line. When he sets out to do something, watch out. He is in it to win and nothing or no one will divert him from his focus.

He got interested in boxing. First reading about it, to the point of becoming almost authoritative. He then went on to training at boxing gyms and not those glossy ones in the city for $200 a month. The ones in Paterson for five bucks at a time with experienced boxing trainers. Religiously, he trained every week and then on to sparing. And then, much to my concern, competing in the Golden Gloves.

I should not have been surprised when he told me he was going after the Golden Gloves. It was the natural path of action for Anthony. Many times, people talk about today’s young adults, called either the 20-Somethings or Generation Next, as slackers whose sense of accomplishment is in the thrill of the battle against the MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-playing Game) of World of Warcraft. It is not in Anthony's character to watch from afar. He needed to be in the game and do it himself.

Watching Anthony put himself out on the front line is thrilling to follow. From the moment he is in the game, he is focused on the techniques of boxing and how to apply them. His study of he game is analytical, viewing others before him, learning from their technique and then using the knowledge in the ring. It is almost better to watch the progression rather than the fight, which, given my peace, love and understanding background, I find difficult.

On the surface, the sport of boxing seems so uncharacteristic of Anthony. He goes out of his way not to harm those he loves or cares about. If you show him respect, he will pay you back with the same and more. If it is a choice between sacrificing his own comfort or enjoyment at the sake of his friend or family member, he will take the hit. Having said that, however I have known him to come home after a bar fight that always seemed to end in his favor. It is not in his nature to hurt anyone, yet he will stand up for what is right. Maybe he should have been born in an earlier time – during WWII perhaps.

Anthony fought two Golden Glove matches. He won the first one easily with a unanimous decision. Last night, he lost the second bout and his hope of attaining the title has eluded him. As the old saying goes, “he might have lost the battle, but he won the war”. I know, the battle he fought was not in the ring. It was his inward battle to overcome his fears. He put himself on the line, away from the comfort zone, in front of others. He is recognized, respected and loved by friends and family for all that. As is his nature, he will go on to find another challenge, leaving behind those fears. There might have been a more easier, less painful route, but that is not who he is. He takes the hard road, learning as he goes. It is more interesting and more rewarding. Because he is Anthony.

Growing Old and Growing Young

2010-10-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

It has been 8 weeks since my daughter Christine moved to Miami. It was a good thing. With the help of a new loving friend, she decided to pull together all the things she loves and make a new life on her terms. I give her credit for being so sure of herself and be willing to leave her comfort zone. It was the natural thing to do - to take the plunge when you are young enough to recover. The problem was how those left behind, me, go on. We have been through hard times, my daughter and I. She was a rebellious kid during her middle school and high school years and I was a busy mom. It would have been nice if she took the straight path while I tended to the things that I needed to do. Plan their activities, cook their meals, and be the mom. It seemed to be a simple request but it was not to be. She was experimental and I had lots more to do but much more to learn. She was growing up and I needed to grow down. I needed to learn to understand what it was like to be part of her world. Life is funny and many times, you make up the rules as you go along. As it turned out, I taught her to be mature, and she taught me to be young. I often said I did not want to be one of those mothers that complained about the music of the day, that technology was too challenging and the current fashion styles were not for me. Somewhere in the early 90s, shirts were not tucked into the waistband anymore and jeans were constructed with lycra (that eliminated the bags in your ass). It was not until the day my daughter said to me "don't be afraid of the new styles, mom. They are your friend". Her words made sense. I was wearing baggy ass jeans with boring tops, tucked into the waist band. This was 1995 and time to free myself of the suburban housewife standard costume of sweatpants, sweatshirts and sneakers. Enter the straight leg, lycra blend jeans with a "huckapoo" style shirt, untucked topped with a purple suede jacket. Yes, thanks to my daughter, I was released. In the course of raising children, I discover how my daughter matured to a sensible woman. She then raised me to be part of the 21st Century. I started shopping at Express and Anthropology (within reason) as an alternative to Ann Taylor. I learned you can get something from each of these stores and not become the stereotype of a person who gave up fashion to be boring. My younger co-workers love that I dress a little youthful but with a sense of style. My daughter brought that to me. She reminded me of who I was before I was a mom. As I said, she is living in Miami now. I am surrounded by my boys. They tease me, make me laugh and love me. But to them, I am their mother. To my daughter, I was her mother but also her companion. It is a different relationship. Each are great, but each are different. Today, I wore a white bra under a white T-shirt. I was not sure it looked right but I wore it to work anyway. At work, I asked a young girl in my department if she thought it looked alright. She commented, in a polite way, that she thought I could get away with it. My daughter would have told me the truth. I'm glad she went but I miss her.

Why I Am In School

2010-09-06T17:01:00.018-04:00

I have been involved in facilities management since I started working over 30 years ago. Beginning as the secretary to the manager of the services group, taking hot and cold calls, as they are known, from employees who were either too hot or too cold or in my view, just being a pain the ass. It was not a friendly world being in facilities during the 70s and 80s especially when you were not in a state of the art building. As a matter of fact, the offices where I worked had window air conditioners, linoleum flooring and ugly desks - and people were allowed to smoke. That was at a magazine where the writers wrote, the cartoonists drew and they didn't care what I did as long as I made them comfortable quietly and at little expense. That was my first job. I had no experience, no college education but I was ambitious and willing to learn. Many of my friends were not college grads going straight to a job out of high school and working out of a secretarial position to that of your bosses. I knew I wanted to do something more than just listen to these people complain, about their lack of comfort (why didn't they just work and put on a sweater). So I just kept at it and when my boss left, I took the position. During the 7 years I was the manger, I took classes in Facilities Management, asked questions and relied on my vendors to get me through the projects. Sooner than later, I became very confident in what I was doing, thinking I would be fine in my career as long as I worked my tail off and kept learning. That was then, when one could climb the ladder by outworking everyone else. It wasn't now. I left the workforce to have children and then went back around 1991. I was lucky as I got my old job back but things changed and while I wanted to go back to work, that old fire was not as bright as it was the first time around. The offices were better maintained with facility planning more of a engineering art than before. Offices were smoke-free (thank heavens) and it was important to know how to work through a real estate contract to know what you could or couldn't do. Again, I learned by diving into it loving this new professional way of handling the property. Facilities work, however isn't understanding of motherhood. I could no longer work till whenever. I had kids and I wanted to go home and have a life. I was mommy first and the job was a means of getting what I wanted out of life. I would have been fine, except there were others who were fresh out of college and would be able to work the hours I use to and suck up to the boss, like I use to. Between a young, enthusiastic college grade and me, the sleep deprived mother of 3, well after a 5 year run, I got laid off. Even then, I thought I could get by without that college degree. I was still able to find work, but in bad economic times, if the ax was to fall, it was usually on me. At first, I welcomed the opportunity to stay home with the kids and collecting unemployment. I was able to be that girl scout leader, run car pools and participate in school events. But when I wanted to go back to work, it wasn't always that easy. I had to go back to facilities work as it was all I knew, but the competition from those with engineering or architectural degrees was fierce. The final blow came when in my last job, my position was eliminated and I was told to find another job within the company. I was working as a project manager for construction and did lease administration too. They didn't want that position any more and, as I found out, the skills did not translate to another so easily. I was older and did not have the energy to go out and find another job. I took a lesser position within the company just to stay. I was now working in the accounting group. I realized then, I never really did what I wanted to do - just what I had to do. It finally got to me. The working world did not care if you had the skills they were looking for. They wanted that degree plus the skills. Fed up and mad, I signed on to an online college. It was great. I did well and 18 months later got my associates degree and a promotion. Still in accounting but working at something I really wanted - that degree. I was in my mid-50s. Last year was the first time I actually stepped into a classroom. I was the oldest person in the class, maybe in the student body. As I took other courses at the school, I came to find out, the teachers like me. I am not shy so I raise my hand and create dialogue with them and the class. I bring historical experience to the class and they bring the insight into today's world to me. I have learned all about online video gaming through my Media and Technology course (ask me about Everquest, Madden and Farmville). Having never traveled much domestically, I became aware of the beauty of the national parks and the sinister pollution of the Hudson River in the 70s through my environmental science course. I have read about the illegal alien problem that dates back to the early 1800s leading up to today. I am not done but getting there and I refuse to be one of those people my age who does not get what this new technology is all about. Tomorrow is my first day of class for this new semester. I am a third year student at a local state college working towards a Communication Arts degree in writing. I use to work for a company. Now, I am working for me.

Shakespeare In The Park

2010-07-15T21:01:00.018-04:00

You must know that being a avid New York fan, the event that I so look forward to every year is the annual Shakespeare In The Park performance. Every summer, the Public Theater puts on 2 plays, usually by Shakespeare but not always, that are performed in the Delacorte Theater in Central Park. Part of the reason I go is because I enjoy watching the play but it is also because it is a New York experience that you give up a pound of flesh and a deal of wonder to get these free tickets. Yet, I always go. This year, the repertoire included The Merchant of Venice and the role of Shylock is performed by Al Pacino. If New York is my city, Al Pacino is my actor. I absolutely have to go. Last time I went to the play in the park, I saw Hair (see post of August 5, 2008). While the play is the thing, the wait on line (not internet online, physically sitting on a line) before copping the tickets can actually amount to a pleasant way to spend 6 hours (weather permitting). You meet people, like you, that have sacrificed sleep, their morning and the rest of the day to do this. Once you take your place, if you have planned your day right, your time is productive and well spent. You read all those periodicals and news articles that were piling up, you take a nap and talk to your line neighbors about other NY events. I look around at the people walking or jogging through the park who look at me and my line mates not understanding the determination. I look back wondering why they aren't at work. This year, since the show was enhanced with a star, the line was longer and started earlier. Central Park doesn't open until 6 am so, thinking I was safe to leave the house at 5 am, I arrived to find the line started outside the park entrance of 82nd Street and went for about 6 blocks. Unfettered, I took my place and entered the park along with everyone else and found myself further away than I had ever been. The line monitor (security guy) pointed out, however that we were in front of the "Rock of Hope", where those in front of this point had a chance of getting tickets. I had already taken the day off, had all my reading material and my comfy sand chair with me. I took the chance and stayed. So did everyone else. Alas, things have changed since Hair. Taking a break from my spot, I walked up to the beginning of the line to see who occupied the "sure to get tickets". Strangely, they didn't look like the usual sleepy eyed, rumply clothed theater goers I typically saw. In fact, I questioning whether they really were here for the play or if they thought this was the line for a soup kitchen. A distinct odor of unsanitary sorts permeated the air as I passed them and one of them looked like this: Even with my liberal, somewhat Pollyanna attitude, I knew, this guy couldn't be here for Shakespeare or Pacino. No. I found out he was one of 10 homeless men hired by what you could call a manager of sorts to wait in line, and get tickets that the manager then sells for a couple of hundred dollars. They slept outside the park (which is what they do most nights anyway), got their tickets and received a percentage of the sale from the manager. Well it is now 1 pm and the distribution of tickets starts. My neighbors and I know it will be close but we rubbed the Rock of Hope wishing it had the magical powers to help us. We get close. We can't believe they are still giving out tickets. We start to believe and then are stopped. It is over, the monitor announces there are no more tickets. I am deflated - and then realize, we were just 10 people away.

It's always NY

2010-07-05T17:58:00.014-04:00

With all the travels I have been doing or have done, I still can't avoid feeling there is no place for me other than New York City. It gnaws at me. Every time I think I want to live somewhere else, I find there is no where else. I blend here. I find myself being who I want to be because I can be in NYC. Don't kid yourself, the city is not necessarily for just the young and beautiful. It is for all. It is for those who are young and beautiful who go to the best clubs and lounges (like Anthony & Christine), or for the NBA Store (like Thomas) or for those that want the culture, free Shakespeare in the Park, the latest costume exhibit at the Met or brunch and a French foreign film at the Film Forum (like me). For Tony, well it just has traffic but when he gets to a place that has a great brunch and a lot of interest, he is happy. Yesterday, July 4th, it had fireworks. Theeee fireworks - the Macy's fireworks on the Hudson. We were up on the roof top deck of my cousin's apartment overlooking the Hudson. My cousin, over 60, living in the city and blending. We have the city in common if nothing else. We have been to the free concerts in Central Park with the Philharmonic, plays that have included Patti Lupone in Evita and Richard Burton in Equus. It has always been our common denominator. I have her and she has me. We blend in the city. And on July 13th, we have the concert in the park with Tchaikovsky and fireworks to look forward to. And every year, we have the Macy's fireworks on July 4th.

A Tequila Sunrise

2010-06-24T20:03:00.003-04:00

Vacations are a very personal thing. There are those who are looking for total relaxation, some want entertainment ala Vegas style, some seek lifestyle differences from what they have like a northeastern going to the southwest. For me, I like to do all of the above. With so little time and so much I want to do, taking a vacation involves planning to get the most of the trip within a limited amount of time. Starting in February, I started planning the trip of the year. This year, we considered the south of France, the beaches of Greece and the southwest states of America. While I am never one who considers the logical aspects of travel; economics of the time, the threat of attack, the latest in geological disasters, or the value of the dollar, I go where my heart tells me to go. My husband, however lives by facts and figures and decided it was the wrong time to go to Europe. We decided on the southwest end of America. I have to say, I am pretty good at planning a vacation. That is because I know what we like and how to pack in the most of a vacation without jumping from one hotel to another every night and finding what suits us. I also do not travel with kids (mine or anyone elses) or with other couples unless it is to a single place like the Jersey shore where all we do is sun bath, eat and drink which is not a bad time but different from traveling where you are always on the go. The "on the go" vacation should be made with limited personnel (a tip for those approaching the life without kids era of travel) who enjoy time with each other. I started with one itinerary but in the final 3 weeks, completely changed it. My philosophy, as it has developed, is that money isn't as important as being in the first class Presidential car of the Durango train where Roosevelt, Truman, and Ford sat. I thank my friends Gary and Kristen for not only helping me find the right course but costing me an additional $700 for the flight change and train ride - but it was worth it . Kristen said I should consider going to Santa Fe, a place she hadn't been but said was worth going. Why I trusted this logic doesn't make sense on paper but it worked in reality. Gary, my photography buddy, said I had to go to Durango where riding the train to Silverton through the Colorado Rockies was an amazing adventure. The bullet holes in the taverns of Silverton left standing from the good old days where the town's only activities consisted of mining and brothels was the coolest thing on earth. It has been proven that the best planned trips were when I trusted those with knowledge or some experience. I admit, both my friends were right. We flew into Albuquerque, drove to Santa Fe where we stayed for 3 days then on to Durango for another 3 days then to Sedona for 3 days. It ended in Scottsdale where we visited my cousin and her husband who live in the "house of toys" (will explain later). What I loved about the trip: everything. Most think of the southwest as a flat, dry desert which most of the area is - and then you hit Monument Valley. Shown in all those John Ford/John Wayne movies, this amazingly, sculptured landscape was a freak of nature that is the southwest's answer to the NY skyline. I loved it. Then there was Los Alamos where they built the first atomic bomb. In an area so serene, calm and desolate, a group of scientists developed the most deadly weapon of all time making the area more glamorous than it was. But the Aha Moment, by all means, was on the road from Santa Fe to Durango where a section of land was the inspiration of Georgia O'Keefe's paintings. It was the most underrated place I have ever seen with its beautiful landscape and garden of fossil remains. Why isn't this place listed as one of the top 10 places to see in New Mexico (duhhhh). So the Durango train. What is it about trains that attract everyone. Starting with kids under the age of 10, it becomes an obsession. They love it, they sometimes leave it for a few years but if you start out with trains, you end up with trains. Husband Tony started with trains when his father collected Lionels in the 50s. Father said it was for his son but Tony never was allowed near them until his father died and he fought to get them back. When he did, like those who built rooms in their home to accommodate their needs with wine cellars or bomb shelters, we built a 20x15' room in the basement of our first house which became the "train room". It was an attraction in our neighborhood that boy scout and girl scout troops planned outings to. I have to say, it was very cool. And so was the Durango train. It was on that train we met people, like us, traveling the country. Some retired, some who bought RVs and decided to travel around the country to where ever they wanted, whenever they wanted. It made us feel like we have so much to do, in so little time. It was great talking to those our age about our life, past and present and the Stetson hats and cowboy boots we would be buying after the ride. Oh, and I can't forget the "House of Toys". Always the collector, my cousin Lucy and her husband relocated from NJ to Scottsdale adding on to their collection of toys and other great stuff. I think the next sequel to Toy Story has to made with them in mind. It is great being with them. I was curious about how she made the transition from NJ to Scottsdale. My big fear leaving my comfort zone is where I will be lonely. Always a excellent quilter and crafter, Lucy told me she made friends by joining clubs and her husband, being a sports car fanatic, found friends through his interests too. The formula to enjoying life in the later years - have interests and be interesting. They make retirement and aging look good. People ask what was my favorite place. I can't be that specific. The reason I plan these vacations is to get a little city (Santa Fe), a little country (Sedona), and a little adventure (Durango). I got what I wanted, except for the cowboy boots which I am still hoping to get. They did look great on those women dancing to that country western band in Durango. But then, the dancers to the Cuban band in Santa Fe looked cool too even without the boots. Maybe I really could live away from NYC. For now, I just want to keep traveling.

Psst - I'm from NJ

2010-05-17T21:20:00.007-04:00

Yes, it has been a while since I posted but I have been busy. Let me first start with March and my ski trip to Whistler. Now I know skiing down the slopes that the Olympic ski teams rode just weeks before, drinking Coronas in the afternoon on the deck facing the gondola and have fabulous dinners every night in Whistler village and then Vancouver sounds tiring and tough work but the hard part was telling everyone I met there that I was from New Jersey. "Oh", they would say, "have you ever seen the Jersey Shore?" (no). Or "does Danielle from The Housewives from NJ really live in your town?" (she does). And the ultimate, "do you know Tony Soprano". Everywhere I went in Canada, it was like this. Who could blame them. The state of NJ use to be known for the swamp lands and smelly oil refineries along the Turnike. Now it is known as the state where,

The mobsters live like a hedge fund trader making their living terrorizing mom and pop stores, running the waste hauling and construction industry killing whoever pisses them off while hanging out in strip joints every day.
The Jersey Shore is a destination spot for guidos and guidettes whose family values mean they belong to a tribe of sex driven, well-tanned kids who grow to be in the Soprano family.
The Housewives of New Jersey who wear bad hairdos, too much make up and throw tables when things are not going their way in the gossipy conversations.

People I met in Canada would ask if I knew these people. Sure, I always hang with the likes of Snooki, Paulie D, Big Pussy, or Paulie Walnuts. They even have "the Jersey accent". It is a deviation of the New York accent but instead of dropping the T (as in da not "the") you drop the R; i.e. it is squae not square.I can only imagine the stimulating conversation I would have about brands of hair gel, polyester pants and the latest reality star on the cover of People magazine. What is it about New Jersey that makes TV producers showing inhabitants of the state as Neanderthals with bad taste in hair and clothes and no brains. There's got to be some one that dreams up these episodes and then humiliates Italian Americans by featuring them on prime time. How would those from South Carolina feel if they had a show where residents of their state were depicted as hillbillies without shoes, killing snakes to eat for dinner. So finally, I gave up on telling people that I came from NJ. Last person who asked I said I was from New York. He asked, "really, are you from Da Bronx". Ugh, forgitaboutit!

Under Construction

2010-04-27T22:07:00.002-04:00

New blog and new posts coming. Check back on May 9, 2010. Love ya, ginny

Snow days

2010-02-27T17:12:00.016-05:00

There is never a good reason to worry about getting stuck indoors when a nor'easter is heading your way for the second time in 1 month. After the first storm, you should know that running to the store to buy bread you will never use is fruitless. What you should be buying is the ingredients of a wonderful dinner to make easily, giving you time to do something during the day like putting your photo album in order. The best part, all the family is with you at dinner (a rare thing with adult children living at home). I don't know about you, but I can always grab the attention of anyone with a good meal. snow day meals are a bit special in that everyone seems relaxed in knowing they cannot go anywhere, do not need to go anywhere and find something simple to do, like eating. The snow dinner consists of:

Spinach salad with sauted mushrooms, cucumbers, red onion and roasted beets
Roast leg of lamb with special Armenian marinade
Roasted sweet potatoes
Lemon risotto

Spinach salad (a recipe I got from my cousin's restaurant in Armenia):

Bag of baby spinach (buy the pre-washed stuff)
Bunch of beets (do not discard the leaves as they are going into the salad)
Portabella mushrooms (again, buy pre-sliced but rinse them)
1 cucumber, peeled and sliced
1 red onion, sliced thin

Cut & wash the beet tops Mix with the spinach Boil the beets, until the skins come off easily. Add to the salad Saute the mushrooms in butter for about 4 minutes (add water to avoid burning if necessary). Drain most of the mushroom's liquid, then add to the salad. Dressing (the most important part) 1/3 cup olive oil 1/4 cup lemon juice 1 large clove garlic, crushed (I eyeball salt and the pepper) about 1/2 tsp salt about 1/4 tsp pepper Mix well and add to the salad just before serving. Using lemon instead of vinegar makes all the difference. Lamb Roast: About 4 lbs leg of lamb, de-boned. Have the butcher roll and tie it. Marinade for about 5 hours: 1/2 cup olive oil 1 TBS ground coriander 1/2 TBS paprika 1 tsp salt 1/2 tsp pepper (Note: do not add any citrus like wine or lemon) Set oven to 425 degrees. Put lamb in for 25 minutes uncovered Lower oven temperature to 300 degrees and cook until meat thermometer registers 155 degrees (about 2 hours in total). Let meat rest for about 15 minutes and carve. Risotto: 1 onion, chopped 1 cup risotto 1/2 cup white wine about 2 - 3 cups chicken broth 1 1/2 lemon juice 1/3 cup grated romano cheese Saute 1 chopped onion in some olive oil add 1 cup risotto, mix Add chicken broth 1 ladle at a time until risotto is not hard add lemon juice finish with grated cheese. Let rest about 10 minutes serve The end result is a happy me with a happy family, full of good food: Lovely

When Time Has Come Today

2010-01-10T22:33:00.012-05:00

For the last year, my son has been recovering from necessary surgery. He was a key member of his high school football team, leaving the year with a memorable game where he scored the only touchdowns that led the team to their state championship. His strength was his speed. After the season was over, we discovered a tumor on his knee that forced him to be operated on in April of 2009. Fortunately, the tumor was benign and he is fine. But it left him unable to continue his athletic career in college. He’s a young kid and had to give up his sport before he was ready. I relate to his pain but in a different way.

I admit to approaching my 60s in body yet my mind is around 35 to 40 years old. I still love to ski, to dance and to wear clothes that are probably not age appropriate. I went skiing this Saturday for the first time this season and while I loved it, my body aches from the inactive muscles of the summer. I dance but I wonder if I look old and foolish because I don't know the latest and greatest steps. I love wearing footless tights with skirts slightly above my knee but while I can make the look work, everything above the hips are of a different generation. If I lived in NYC, I would probably blend. But I don’t. I live in a suburban town on the outskirts of the city where trendy doesn’t exist for a mother of 3 adult children.

Is it time to give it up? Do I care what other people think or am I comfortable with who I am to not give a hoot. I care. I don't want to look ridiculous but I do want to do and wear what I like. I don’t think my deciding to wear a short skirt with footless tights will be a life altering decision, but skiing, well it is a little more threatening. I am not athletic in any other way and I’m not a bad skier. I love the whole atmosphere of the sport. There is nothing like being on the scenic mountains, the feeling of control on the slopes and the thrill of accomplishment at the end of the day. If I don’t ski, there is no instead, no alternative. I’m not good at doing nothing and everyone knows there is no thrill to being on the treadmill.

During this year's football playoffs, I was routing for the Minnesota Vikings because I like Brett Favre. My son dislikes him because Favre retired and then changed his mind. Favre thought he could walk away but he wasn’t ready. Maybe he was trying for the big win before he left - the Super Bowl. It didn’t happen. The Vikings are out. I felt bad for him and, in some way, could relate. I don’t want to be out, I want to walk out content with my decision. I think that will happen when I find the thing that takes the place of skiing or the footless tights whatever that may be.

Yes, Virginia There is a Santa Claus

2009-12-23T22:25:00.012-05:00

My whole life I have heard that line every Christmas season. The famous Virginia of a Christmas past who wrote to the NY Sun newspaper asking whether there was a Santa Claus. While the response was historic, the line I love is "Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias".

This year, this Virginia is looking at Christmas past, present and future. The past spent in the home of my parents born of another country in simpler times, unaccustomed to the frivolity and commercialism of the Christmas season of today. My brother and I were given one gift each (not one from each person, just one gift) and were forced by my father to wait until 5 pm on Christmas day before we were allowed to open it. I suppose it was to teach us to be patient. It didn't.

The Christmas past with my own family was much different with lots of decorations and new traditions. For years, we would started the season on the Saturday by driving to a farm after Thanksgiving to cut down our own Christmas tree. My husband and I would have this make-believe argument about what size tree we should have (I envisioned one comparable to that of Rock Center while Tony favored the love starved, Charlie Brown tree). Sometime during December, we would invite friends for a traditional white elephant gift exchange holiday party giving me the chance to cook hopefully dazzle my friends with homemade Armenian specialties. It seemed to work because they cam back every year and with the same junky gift they got the year before. Then on Christmas day, the kids would get up at some ungodly early morning hour to open gifts.

Christmas today is with a fake tree that comes out of a box and decorations that are from Crate and Barrel. The Christmas morning sound of kids running through the house with excitement has been replaced by their sleep deprived grunts of dragging them out of bed sometime around 9 am to open gifts. After which, they would go back to bed for another few hours of rest while I cooked. It is different from the past but it is the evolution.

Who knows what the Christmas of the future will be like or where we will be. Every year, the friends who made up our Christmas day either change or relocate to another place. The street I live on is comprised of multi-ethnic families that do not decorate. Our Santa and snowman figurines on the lawn are reminders of Christmases when the kids were little and still believed in miracles. Times have changed and we have too. My mother in law reaching 84 years old this year is not coming Christmas nor does she want anyone to pick her up. She is not upset, just more afraid of travel. I remember as my aunts’ aged, they also passed up holidays to be alone within the quiet comfort of their home rather than in the hustle of the day. It seemed strange to me then, but not anymore.

I hope I always want to be in the hustle of the day, but if I don’t, I hope my kids will understand. I hope I always want to be among friends but if I can’t go to their house, I hope they come to mine. I hope my kids will always be happy throughout their lives and love Christmas. If one year they don't, I hope they remember the Christmas’ of the past and look to make changes for a better one next year.

Merry Christmas, Love, Ginny

Hyasdan katzer em, shoodov geh khoseenk, Sirov

2009-10-04T19:34:00.006-04:00

The translation is "Gone to Armenia, talk to you soon, Love". I am leaving Tuesday for a trip to my heritage land. Going to Greece first where I will be with my cousins and then travel to Armenia where my one cousin and I will be staying with her sister in the capital, Yerevan. There are so many things I am afraid of:

flying, yet not afraid enough to stop me
getting sick, as I hear that I should not drink the water in Armenia
leaving my family as I am traveling alone.
coming back to find out I have been laid off
packing

I can deal with the first two. I love traveling and will have to take a plane if I want to go where I want to go. Getting sick, well I'll try not to. Leaving my family, that's a tough one. When I booked the trip, it seemed easy. My kids are self-sufficient and perfectly able to take care of themselves. What am I worried about? I don't think it is about them missing me. It is more that I will miss them. When I visit my family in Greece, I don't cook, I don't clean and I don't run errands. How do I deal with relaxation? It is so not me. Coming back to find out I have been laid off - well I stressed about that for a while. But after working all this weekend, I am done stressing. If a company is stupid enought to lay someone off that works 10 hours for each of 2 days and 5 hours each on Saturday and Sunday to clean up all her work before vacation, then they do not deserve me. F--- them. Now packing, there is the real challenge. I still don't understand how one can plan their wardrobe for 8 days without knowing what they will encounter in their travels. I can't do this with less than 6 pairs of shoes - can you? There are comfortable shoes, heels, the just-in-case shoes, and the shoes that go with one outfit that you must have. I refuse to look like the American tourist in sneakers, sweatpants and the fanny pack. Ugh, no way! So I am gone from 10/6 through 10/17. I promise to take pictures to post. Sirov,

Taking Woodstock

2009-09-06T16:29:00.008-04:00

In 1969, I looked like this – hip hugger jeans, floral empire waist dresses and long, curly hair that I ironed so I could look like Joan Baez. It is 40 years later, and I am still dressing like that. Same style dresses, still in my hip hugger jeans, and with hair that I sometimes get tempted to pull out the iron along with pulling out the gray hair that gets past my dye. My cousin, in the photo with me, was always the neat and tidy one while I was politely referred to by my aunts as, "the free spirit". In 1969, the news was not all that good - the Manson murders had just taken place, and the evening news reported the daily trauma and death count from the Vietnam War that incited riots in colleges everywhere. I had just graduated high school. I was a shy kid in what seemed at the time to be a big school. I guess I was a non-descript student - not athletic (not that there were so many choices for girls back then), did not go to my prom and had no idea what my future was going to be about. So many girls were either getting married or going to college after high school. I was doing neither. During high school, I worked at a local handbag company and made friends with a girl who was around my age. She told me about this 3 day concert in August in upstate New York called Woodstock. Knowing it would be a stretch to get my parents to let me go to this event, I brought my friend to my home and introduced her to my parents. They liked her and somehow, they let me go. I think my mother might have convinced my father that this would be a good idea. She understood I was lonely and that going up to the mountains of the Catskills with a nice friend to an outdoor concert sounded like a nice, peaceful vacation. Memory doesn't serve me well after 40 years so a lot of what I did or saw isn't all that clear. But, this weekend, I saw the movie "Taking Woodstock". It all came back to me – I sat in the movie theater alone recognizing the Route 17 we took to get there, the grocery store we bought food at, the lake where people swam and the hill that some slid down on that Sunday when the rain came again. It was all there. Not the music, just us and this area in Sullivan County. Someone saw what I saw and brought it all back. At home, I was not the popular one, or the rich one or the going to college one. At Woodstock, while many of us were the shy one or the I-don’t-know-where-I-am-going one, that weekend I was surrounded by my kind. We all met and took this vacation from the reality of the world for just a few days. We helped each other with food, heard some of the concert and somehow, made it through the 3 days without incident. Last week, a friend invited Tony and I to meet his new lady and see his new home in Wurtsboro, NY. We had a lovely day in this town, which is near the Basha Kill, a beautiful nature preserve. It turns out, we are in Sullivan County, home of the Bethel Woods site of the 1969 Woodstock festival. The simplicity of the countryside came back to me. The natural beauty of the area, its undeveloped landscape, and its acceptance of the shy kid who didn’t know where her life was going beyond that August weekend – it all came back to me. For a short time that day, I did not work in corporate America or had responsibilities. It was 1969 again. I learned more about Woodstock in the aftermath than when I was there. I didn’t realize then that it would be this historical event and that my being there would be the thing that made me cool to my kids and interesting to others. I am not that shy kid anymore. I am not lonely, have direction and adult responsibility. But, I will go back to Sullivan County more now because it tugs at my desire to be that free spirit again even for a little while.

Me and Julia

2009-08-09T18:09:00.000-04:00

I am a very good cook - maybe a very, very good cook. I enjoy it and love having people over to cook for. I usually prefer up to 6 people at a time as it is easier to manage a recipe for that many people although I have been known to make meals for 20 that haven't turned out too badly either. The larger parties usually mean a less complicated and less expensive menu that consists of pasta and a roast of some kind. On the shelf alongside my favorite cookbooks, I have a 3-ring black binder with recipes I collect from magazines, newspapers and from people who's meals I have enjoyed and are willing to share the formula of their creation. Having said that, I cannot remember if I have ever followed a recipe where I did not alter it to accommodate the likes or dislike of an ingredient, suit my taste more or use up something that has been in the fridge too long. With much anticipation, this weekend, I saw the movie Julie and Julia. The movie was okay - Meryl was great as was her character. I found the Amy Adams role a little dull. Seeing the movie however, spark my interest to pull out my 1971 copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and cook one of the recipes. So I spent most of Saturday shopping for and cooking boeuf bourguignon (page 315). The results were excellent - even if I do say so myself, but not without alteration. The recipe calls for 3 cups of very good red wine and 2 - 3 cups beef stock. a) that is too much liquid as only 3 total cups is needed to cover the meat. b) unless you make the beef stock yourself, the store bought version is either salty or tasteless (low sodium version). c) 3 cups of red wine adds a sharp taste to the sauce that can be unpleasant. 2 cups is enough. d) my frugal personality cannot pour over 1/2 a bottle of good wine into a sauce when I could be pouring it down my throat. Other adjustments included using pancetta as I had a piece in my freezer and I couldn't find a slab of bacon in my hopelessly white-breadish Stop & Shop. The same for not using thyme as I wanted fresh and it was nowhere to be found. As usual, I blame my mother for causing this inability to not follow recipes in its strictest detail. She never owned a measuring spoon, never measured a thing, and used regular cups (not measuring cups) to determine the right amount of flour. Recipes for Armenian foods are not easy to come by, so if I wanted to learn how to cook these foods, I had to sit in front of her taking out what she put into the bowl to measure it and then write it down. She so hated my doing that as it interrupted her thought process. Consequently, it was not quality mother/daughter time. I have found that there are cookbooks meant to cook and others meant to teach. Julia's cookbook is meant to teach you how to cook as stated in her forward which goes, "Our primary purpose in this book is to teach you how to cook, so that you will understand the fundamental techniques and gradually be able to divorce yourself from a dependence on recipes" To summarize, spend quality time with your mother by buying the cookbook and then get a divorce.

Catch up

2009-08-09T16:28:00.014-04:00

My daughter asks me every week, "why haven't you blogged". I don't know I say. I have a list of about 5 topics that I want to write about and never do. So I am coming back with pictures of what has been going on in the last few months. And a big thank you to you Christine for bugging me to come back. A lot of this is about Thomas but it was, after all, his last year in high school and a great year too: Thomas' prom - don't they look handsome! Tom's Graduation The Graduation Block Party: Ever see so much testosterone! Having way too much fun And the girl's aren't bad either (they're the ones in the skirts) The "young_old man" at bat. Form is still good, right! And July 4th fireworks in Manhattan pictures: I am posting twice today as some what of a makeup - second post - Julia and me. Still to come, the Paul McCartney concert and more altered recipes.

Mother's Day 2009

2009-05-17T20:35:00.019-04:00

Twenty four years ago, I made the decision to be a parent. At the time, I could not imagine my life without kids and still can't. I'm lucky. I didn't have to struggle much to get them, but it sure has been an adventure having them. I could tell you it was a joy all the way through but the truth is, there were challenges along the way. Last weekend was Mother's Day. I never want gifts, a card - one that expressed their feelings, was all I hoped for. I got what I wanted. I read the card that my eldest son picked that said "I see how you put your needs aside for me" and think that he may have realized that our social life revolved around his schedule and his friends and his enjoyment. The card my daughter picked said "I realize how lucky I was to have someone like you to depend on" and think of the days when she felt alone and needed our presence. And the Snoopy card my youngest chose offering a hug instead of a clean room - yeah that's right. They think so much of me yet, there is so much more that I wish I could do but know that I should not or can not do. I wish there was an easier road for them to take but there isn't. I cannot interfere with their choices in love even when I know the partner is so wrong for them. I can not make their coach pick them for a play even though I know they should be picked because they are that good. I cannot ask their friends not to disappoint them by canceling plans last minute. If I did, that would be the utmost sin a parent can do. These are the facts of life - it isn't always fair and there isn't any other way to learn it except to get through it. Yes, I deserve a lot of credit for doing the hardest thing a parent can do and that is not to parent. I let them fall and I don't sleep that night because I don't want them to feel the pain. I sometimes wonder how my own mother did it. I was not a perfect child. In my young adult years, I stayed out too late, dated the wrong guy and made the wrong choices about my future. I guess the answer is that she let me fall and because of it, things didn't turn out too bad after all. She never seemed to struggle with those decisions. She just seemed to me to be a smart woman who put her needs aside for me and for who I could depend on. I can only hope.

When there's no time to color the eggs, make deviled eggs

2009-04-12T19:30:00.001-04:00

I could never get my arms around Easter. It begins with lent where one has to give up something they love for 40 days to prove to the world that they can suffer. This tradition had to be invented by a man who didn't know what it was like to stay up all night with a sick child. In Armenian culture, it is typical to give up all dairy products, meat, poultry and sweets for lent. My mother would do this and then on the Saturday before Easter she would fast all day, culminating in her taking communion at around 7:30 pm when she could finally eat something. At that point, and due to her weakened and irritable condition, we had already gotten into several fights where she would throw every verbal insult at me that had been hold up inside her all year. Oh well, it was only once a year and I got to understand it as I got older. And in some way, this denial of food made her feel good. My mother loved Easter. I tried to but found it a difficult holiday. Easter is always on a Sunday which means I have to cook for the crowd and then go to work the next day exhausted. Its about making bread which I am terrible at. Its about coloring eggs which, to me, is a waste of a good food product. The colored eggs sits in a basket for decoration, breeding bacteria, making the egg inedible and smelly. So this year, with Thomas on crutches and Anthony working the restaurant, we had a quiet holiday with just us. Tony and I had a meal of cheese, fruit, spinach pies, grapeleaves and ham with a nice pinot noir. I hard-boiled the eggs with intentions of coloring them but decided to make deviled eggs instead. I liked my Easter this year more than any other. Some traditions do not stand the test of time and the world isn't any worse for it.

Ups and Downs

2009-03-24T20:30:00.000-04:00

I don't know why but in March I usually feel out of sorts and become victim to a creative meltdown. It is a month where, much like the weather, life becomes unpredictable. Looking back to last year, the same thing happened around the same time. My thoughts dried up then as now as evident by the fact that I have not written anything in several weeks. It may be writer's block or that an emotional roller coaster is over taking my thought processes. I can't use any of the traditional women hormonal excuses because I am way beyond that. No it is life that is having it's ups and downs and here is why: Good news:

I celebrated 5 years free of breast cancer. Doctor gave me a clean bill of health and told me not to come back for a year.
I have completed my first 2 years of college to get an associates degree. I am taking a break while I ponder what I will do next.
I still have a job, we are not in foreclosure and we can still afford to send my kid to college.

Bad news: My beloved Uncle Paul in Australia died Friday. Having been diagnosed with advanced cancer, he succumbed this past week with his son and daughter at his side. I hate that I will never see him again. I miss him already. Very bad news: Thomas has to have surgery to correct a tumor that has grown larger in his left knee. Scheduled Friday, 4/3. Good news: The tumor is benign, he has a surgeon that is chief of orthopedic surgery at Mt. Sinai and he is on spring break the week after surgery so he can recover without loosing too much school time. (That's probably not good news to him.) Feeling sorry for myself news: I canceled the Whistler trip to be with my son. And with all this, I gave up drinking during the week for Lent. Is it Friday yet?

The Young

2009-02-17T21:01:00.008-05:00

I came across this blog somewhere and I have been following it for sometime. I think I started reading it because she had some insights into NYC and then the blogger got pregnant. Her last post is about how concerned she is about this breastfeeding thing. It expressed so much of what I felt when I had my first child; confused, concerned and convinced I was doing everything wrong. I wanted to post a comment but she already had 62 comments of people telling her what they did and what she should do. I could not read them all but knowing what I know 23 years later, the kid will survive and probably because we are the kind of mother that posts blogs looking for reassurance. There should be some form of a formal mentoring system where you have an older parent around to help you get through these early years - somewhat like an intern system. In truth, with my first, Anthony, I had a cesarean and my mother came to help me for a week. The day she left, I cried feeling insecure and frightened that I would not be a good mother. Maybe that is the way to go - like birds, throw them out of the nest and let them fly. Somehow they survive and survive they do. I look at my kids now. They are young adults and I am still struggling with trying to stay out of their lives and letting them fly. I remember some of the times that made me feel that I was the worst mother on earth. When Anthony got his legs stuck in the crib bars and couldn't move for what seemed to be forever. I remember when Christine cried one night for longer than I wished but I was so tired I just prayed she would go to sleep. And Thomas who broke his arm one day when the babysitter claimed she was paying attention, and I knew she wasn't. Those memories last in me, but luckily not in them. I wish I could get them to do the things I am sure will get them to their goals faster, but I can't. I wish they would be happy all the time, but they won't be. In my life, I learned by flying alone. It is how they will learn and they will, but in their due time. So my blogger friend, it won't come easy, but it will come. I'm at least grateful that I am not worrying about breastfeeding, diapers and play dates. My kids turned out okay either because of me or in spite of me, but no matter, they are loved and will love. That is all that matters some days.

Y=mx+b

2009-02-14T21:36:00.021-05:00

For the last 18 months, I have been working towards getting a degree. I am in my last two classes and one of them is algebra. It sucks. What pisses me off is that I will never use this in any part of my life. I will never use symbols to calculate an answer and I will never understand why I need to know this if I will not be an engineer. I am a writer not an engineer. I don't want to know y=mx+b or need to know it. In 3 weeks, if I don't pass algebra, I will not have a degree. I did what I had to. I told my sons that I would be willing to pay them $1,000 each if they will help me get through algebra. When I was in high school, a hundred years ago, I took algebra. I had just as hard of a time then as I do now. So much that the algebra teacher told me that the only way he would pass me is if I promised him I would never take another algebra class again. He's probably dead now so I think I am safe. So after 18 months, I am in the last of my required courses. One ends on March 6 and the last one (algebra) ends on March 20. It is so worth it to me to get through this to get the degree but I will never Y=mx+b in my life. Have you ever? It seems silly but I have illusions of what I plan to do after I get this degree and it has nothing to do with algebra

I want to read something I am not required to read.
I want to clean my house.
I want to make a dress. I use to sew and hope to do so again.
I want to go out for dinner on Friday nights and not worrying about my next assignment.

To celebrate my accomplishment, I booked a weekend in New York City for March 20 (great deal), and my Vancouver ski trip for April 8. So, I have to pass this course. In the meantime, if you know what Y = mx+b means, let me know. Otherwise, pray for me.

The Waiting Game

2009-02-01T14:49:00.003-05:00

I am sick. Sick with a sore throat that kills when I swallow. I’m also sick of everyone’s complaints of winter. Hubby is in the garage, staring at the snow and at his motorcycle. He listens to the weather - more snow coming, temperatures in the single digits. He waits and dreams of California and waits for winter to be over. Anthony looks at motorcycle magazines planning, plotting and waiting. Christine, maybe the only smart one, booked a vacation to Florida where she has been for the last week. She will return today probably with some awesome tan and look to plan her next trip – and wait till then. Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Thomas will watch the game and then wait till next fall when the football season starts again. He is also waiting for college acceptance letters (particularly one) and hopefully will be playing football for the college of his choice. We all wait. A few weeks ago, Tony and I took off on a Friday and went skiing at Mountain Creek. The conditions there were the best I have ever experienced at this NJ mountain. But, I guess if you don’t ski, winter is just one long wait. So, here’s my response to winter. I booked a trip in April to Whistler, Vancouver to ski with my Houston girlfriend who I went to Banff with last year. To a skier, winter just isn’t long enough. I can’t wait till April.

Val-Kill

2009-01-12T20:47:00.001-05:00

In the house we had before this one, I had a room I called Val-Kill. I named it after the cottage that Eleanor Roosevelt had in Hyde Park, NY – her place, her things, her sanctuary. I named my room Val-Kill for the same reason. In a house filled with toys, sporting equipment and a 12’ x 30' model train room, this small 10’ x 12’ room was mine. I decorated the window with sheer, white curtains, and the walls with blue painted wainscoting with soft off-white colored walls above it. It was minimally furnished with a desk, single bed, and my computer. On the wall hung an inexpensive, framed poster of the Van Gough painting, “First Steps” where a child takes his first steps towards the outstretched arms of his father. The room stored my hobbies, my memories and my life, past and present. It was the room I had imagined my mother would have when she would visit and hopefully would live in someday. Like Eleanor, my mother was the savior of lost soul. If you didn’t have a place to go at any holiday or would like a nice Armenian meal, you were invited to my mother’s house for dinner. Her charitable contributions consisted of regularly taking 2 buses to Jersey City to visit our elderly, shut-in relative who looked forward to the homemade dish my mother would bring. Like Eleanor’s children, I felt second string to my mother’s business (dressmaking), selfishly wanting just to enjoy her company. When I was younger, her quality time with me was going to a client’s home where I would sit quietly waiting until she finished fitting the dress on her customer. Returning home on the bus, we would talk for a while but inevitably, she would doze off to catch some desperately needed sleep. She seemed to exist on 4 – 5 hours a night and many a time, after I moved out of the house, I would be driving by her house on my way home at some un-Godly hour, seeing the silhouette of my mother in the dimly lit attic window, sewing to finish some customer’s dress. When I think back on it now, I wish I had been more of a help to her and less self-absorbed with the “all-about-me” teenage attitude. I’ll never be as talented as her or as generous as her but I am her daughter so I am lucky to be a product of this great woman. I remember her this week as her birthday, January 14, approaches. She never did get to live in my Val-Kill, just in my heart forever.

December 2008

2008-12-28T22:25:00.000-05:00

It has been a busy month for sure. Since December 1, I have been cooking non-stop. Aside from my daily dinners, I have made 8 trays of spinach pies, 2 plates of grapeleaves, fusilli with Bolognese, penne vodka, chicken francese, sausage with broccoli rabe, and a roast beef each for 20 people. That does not include Christmas dinner which was a stuffed turkey, lasagna, more spinach pies, more grapeleaves and a carrot cake for Thomas’ birthday which happens to fall on Christmas Eve. Today is Sunday after the door buster sales (which I never got to) and after a progressive dinner where I was the appetizer house (yes, more spinach pies and grapeleaves) I finished making dinner for my brother and his wife who were visiting from Minnesota. They are leaving tomorrow morning and as our last meal together, I made a roast lamb (his favorite) and lemon risotto. I’m tired and as I reflect back on all this, I have to say, I had a full month. The Friday before Christmas was my party for the football parents which was postponed when our winter storm hit. We had it Saturday with very little loss. The white elephant gift exchanges are the best and very funny. Here are some of the classy gifts: Then another 4 inches of snow came again on Sunday. I usually use a picture of some New York scene for my Christmas card because most of the time, I can never get the entire family together to get a Christmas family photo. But the snow kept everyone home. So I dragged them all out in front of the house and eureka, I got a good one: Although I didn’t get to send them out until Christmas Eve, Armenian’s celebrate Christmas on January 6 so I was well within time. My year can be summed up with the good feelings of this month and more. Thomas’ team finishing their football season as winners with him knowing he was a big part of that win. Anthony graduated Fordham and got a great job. Christine continues to work hard and started college at night. Tony and I will celebrate New Year’s Eve by going to dinner with close friends at a neighborhood restaurant. We have celebrated the eve there for the last 3 years. The restaurant has good food, music and most of all, I will not cook. I may not cook for a month (me, yeah right). Regardless, I am looking forward to being off work this coming week to sort pictures and organize my home and, despite economic turmoil, I think I had a very good year. So Happy New Year my friends and may the coming time be filled with magic for all. Love, Ginny

December

2008-12-14T20:00:00.003-05:00

It has been a busy time. It always is in December. My weekends are packed with shopping, cooking and football. My son is done with his high school football season. He is leaving a winner. The school's record is 52 wins in a row, no losses. It is awesome but over. Now, I am now watching the pros. It isn't as much fun, but I need something. In two weeks, it will be Christmas. I should be writing Christmas cards and finishing my shopping list. But I am not. I've decided I want to have a Holiday Party for the senior parents and players of the football team next Friday. The parents alone will be about 26 people and of course, the kids will be another 13. I must be crazy. Nevertheless, I wanted to do this maybe as a last hurrah to our life with high school football. Maybe because I haven't had a party this big during the Holidays for about 8 years. In any event, I'm doing it. But last night, I had a dream. The parents and players came over and I ran out of food. I woke up and immediately started cooking and cooked for the next 8 hours. My menu consists of penna with vodka sauce, chicken francaise, sausage with broccoli rabe, rigatoni with bolognese, spinach pies and grapeleaves. At one point of my life, when people would ask if they could bring something, I would say no, just come. Not any more. I now take anything I can get so I am getting some donations of appetizers and dessert. I also decided to add a roast beef to the menu - just in case. To top off the evening we are doing the infamous white elephant grab bag. This is where people bring a wrapped gift of something they have around the house that they no longer want. It does works out to be a fun exchange of gawdy, useless stuff. So there it is, my December. I don't know why but if I am not busy, I find ways to make myself busy. It is who I am. Hopefully, I won't make my husband nuts during the week. Oh, and if anyone doesn't have any where to go on Christmas, you are welcome at my house, really.

A Night To Remember

2008-11-22T08:16:00.003-05:00

(that blur with the ball is Tom on the carry) It is 4 am and I can't sleep. Last night, I had too much wine. Last night, I told another man I loved him. Last night it was 30 degrees with a wind child that made it feel like 20 and Tony, Anthony, Christine and I sat in an open football field for 2 hours watching Thomas and his team in the deciding game of the high school football playoffs. In spite of the bitter cold, we were sweating it out. Both teams wanted this to go on to the State Championship. It is sudden death to the losing team; as a senior, your high school football career is over and you want to go out a winner. It is a scoreless first quarter. I don’t know how they are playing in this cold and without sleeves (it compromises their holding the ball). I am wearing everything I can think of to keep warm, and my lucky heart necklace. I prayed to my mother every time I see Thomas go in – she can help him, I know it. It is second quarter. Thomas is in. The quarterback gives the ball to him. And he runs, and he runs. And it’s Forest Gumpish. He is running 81 yards with a platoon of defensive linemen after him. They cannot catch him. He scores and the crowd goes nuts. In the second half, the opposing team came back and scored. After the third, it was us 7, them 10. The wind kicked in harder and it is colder, if that seemed possible. We are now officially freezing. It’s 2 minutes into the fourth quarter. The quarterback hands Thomas the ball. He runs and he runs. He does it! Tom scored again on a 39 yard run. After a 3 point field goal by us and what seemed like the longest quarter in history, Tom's team wins 17 - 10. He did it, its huge and its all about my kid! He's only 17 years old and when he is 30 and 40 and 50 years old, this day will live within him forever. He will remember this bitter cold night when he brought his team to victory. It is what I live for as a parent – my child’s success all on his own. His abilities, his accomplishment, his 15 minutes of fame. As is the case after every game, parents, coaches, players, cheerleaders and whoever else go to the after-game celebration at the local pub. Everybody came up to Tony and me and congratulated us. It was the team, I said. No one player can do it alone. But it was Thomas' in the spotlight. He gave up summers for 4 years to practice and be with his team. He worked at this and deserved it. Coach came to our table. He said my kid was great and very coachable. I told coach I loved him because of what he did for Thomas. I also thanked my mom. His MVP Trophy for the Playoff Game.

Tag You're It

2008-11-08T21:13:00.003-05:00

I have been tagged by a good friend. You can either cut and paste these questions in an email or answer in a comment. Either way, I would love to hear from you. Here are the questions and my answers: 1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes, my father's sister who died at age 5 2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? The day my son graduated Fordham - happy cries. 3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? No, it is terrible 4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? I go for roast beef usually but love meatloaf from any German butcher. 5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? 3 - boy, girl, boy 6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I would love to be friends with me. 7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Does a bear ----in the woods. 8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS Yes, but do not pay attention to them - I probably should 9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No, you do it and I'll watch. 10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Cheerios 11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Always 12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Not physically, but mentally absolutely. 13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Pumpkin (right now anyway) 14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? What they are wearing and if they are looking at me when they are talking to me. 15. RED OR PINK? Red 16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I wish I was taller. 17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST My Mom - every day 18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? Of Course! 19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Black. 20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Pumpkin ice cream on a piece of apple pie that I made. 21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? My iPod's 60s playlist. 22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Purple 23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Saute onions, anything cooking on the grill, honeysuckle 24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My daughter Christine. 25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Love her! 26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? I love high school football and after all this time, I am finally getting it! I may start watching the pros next! 27. Hair Color? Above the dye, dark brown with burgundy undertones. Under the dye, I don't want to know. 28. EYE COLOR? brown 29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? no 30. FAVORITE FOOD? I love Armenian, Greek and Italian food. That covers a lot of ground. 31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy endings, hands down. 32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Sex and the City (DVD) 33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Purple 34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Winter even though I hate the cold, I love skiing and comfort food 35. HUGS OR KISSES? All of the above 36. FAVORITE DESSERT? See #20 37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Hope lots of you 38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Many of you 39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? The New Photography Manual 40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? ?? 41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? I don't watch TV but the last thing I watched were the election results. 43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles 44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME??? Greece 45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? No, but I am very interesting and a lot of fun, really. Oh, I do speak Armenian. 46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Washington Heights in NYC 47. ONE THING NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT YOU I have no sense of direction and get lost everywhere I go.

A Perfect Fall Weekend

2008-10-24T22:25:00.000-04:00

The perfect Autumn weekend consists of: A drive in the country to see the fall foliage, which this year seems to show the most vibrant in colors that I've seen in a long time. Friday night at the high school football game where the team my son is on wins 37 - 0. Thomas has scored 5 touchdowns in the first half of 3 games so far this season! Saturday is at the food festival at my church. Every year, my Armenian church puts on a food festival for 3 days where the retired women of the congregation who make up the Ladies Guild cook for 4 weeks making the most delicious shish kabob, ground lamb kabobs, stuffed grapeleaves and cheese pies. It is my mother's cooking all over again. I am in the kitchen Saturday helping with a dish that is called kefta. This is a ball of 100% fat free sirloin made into the shape of a meatball then stuffed with a mixture of ground chuck seasoned with onions, parsley, salt and pepper. It is cooked in chicken broth. It may not sound like much, but any Armenian would remember their roots and think of their mother when they have this dish. It is very typical Armenian and very delicious. I would have taken a picture of it but I was too busy cooking and eating. I look forward to the day when I retire and be a Ladies Guild member. I want to be the one who makes the kefta. Here is one of the tireless ladies that I cooked with. Gloria - she has worked in the kitchen for 4 weeks prior to the food fest making 3,000 keftas. Doesn't she look awesomely happy for a woman who has been up for 18 hours. The completion of my fall weekend came on Sunday with the Mother/Son brunch for the football players and their moms. I have waited 4 years for this day. It is the day when the senior football players get up and, in front of their peers, say how they feel about their mothers. The truth comes out. Some say how they love their mom for being kind when the coach and the father is somewhat hard on them. Some of the players thank their mothers for doing their laundry, making their beds and feeding them. Some cry about how much they care for their mother. Some are funny. My son said he loved me because I supported him, encouraged him, made the best dinners he ever had and put up with him when his favorite NFL team loses which seems to happen every week lately. All I can say was, the day lived up to my expectations. The weekend ends with the traditional carving of the pumpkins: It is October - my favorite month. I wish I could have this good of a time every weekend.

"Tom on the Carry"

2008-09-19T20:18:00.000-04:00

The opening day of the high school football season took place last Friday evening. Thomas is playing. It is the night before the game and I am told to expect my house to be honored by being decorated by one of the cheerleaders for good luck. So Tony and I came home Thursday night to find this: and this and this and even this In my day, when I saw homes decorated with toilet paper dangling from the trees, it wasn't a form of admiration. It was trashing and usually to some poor kid who was being harassed at school. Somewhere along the line, I am imagining that some smart educator suggested that the way to stop this harassment was by decorating the house of a 250 pound senior lineman that nobody is going to dare mess with. It then became cool. My honored tradition takes place every week before each game until the season is over or the toilet paper freezes on the trees. It is high school football at its finest. I have even been blessed with a new fall wardrobe. This shirt: which I wear to every game and this 6" by 4" pin, which takes up most of one breast: (BTW, they won their first game - and he did carry a few times) Wish him luck.

9/11/08

2008-09-11T06:46:00.001-04:00

The Trade Center then: The World Financial Center rebuilt and a work in progress: Tony and I were in downtown Manhattan this weekend to see the waterfalls. at Brooklyn Piers under the Brooklyn Bridge Downtown NY is being rebuilt stronger than ever. We are more beautiful now then ever. Love you all, Ginny

My 2 cents

2008-09-05T20:49:00.002-04:00

I have been voting since George McGovern ran against Richard Nixon. Since I have been known to generally voice an opinion on topics that I care about, and have been a registered Democrat since 1972, and read The New York Times, some of my friends and family think that that qualifies me to debate the current election down to minor details. I have had my position challenged at social occasions where the evenings have ended in a knockdown drag out exchange of words that have left the evening with the proverbial white elephant in the room. To say that I have had enough of this election is an understatement. Since the last election ended, this one started but in a more ferocious way than I have ever seen before. I have heard and been the victim of slander, rhetoric and insult more than any other time. Does this mean that when this election ends, another campaign will begin and with the same viscous attacks from the party that loses. God help me. Will someone tell me – who has the right to argue that their opinion is all right and others have it all wrong especially when they are playing Monday morning quarterback. Who reads every newspaper to get all sides of an issue. If you have that kind of time, I want your life. When is the rhetoric I hear from candidates going to stop and honesty come into the forefront of speeches. So here it is – my two cents. I am voting for Obama. Not that I think he is perfect, but I think he offers more than what I see in McCain and his pistol-packing mama vice president. Let me tell you from someone who worked full time while raising three young kids, it is not possible to do both successfully. So there you have it. My opinion –and my right to it.

One year ago

2008-08-17T21:04:00.022-04:00

One year ago, I began writing this blog. At the time, I was starting to feel the daily circle of activity that revolved around working, doing for the kids and their school, shrinking to work, some involvement with the kids and hardly any with the school. I found I actually had time on my hands. So with the help of my good friend and talented blogger, Kristen, I found blogging – my modern day form of letter writing. Pre-email, internet and blogging, I would write letters to my cousins in Greece all the time. When friends moved away, I would write to them. Much like my blogs, they didn’t respond as often as I wrote, but that’s okay. When I get together with them and start talking about my most recent experiences, often times they say, “I know, I read it in your blog”. They never comment, but they are there. At first, I thought I would write about adult outings in new, fun places – life after kids. But I realized there wasn’t enough of that and the kids are not done with me. The roles, though have changed. Rather than be in their face, I’m on the sideline now. They talk and discuss and I lend my ear and my heart. Twenty three years of raising them has not gone by fast. I felt every day of those hectic schedules, good times and bad. I helped them solve life’s problems, trying to guide them to be independent thinkers with good values. I’m satisfied and breathing a sigh of relief those days are over. I think they are too. As I grow into the next blogging year, I’m not sure where it will take me. I’m a little unsettled lately. Some of my close friends who I've known through our kids are starting to move to more scenic places where they will see the ocean every morning at breakfast or never wear another winter coat again. There will be changes and new adventures for me and my husband but I'm not sure where or what yet. The predictability of life when all the kids were in school and planning around five schedules is almost over. Thomas, in this final year of high school, is playing a starting position on the school football team. It will be our last involvement with a high school for one of our own. Never again will I have to go to another Parent's Night or meet with the guidance counselor or get the dreaded phone call from the school nurse. I’m going to savor this last year like no other before it. Tony and I are going to every football game and can’t wait. As for my husband and I, we talk about more travel, moving and waking up to something scenic too. It would also not surprise me if we wound up staying in the same house forever. Right now, it's all a mystery, to be continued.

Summer of Love

2008-08-05T20:45:00.012-04:00

Coming back from California to life on the east coast was a bit of a rude awakening. The heat and humidity were horrible last week and then it thunder stormed almost daily. What am I doing here, I asked of myself. And then I remembered, to go to NEW YORK CITY of course and to see HAIR at Central Park’s Delacorte Theatre. You may remember that last year, I stood on line for my two free tickets to see Midsummer’s Night Dream where I dragged my husband whose enjoyment of Shakespeare could be compared to preparation day before a colonoscopy. This year, I saved him from his husbandly obligation and invited friends who actually wanted to see the show. I may be nuts, but the waiting in line doesn’t bother me. I never mind being outdoors on a nice day where I can read a book, meet interesting people, and fall asleep when I need to. My good friend Kim was just as eager as I was to see HAIR and agreed to the early morning start and long wait. We packing lawn chairs, some fruit and umbrellas and settled down to our spot. Our neighboring line-mates included singers and a cocktail waitress from a supposedly famous bar in the Village called Maria's Crisis Piano Bar who had finished work around 4 am, had the typical greasy breakfast and went directly to the line around 6:30 am. Coming straight from work, the waitress was decked in a black sequined pants suit being the snazziest dresser on line by far. They were quite entertaining. After surviving a torrential thunderstorm around 12 noon, Kim and I were handed our two free tickets each and drove home to rest up to return for the evening performance with our two friends, the lucky recipients of the other tickets. I saw the original version of HAIR back in 1969 but for some reason, it didn't make as much of an impression on me then as it did now. I loved this HAIR. The songs were fun, the production was lively and the set was colorful. I knew each of the characters from somewhere in my life. I remembered the music and yes, the nude scene, but had forgotten the story and how sad it turns out. A group of free spirited hippy friends (the tribe) are protesting against the Vietnam War when one of their members, Claude, receives his draft notice. Claude is torn between making his parent's proud by serving his country or burning his draft card like his other male friends. The play not only depicted the era perfectly, but also captured the idealism of youth. Life gets serious after school is over and sometimes it is met with confusion and rebellion. Things haven’t changed in 40 years. Seeing HAIR was the culmination of a truly wonderful day. So in case anyone wants to try it here are the tips I am passing on to get the tickets: • Bring a low lawn chair, some snacks (if you want), a good book, and rain poncho (or a big plastic sheet for cover). • Arrive no later than 6:30 am. • You can bring your own snacks but there is a deli that will deliver to the line – no kidding. The line monitor (the guy who tells you what the rules are) will give you the number and a delivery person on a bike brings your order. • You can leave the line to go to the bathroom, which is by the theater but you are not allowed to leave the park to go to Starbucks (unless you make friends with the line monitor who overlooks your Starbucks cups when you return). • No one can join you on line to get tickets unless they came with you in the beginning. • When tickets are distributed at 1 PM, go home, take a nap, shower and return with the lucky friends who you have chosen to be the recipients of your extra ticket. A picnic in Central Park (they allow wine) before the performance is the way to go. Lucky friends should provide the food as you were on line all day. • Know what you are waiting for. There were two productions this season, Hamlet and HAIR. To pass the time, and make friends with the line monitor, I asked him to tell me a funny story about waiting in line. He told me of a guy whom this week, stood on line for the usual 5 or so hours, got his tickets and went to the evening performance of HAIR thinking he was going to see HAMLET - and complained about it. At the end of the show, the performers invite some of the audience to come and dance on stage to the song “Let the Sun Shine In”. You know I was up there. Kim even got a hug from Claude! Maybe I’m crazy, but I didn’t mind the wait. I had to see HAIR. To me, it was sooo worth it.

Home ?

2008-07-26T21:04:00.013-04:00

Every time my husband and I go on vacation we think about what it would be like to live in the place we are visiting. So far we have considered a move by the beach at Newport, RI, to a hilltop villa in Tuscany and now, a small home or townhouse in Carmel. I can’t believe it took me so long to get to California but maybe the reason why is that I would love it so much that I would have wanted to move. California is awesome. We arrived in LA, drove to Solvang, stayed in Carmel, went on to Sonoma and ended in SF. I didn’t have a bad meal and loved seeing the view of the water everywhere. I realized I should never pack for my lifestyle but for the lifestyle I am going to (no dresses necessary). I spent a lot of days in fleece. My husband grew a beard, which actually looks very nice. There is still so much we haven’t done in CA and so many restaurants we have yet to experience. I thought Point Lobos was the most scenic place on earth. Tony loved the scenery of Monterey and was also excited about the Red Bull motorcycle race at Laguna Seca. I know he imagined the thrill and beauty of Highway 1 on a bike. I, on the other hand, would be happier on a cable car in the city. The narrow, winding road around Muir Woods which we mistakenly took thinking we were going to the Pelican Inn which was only 100 yards from the base of the road did me in. Next time, I will read the map more carefully. Everyone at home seemed to survive without us. I give my kids credit. We arrived Saturday morning on the redeye to a perfectly clean home and no signs of the parties that probably took place at least once or twice (or more) the last 10 days. I don’t know what they ate but in the fridge I found 5 boxes of ice cream (all different flavors), a carton of hot pockets and the leftovers from the dinner I made 10 days ago. So be it. Part of the enjoyment of the trip was thinking of how I would love it if the kids would be there too. There in is where the problem lies. We could move to the city of choice and enjoy the breathtaking scenery and perfect climate, or move to where the kids wind up. It is hard. My mother stayed in the same house she bought with my father until the day she died. Tony’s mother was in 14 houses, mostly in Florida, all within the last 20 years. I don’t know what feels right except that for now, I hope to travel more until I do know what I want. Next year, I want to go to California again. We’ll see. Family In Sausalito

California

2008-07-15T20:40:00.001-04:00

It is finally here. The vacation I have planned since February starts tomorrow. Tony and I are going to California. The itinerary is to start in Solvang (the land of the movie Sideways), drive up the coast to Sonoma and end in San Francisco. Tony will be going to the Laguna Seca motorcycle race on Sunday. I, luckily, have a cousin who lives in San Francisco who will enjoy keeping company with Tony at the race while I am tooling around town with his lovely wife. I have never been to the west coast except for business and that wasn't much fun. Tony hasn't at all. The kids, oh yeah, they will be home alone. Honestly, it doesn't worry me that they are home. It worries me more that both my husband and I are traveling together. A feeling of danger came over me this week. My organizational skills kicked in. I'm flying to the land of fires, mudslides and earthquakes. What if I don't come back. I quickly pulled out my will. OMG, it hasn't been updated since 1997 when Anthony was 11! This will not do. Even if I am not around, I can't be leaving this planet without a plan. I know this is morbid but I am a realist and need to have things in order. I called the lawyer and asked to have the will updated before Tuesday. He said not to worry, most deaths occur within five miles from one's home. Very comforting, very lawyerlike. I typed up a While We Are Away sheet of things the kids should know about the house (empty dehumidifier every day, when the garbage is collected, where the electric panel is and what it does, who to contact for what). I have an emergency contact sheet that is hung up on the cork board in the laundry room. It once included the phone numbers of the nearest relatives, schools and doctors. It now includes my lawyer, accountant and financial adviser. I'm hoping they won't have to use it but just in case they should know I was thinking about them. I would have loved to have taken them along but schedules between 3 kids and 2 adults gets impossible to coordinate. Last year, I planned a week in Newport thinking the kids would join us. They didn't. It's okay, I get it now. I'm thinking they wouldn't want to go to the places in CA that we would be going to anyway (maybe). I'm packing tonight. My husband always tells me I overpack. Well what do you expect when I read that the temperature is 88 degrees during the day and 55 at night. The Mark Twain expression "the coldest winter I ever spent was the summer in San Francisco" keeps popping into my head. I like to be prepared clothingwise for anything. Doesn't everyone take 6 pairs of shoes? When we come back, we will have some new pictures, some good wine and hopefully, we will all be safe. We're California Dreaming, on such a summer's day.

Live from NY

2008-06-29T21:34:00.004-04:00

Last night was awesome. Went into the city with another couple to our new favorite restaurant in the meatpacking district. They have waiters that make you feel as if you were in Italy and the cuisine is a special Italian. You have to go. Upon arriving home a little after 11, Tony and I decided to watch a little Saturday Night Live before going to sleep. Lo and behold it was a rebroadcast of the very first SNL hosted by George Carlin in honor of his death this week. It is one of those rare times when you stumble on something good unexpectedly like when you get that parking space only steps from the front door (and its not handicap). It's your lucky day. The show was a little raw but the original players were all there - Belushi, Curtin, Radner, Chase and others. There were two musical guests, Billy Preston who did Nothin' from Nothin' and Janis Ian who seemed a little nervous singing At 17. I was trying to stay up long enough to see if they did the weekend news segment but I couldn't. In any event, it was great to see the show again even for a little while. SNL made it acceptable to be home on Saturday nights when you didn't have a date or a place to go. Now, it makes me feel good when I can stay up to see it for at least the first half hour.

Still going

2008-06-27T17:37:00.000-04:00

Birthdays are not always magical but I can say, I had a nice day yesterday for mine. The day started when I came into the office to find my cubical decorated like this: They do this to everyone in the department so we all get a chance to look silly for the day. There is a committee (yes, a committee) that cooks up some goodies and buys bagels and muffins to bring in. Then it was home to my loved ones. It's always a good day when I can get my entire family to be with me for dinner but, being it was my birthday the kids all made an attempt to be there. We had a lovely dinner (which I made) and had nice conversation, and a few laughs. Three awesome kids, one great husband and many good friends. Life is good, and I'm so not done yet.

Woodstock 2008

2008-06-23T21:40:00.000-04:00

I've always been a little embarrassed about my going to Woodstock in 69. When I tell people I was there, everyone wants to hear my story. Unfortunately, it really isn't a story worth telling except for the fact that I somehow got there, saw a handful of acts and came home. That alone though makes me bigger than a rock star to my kids and their friends. This weekend I went to Woodstock - the site of the actual concert in Bethel Woods. It has been almost 40 years and being it was covered with half a million people and I was dodging rain a lot, I remembered little of the actual topography of the farm . I was nowhere near the stage and spent most of the time hanging out with people I had met, keeping dry. (See my post from August 17, 2007). But I wanted to go to Woodstock and see the site and new museum. I bought tickets for the Ringo Starr concert that was to take place this past Saturday. In 69, I was in a VW bus with 3 girls and the guy driver. This time, I’m with our two good friends who own a beach front home in Newport and my husband in our E-Class Mercedes. :-). The concert, although I looked forward to it, was secondary. It was the site and museum that was the draw for me. As we exited off the highway, a neon sign revealed that the concert was canceled. The truck carrying the equipment broke down at the Canadian border - they said. Well okay now. Sometimes life works out. The museum was very well done. It took you through the early 60s leading up to the Woodstock weekend with memorabilia and photos of the festival, and then progressed to how the festival influenced life afterwards. The artifacts included the 3-day tickets, like the ones I still have, with their price of $6 per day. There was a copy of the programs that never got distributed. There was a list of the original line up that changed last minute when the first act got stuck in traffic forcing Richie Havens to open the festival. Towards the end of the museum, a little booth with a computer was set up to allow Woodstock alumni to relate their experience. I clicked on a couple of the stories and found I wasn’t the only one who didn’t see many of the acts, swim naked in the lake or get stoned on acid. There were others, just like me, who were there with people, they may never see again, at what turned out to be an experience of a lifetime. Aside from the great, overpriced T-shirt I bought in the gift shop (click on the picture above to get a good look at it), I left with a renewed feeling that I really was lucky to have been part of something good that embodied my generation and will never happen again. When we left, we went to the spot where a monument was placed where the stage was to have been. A woman offered to take the picture of the four of us in front of the plaque. She said she overheard us talking and realized I was at the concert. She wanted to hear my story. So I told her, although I didn't know it then, I know now, it was far out!

26 Years

2008-06-10T23:25:00.003-04:00

I was a June bride. A little corny but I was. I always wanted to be married in June. I had my wedding dress picked out when I was 17. It was a variation of a style my mother made for one of her customers, only more beautiful because my mother made it for me. It was a very simple silk, jersey gown that was cut on the bias, somewhat full, from the neckline down. The material gathered with a belt my mother hand-beaded in the design of the Greek key. She told me later that when she started to cut the material, her expertly skilled hand shook. I remember my mother yelling at me while she was making the belt. I was so skinny then and every time she went to fit me, I had lost more weight . I was so nervous. Not because of getting married. I was just worried that I wanted everything to be perfect. I think the belt would go around my thighs now. On June 5th 1982, the day was hot, humid and raining horrendously. Unlike the strapless, backless and shear gowns of today, the dress my mother made had long sleeves with a high neck. Heaven forbid any part of me was exposed prior to my being a legitimately, married woman. She was proud, prim, and proper. I was sweating to death. Last Thursday, Tony and I celebrated our 26th anniversary. We went to NY for cocktails and dinner (guess who's idea that was). The evening started as it usually does when we go into the city, with us stuck in traffic for over one hour and with my husband swearing at everyone that can't move fast enough or change lanes quick enough. He hates traffic jams and it happens on a regular basis when we go to the city. But it was our anniversary so he bit his tongue and I tried to keep him amused. We discovered a few new places in the Meat Packing District where the crowd is not all under 30 (or under 35 or 45 and so on) and the females (like me) are women not waifs. We had cocktails here and dinner here. It was great. We laughed about being together for 26 years and not having anything in common. I pleaded with him to get an apartment and move into the city. He showed me his ideal house plan - this. We are hopeless or maybe hopelessly in love. I suppose if we continue to go for cocktails and dinner, we could survive the rest of our lives like this.

The Jersey Shawh

2008-05-25T14:15:00.001-04:00

It's not spelled incorrectly. That is how it is referred to here, The Jersey Shawh, not shore - shawh We drop our Rs here in Jersey (or as they say, Jeasey). So it is the first weekend of summer and a considerable number of the population is down the shawh, uh shore. Each of the Jersey shore towns are distinct to different age groups. Its a shoreline that almost follows the generations in order. Starting with the most southern tip you have Cape May known for its Victorian B&Bs and good restaurants which attract childless couples, seniors and families with children between 10 and 16 years of age. Just north is Wildwood and Wildwood Crest where families with very young kids go. Then there is LBI (Long Beach Island) for families with teenagers. Then comes the towns furthest north of Cape May, Belmar and Point Pleasant. Belmar and Point Pleasant cater to the college age and above crowd. Now it starts to get rowdy with Tiki Bars and clubs. Finally, there is Seaside - the party town for high school seniors and juniors particularly after-prom or on Memorial Day weekend. In recalling the first time I got together with a group of girls to go to Seaside on Memorial Day weekend I was excited for a week before. It was like getting your first pair of high heels and finding a place worthy of wearing them. We rented some junky motel room which was fashionable decorated in a orange and brown shag rug. We had a plan to go to thee hot club on the boardwalk - with fake ID of course. Mine was so terribly fake, I didn't get in. But the night wasn't a total loss. I stood outside the club with all the other under 21s who didn't get in and found consolation on the beach - with a bottle of some horrible, cheap wine. Of course, I got so drunk, my night ended with me staring at the ceiling of my hotel room bed, hoping the room would stop spinning. Typical ending. Even now, writing about it makes my head hurt. So here it is 30 years later, and all the shore towns are the same as they were then. I wonder how that happens. Seaside has not lost its draw. It is still the place to be as a teen and on Memorial Day weekend. That crummy hotel is probably still there (and probably with the same shag rug) and booked to capacity with kids drinking their cheap wine or maybe now, expensive Cuervo but still getting sick off the balcony. This Memorial Day, I am sitting home. For those of you who didn't know, my poor husband came down with phenomena last week and after 4 days in the hospital and, oh the worse, missing his son's Fordham graduation, he is home recuperating. Luckily, he is practically as good as new. Also luckily, my kids are not down the shore. The older ones have been there, done that. Thomas, well next year he will be a senior and there will be after-prom. Let's hope he keeps his head from spinning.

Moments

2008-05-11T22:31:00.000-04:00

Motherhood is not what I expected. Some of the most insulting thoughts and words ever bestowed on me have been by the very people I spent countless hours in labor giving birth to. At some point of their lives, well after the age of reason (whenever that was), my children have called me a psycho, looser and a nut job. This along with loosing my dignity in efforts to entertain them and their friends at sleep over birthday parties where I dressed as a witch and flew around the yard waving my arms with a plastic pitchfork trying to scare them (unsuccessfully), supervising the painting of pumpkins which led to one of the kids spilling half the paint on her pretty $40 dress that I then felt obligated to pay for, and sleeping on the deck, under the stars in the camp-out sleepover where the only ones who slept were those not at my house did I realize how hard this job actually was. I should have just taken them to Chuckie Cheese. Today is Mother's Day. In the past, I have gotten some very special gifts that my children have made me. From Anthony a rock covered with stamps. The topiary from Christine that is still in my bedroom. And the fake ruby ring from Thomas that I carry around for good luck. Motherhood is an adventure. I have my moments, some bad, some good. There are gifts I have gotten from my children that they don't know they gave me. Thomas has given me the opportunity to be part of the Armenian community by being involved with the youth group. I am somebody to a lot of people because I am a youth group leader. My daughter Christine has taught me the latest fashion trends. It was because of her I wear skinny jeans and shop at Urban Outfitter and people at work look at me as if I am cool. And Anthony. This week, Anthony, my oldest, is graduating Fordham University. He is the first person in my family to graduate college. Although it is great for him, it is also his gift to me. Awesome. Today, my kids gave me a Mother's Day present - an IPhone. It was great. I felt like a kid at Christmas. What impressed me the most was that they knew that I wanted this. Thank you my loves.

On Being Armenian

2008-04-27T09:05:00.002-04:00

Throughout my life, I was reminded of the death and destruction that fell upon my family simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am Armenian – 100% and this week as every week around this time of the year, there is always a remembrance of the genocide that took place April 24, 1915. On that day, the Turkish government carried out their plan to rid their country of the Armenian population in much the same way Hitler planned the systematic destruction of the Jewish people. All Armenians have a story of someone in their family that either lived or died during this massacre. Mine involved my father. His father, who because he was among the prominent citizens of town, was one of the first to be taken from his home and never seen again. My father, his mother, brother and sister were forced to walk across the desert in what was labeled “the death march”. They somehow made their way to America, except for his 3-year-old sister who died of starvation en route. I was named after her. Growing up in NJ, our social life was only with other Armenian families. We lived near Armenians, spoke Armenian in the house and participated in only Armenian functions. I could only have Armenian friends (think how many of those there were in public school) and my brother and I were not allowed to join after school activities that did not have anything to do with the Armenians. That pretty much limits ones social life to being home with parents and their friends and hopefully, someone who was among them that was of our age. That may sound unreasonable but it was not within my world. Most Armenian parents of the genocide generation practiced that same philosophy of child rearing. Things loosened up for me in high school, but my cousin, even at age 16, wasn’t allowed to leave the house without a grown-up. Many of us from that age can’t ride a bike or swim. These were considered dangerous sports and unnecessary. Keep the kids close and pray they will be safe. There are a lot of good things about being from an Armenian household. We always had company over, even during the week and the cuisine is the best. We always knew there would be a lot of people over when the night before, my mother, an excellent cook, worked most of the night to make our favorite foods.We hold family above everything. The remembrance of the massacre by my generation is once removed from the horrors of the massacre. We grew up hearing about it but never experienced it. We didn’t know it then, but we were held close more for them than for us. They needed to feel we wouldn’t be taken away or led on a march somewhere. Our lives are better now because of the struggles of our parents and grandparents and we respect and love them for it. Today to commemorate the massacre, there is a rally in Times Square. to bring attention to the genocide and how the Turkish government still refuses to acknowledge that this systematic killing took place. I won’t go. Today, I will remember my father, who now as a parent, understand him more and more. Azat & Thomas on their wedding day

My Rocky Mountain High

2008-04-11T21:46:00.012-04:00

As a child, I was pathetically un-athletic. Couldn’t ride a bike and never learned to swim. I blamed these shortcomings on my over-protective parents. Having come from foreign countries where they survived wars and genocide, they were convinced that any physical activity outside of cleaning the house would have lead to my death. Then I had kids and I was insistent that they do all the things I couldn’t. They were enrolled in swim classes and learned to ride a bike like normal children. On their own, they even went on to enjoying the winter sports like ice skating, hockey, snowboarding and skiing. Every winter we would head up to Mountain Creek where they would ski for hours and I would sit in the lodge contently reading a book. Until one day. I think kids keep you young. You show them your world and they open yours to what’s new, trendy and different. So it was because of them I was at the mountain every weekend. But it was my husband who decided we needed to get out there and try skiing. So it happened seven years ago I took my first lesson. The instructor felt I should get on the chair lift as so I did. After my first fall, I said oh no and proceeded to walked down the slope. If you think skiing is hard, try walking down the bunny slope. You would think I would have gone back to the lodge and the book but, for some reason, I couldn’t give it up. I have this thing you see. I do something and if I don't get it right, I do it till I do - to a fault (ask Tony about my countless attempts to make chili which I finally gave up at his insistence and one too many bathroom trips). Anyway, I was determined to get this skiing thing down. So after two years on the bunny slope, it started to grow on me. It wasn’t just the skiing; it was the mountain scenery, the feeling of doing something during the winter months and learning a sport that I enjoyed. I went to the mountain to practice during the week. And after a few years, I was even comfortable on some blue trails. But seven years later, my kids had gotten away from it and Tony has moved on to another risky sport (motorcycling). I only skied once this winter and alone. Then at the end of February, one of my closest friends, Chris who now lives in Houston, called me up, feeling she wanted to get away and suggested a long weekend together. I immediately responded that I wanted to go skiing somewhere. I wanted to experience real snow, wide trails and towns geared for the skiers . I am talking to Chris, a girl who grew up in Canada, skiing. Within 24 hours, we booked a flight to Calgary with hotels in the Canadian Rockies. I have to say my excitement was also tempered with the thought that I might be in over my head. For a girl who had never skied outside of New York or New Jersey and was over 50, was I taking on more than I should? But I had to do this. I wanted to do this. So I did it. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I did. It was the most awesome experience I have ever had. We skiing only one day but one perfect day.We stayed at the Sunshine Lodge at the base of the mountain where it is ski in/ski out to five chairlifts going to different mountains. After getting warmed up on two of the mountains, we felt we could move on to a bigger elevation. (Check out the trail map.)We got on the Angel Express chair lift. It started up and up and kept going and kept going and still going. We looked at each other and said “OMG, what have we done”. I was thinking, I probably wouldn't be able to walk down this mountain but maybe I could just stay on the chair lift and go back down. But I didn't. When we finally arrived at the summit, Chris asked a man who was with his family where the green trail was. He had a smart English accent and told us to follow him. He advised if you don’t know where you are going, you could wind up on a black trail. So we followed him every inch of the way. He told me what to do and I did it. I skied fast to keep up the momentum and dug in to keep my balance, just like he told me. When I reached the base it was with an exhilaration I have never felt before. We broke for lunch at the lodge where I had the best chili ever (so that's what it is supposed to taste like). I was in one piece, no injuries and my spirits were as high as the mountain. I thanked my Liverpool guide and his family for giving me the guidance I needed to get me down the mountain and decided I was done – at least for now. Chris and I, joined by two other girls (we were girls this weekend) spent the rest of the weekend in the town of Banff. It is full of skiers mostly from Australia and England who come to ski – lovely. We stayed here and ate a delicious meal here and a great brunch here and woke up to views like this all around us. The Main Street of Banff Lake Louise The water is that color - no touch up here. The girls of the weekend. Aren't my boots the best! I now know how my husband feels when he takes his motorcycle trips. Beautiful country, a little risky and you end the day with a nice glass of wine. I tip my glass to Chris, my Liverpool guide and my husband and kids for making me get out there. I finally can say, I can do one sport. One for my bucket list.

Under Construction

2008-03-18T12:38:00.002-04:00

I'm taking some time off from blogging. I haven't been as happy with it lately and am thinking of redesigning it, changing my focus and possibly moving it to another domain. I also want to concentrate on some other avenues of creativity that I hope to bring to the new blog. Thanks to all who have been readers. When I'm back up, I'll send you a email notice. So for now, in the long term, enjoy life and in the short term, have a Happy Easter.

Saturday Night

2008-03-08T20:51:00.008-05:00

Another Saturday night and I aint got no body. That was the song that said it all. When I was younger, I would have rather died than admit that I was home watching TV alone. Even though , back then, they put good shows on Saturdays. I think the night started with All In The Family and the evening would end with Saturday Night Live. With any luck the guest host would be someone like Eric Idle with George Harrison as his musical guest. A lot of times, it was that good. This Friday night I went to a blues club with girl friends. It was a funky bar in Montclair. The kind I went to when I was in my 20s. I probably was the oldest person at this bar in age but it didn't feel like it. It just felt good being out, doing something I don't usually do. Usually, I go out with my husband or friends and we go to dinner. I love eating but it is good to do something different so you can talk about it during dinner. When I mentioned to friends that I went to this bar, they said, "Oh my, I remember Tierney's from my college days". If they were with me Friday, they would have said, nothing has changed. The place looks the same except that it is not smoky now. Nice. Where was I that I didn't go to Tierney's during my college days. Oh right, I didn't go to college. But I am going to college now - an online college, so shouldn't I get the college experience by going to a college bar. Yes. Maybe that explains why I went to Tierney's. The food wasn't bad, I had a nice time. I listened to a blues band and enjoyed the company of my friends - all for under 30 bucks. Makes sense to me. So now it is Saturday night. I made a nice dinner for both my husband and me. Had some wine and we plan to watch a video which I will probably fall asleep on well before the credits. There never is a good show on Saturdays anymore and I can't stay up long enough to watch SNL. I'm so busy during the week that I welcome the chance to be home and enjoy the time relaxing. That is Saturday night now. But it was fun to go to Tierney's. I realized, I enjoyed doing something that wasn't part of my normal routine. Why shouldn't I. It's not because I haven't grown up, I just haven't grown old.

Clapton & Winwood & Me

2008-03-01T15:47:00.001-05:00

Anyone that knows me knows I am a huge Eric Clapton fan. I've seen him in concert about 6 times. I bought his Crossroads collection of CDs before I had a CD player. My kids would have been named Eric and Layla had my husband not put the kabash on that immediately. On Tuesday, I went to the Steve Winwood/Eric Clapton concert at the Garden. The concert was awesome. Clapton is still god. Stevie Winwood is perfect with him . I am perfect with them. I look at them playing and hear my youth come back. "Had to Cry Today" (which they opened with) was moving. "Can't Fine My Way Home" (which they ended with) turns me to mush now as it did then. I am 21 again and invincible. I have no responsibilities. I work to make money to go out. I go to concerts and see The Who and John & Yoko and so many others. There are clubs and dancing awaiting me. It is Thursday, or Friday, or Saturday, and I am at the Electric Circus on St. Marks Place. Or I am at Mother's in Greenwood Lake. I was a regular at the Back Fence in Greenwich Village. In Jersey, it was this little dive called The On Tap. Just hanging out, smoking and drinking with people, just like me. I am back in 1972 and haven't aged a bit. Fast forward to 2008. I am 36 years older and so are Clapton & Winwood. I'm still going to concerts and they are still playing. I understand the music more. I get a rush (yeah, rush) when Clapton does his blues solos or with Winwood's voice singing, "Georgia". The crowd is my age but that distinct smell has exited with the no smoking laws. We all grow up. Occasionally, I will go to a club (not often but I do). I start the night earlier than I did and leave earlier than I did. I go to work the next day or even 2 days later, exhausted. The young interns and 20 somethings in my office do this all the time. I don't. I try not to show how tired I am and struggle through the day. I'm not done yet. I heard that Clapton will play Atlantic City in the summer. I will go. I hope to go to concerts and clubs until I die. I hope Clapton and Winwood do too.

The Bonus

2008-02-23T18:26:00.011-05:00

I got a bonus. No not the monetary kind although that might have been nice too. It was the spare time kind you get when you just got an extra hour of sleep, or it is the day we set the clocks back. But I got a big bonus. It was on Friday. I got up in the morning ready to go through he motions of preparing for the work day and then I looked outside. It had snowed, it was still snowing and we were already under 6". The schools closed. Am I going to work - I said no, no no. I'm taking the day off. I think in the last 20 years, I have never taken a day off for weather. When I worked in NY all I had to do was get to the bus and then it wasn't my problem anymore. Working in Jersey, I can only remember one time, last year, when the roads were bad on a workday but I just went in late. But this day, with the snow still coming down and predictions that it would for some time, I said no, it is so not worth it today. I got up and made my Saturday morning breakfast, started to read my New York Times (I guess that tip I gave the delivery woman at Christmas paid off) and watched the Today show. They were in Miami doing a segment on spring break. I didn't even feel jealous. I was home, safe and ready to do the homework I planned for Saturday a day earlier. The night before, I had bought shrimp and fish fillets so to end my bonus day, I cooked up my kick-ass pompodoro sauce, made the spaghetti and with a bottle of Mondavi Chardonney had a snow day dinner with the entire family. Life is good. Now it is Saturday. My free day. So what do I do. I go to NY of course to take pictures. So here are the fruits of my day. And of course the streets without a drop of snow - that's New York

Storage solutions

2008-02-21T21:13:00.003-05:00

It was warm this President's Day. The temperature broke 58 degrees. We promised ourselves that the first warm weekend day we would clean the garage. It starts out very civil-like "do you think we will ever need these bikes again, dear" or "how do we get rid of the plastic Santa Claus, my love". As the day goes on, we resort to "for god's sake, what ever will you do with this stuff. You don't throw anything away". That is my love to me. I'm not nostalgic - really I'm not. It's the Armenian in me that simply can't throw out good stuff that just needs a new home or that we may one day still use or that my grandkids will use. And I have good stuff. I mean the mountain bikes were bought from a bicycle store for $350 each and one day when my kids need the exercise, they will want that bike. The hockey net bought when Anthony was fanatically into roller and ice hockey is worthy of some kid who plays roller hockey in the driveway or ice hockey on the lake and whose mother has a mini-van big enough to cart it around in as I did. The plastic Santa Claus and 2 toy soldiers - how do you throw those out. Do you put them out with the garbage and watch them be thrown head in into the dump truck. Good grief that's Santa Claus! Then there are my ice skates. I can't throw out my ice skates or anyone else's. Ice skating was the first sport I did ever and besides, we might want to go to Wollman Rink one day. The roller blades, I learned to roller blade in my 40s after learning to ice skate and downhill ski. All this stuff is still in good condition. And the skis - no way are they going! I think part of the reason I can't part with this stuff is that it reminds me that I'm not afraid of it. I was never athletic as a child, teenager or young adult. Somewhere in my late 30s and 40s, I started to roller blade, ice skate and ski. All of this was a direct influence from my kids. Anthony started to do most of this stuff first. It caught my interest so I dragged the kids to the ski slope and we started to ski, then ice skate, then roller blade. So while the kids picked up on the sport within a week, it took me 3 years on the bunny hill before I ventured out to the green and blue hills. But hey, I loved being out there and who cares how long it took to be good. Unfortunately, that age thing gets in the way. I'm more afraid of breaking a bone than I use to. The lake doesn't freeze as often as it use to so I don't ice skate that often. Every time I go skiing, I feel a sense of satisfaction knowing I finished the day and am still in one piece. Now don't try and tell me I am as young as I feel. I do feel great. But I'm not as flexible as I use to be. So if there such a thing as a personal storage trainer this person will look at my garage and know that I will never go to Wollman rink or put on those roller blades and by the time the kids want to ride bikes again, those bikes will be outdated. This week, I called a friend and donated the hockey net to her son who plays ice hockey. I will keep my skis and skates. I don't care if I never use them. I want them. Between the 3 motorcycles, 2 cars, a snowblower and lawn mower I should be able to fit this in because it keeps me young.

My Moon My Man

2008-02-14T19:04:00.001-05:00

My husband and I will be married 26 years this year. Adding the 2 years we were together prior to marriage, I think it is safe to say, we are probably going to make it to death do us part. If I remember correctly, our first Valentine together, he bought me a box of candy. I bought him this jar of men's facial cream. Honestly, he wanted it. It was Clinque's line for men which was the same stuff that they put into the women's product but repackaged it so men would feel comfortable buying it. We probably went out to dinner too although that part I don't remember. What I remember is that we both knew without knowing, that we were on the same page. I wasn't a big fan of dating but it was the only game in town. Many times, it was a game. After what seemed as if I had gone through every style of man there was, I start thinking maybe my expectations are too high. Remember that song "if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with". Luckily, I didn't have to. Tony and I met through a work situation. I was a print buyer; he was the printer. He spotted me going through his plant checking out a job and later called to ask me out. That was the way dating worked then. A couple of dates, it clicks and one day he shows up with his shaving kit. I see my kids and their friends. They date, they have long and short relationships, they fight, they have a great night and so on. Same process but part of it is communicated behind IM messages and thumb dancing each other through texting. One thing that hasn't changed is going to the clubs. Still part of the scene to look around the room to find the face you want to talk to. It is hard for me to stand by knowing they will have to go through some heartache until they find the one. I wonder if they will ever try online dating - or maybe they already have. I'm guessing the service works by plugging in your likes and dislikes and the computer comes up with someone who is similar to you. My husband and I would have never met that way. Putting it on paper, we have nothing in common. He loves cars, trains and motorcycles. I would rather be on the bus or walk. I get my news through The New York Times. He watches the History Channel rehashing WWII. He can only sleep in total darkness. I could sleep standing up. Before kids, every Sunday morning it was a trip to the fabulous German bakery for fresh rolls and danish with the Sunday Times for breakfast. Friday nights were for pizza in Little Italy. Saturdays often times was a drive to a car show. Then there were moments. The snow storm where we walked to our favorite neighborhood restaurant to splurge on Chateaubriand and good wine watching the snow. The monoply game where I woke up the next morning to the biggest mess I had ever seen in a kitchen. He introduced me to punk music and we danced at Hurrah's and Danceteria. I watch the kids going through the trial and error of dating hoping the process is kind to them. They will go through the heartaches, I'm sure, but I hope the day comes soon that they find the one worthy of bring the shaving kit or beauty bag.

What Inning Are We In?

2008-02-07T19:56:00.000-05:00

Ah, the Super Bowl. To me, it has always been a reason to have a party.We decorated the house in Giant's colors. I made the traditional Sunday sauce with meatballs, sausages and chicken cutlets and enjoyed the company of our friends to cheer the local team. It was a great game; four hours and I didn't understand one thing that went on in the game - again. I admit it. I am football challenged. I can't tell you how many times people have tried to explain the game of football to me; my husband, his niece, my son, various friends. It all makes sense when I am at the game. I walk away, and one week later, I'm at square one. I am hopelessly unable to get what a down is, why it is a good thing and know when it happens. Trying desperately not to make a jerk of myself, I scream with joy when others do hoping my cover up will not be discovered. My husband says I am like Hot Lips Houlihan in the movie version of MASH. Towards the end of the move, the MASH unit plays a football game against another MASH unit. Hot Lips is the head cheerleader. A gun is shot and she cries "Oh no, they shot someone". Colonel Blake replies, "That marks the end of the first quarter, you blithering idiot". I am the blithering idiot. Fine - I accept the role of the blithering idiot for the sake of comic relief. Now, I am on a mission. I have until my son's football season which starts in August, to figure this game out. I am making a plea to those of you who can educate me on this sport. If anyone is willing to comment with a written set of rules of the game of football (abridged version please), I will use it as a cheat sheet at my son's next game. I may even throw in a prize of a Sunday sauce dinner. In the meantime, I will be in the kitchen making the sauce. Good Going Giants!!

Skating Away

2008-01-28T22:40:00.000-05:00

The winter can be brutal and unpredictable. It comes with freezing cold winds or snow that is only welcome when you are home safe and warm and not trying to get somewhere. But sometimes, amongst the bitter cold, you get a treat. It happened this week. The temperature was consistently around 20 degrees every day. I knew it would happen and it did. The lake froze to a perfectly smooth surface and it was ice skating time. I didn't have to go, I knew it was frozen. I recalled those times and wondered if the kids remember any of those days as fondly as I do now. The freezing of the lake for ice skating is like a lunar eclipse - a feat of nature. It doesn't happen every year but when it does, it is the best time winter can offer. Skating on perfect, clear ice without the restriction of going round and round as in a rink, well, there is nothing like it. I think it was my son Anthony who got us interested in skating. The year he was 8 years old, we all got ice skates for Christmas - including me. Me, who was and still is athletically challenged, can't ride a bike or swim, and hates to be cold. So in my 40s, I decide to ice skate. I think something hit me while watching the winter Olympics one year and Oksana Baiul. It just looked so graceful to be sliding on ice. Anthony went on to play ice hockey for the high school team for 4 years. Last year, I took a group of kids to the ice rink in Bear Mountain. Thomas skated rings around the other kids. I also got on skates - very wobbly at first but then I got the beat and skated away. It was good, but not as great as the lake. My skating is intimidated by my fear of falling. I am older and feel if I fall, my recovery will be too long to stand. I now watch with envy and remember. This Saturday, Anthony went out around 4 pm. A few minutes later, he called. "Hey mom", he said, "Guess what, the lake is frozen over and there are people out there skating. I'm thinking I'm going skating tomorrow". He had such enthusiasm in his voice. It was great. I think it would be safer if I lived a little through his enjoyment.

The 30 Minute Meal

2008-01-21T22:33:00.000-05:00

It's Friday night. I call my kids and ask if they will be home for dinner. Anthony and Thomas say "yeah, sure". Christine says, "don't worry about me" (only to later come walking in the door hungry). I plan dinner for 4. Shop for about $60 worth of some special meat or fish, expecting to make something like broiled stuffed trout with broccoli rabe or fillet mignon with sauted spinach and roasted potatoes. I pick a wine for Tony and I and go home only to find out that I have 30 minutes to get the food on the table. The kids made plans to go out with friends, to a game, or whatever and are leaving at 6. It is now 5 and I know, if they do not eat at home tonight, like Cinderella, this beautiful, wine-worthy dinner turns into the leftovers which will shrivel up and die an old, slow, unappealing death in the refrigerator. So with determination and a focused look on my face that is translated to "get out of my way, I'm on a mission", I am now rushing around to serve a gourmet meal in half the time. Rachael Ray has become famous for her meals in 30 minutes. Well, I could turn chopped meat around in half an hour too, but I reach higher. It's my fault for two reasons:

I haven't learned to stop making things from scratch. I've never bought bottled salad dressing and sauce in the jar just tastes all the same to me - overly tomatoey.
I still cook as if all 5 of us are together at dinner, even though most nights, we are not. I still shop at Costco at least twice a month. I always think I should have more food just in case one of the kids invites a friend over for dinner. Truthfully, that hasn't happened since high school.

Old habits die hard. This Friday, I will plan a dinner with my husband, buy a nice bottle of wine and forget about the kids. Yeah right. I will probably do the same thing I always do and hope they will be there to eat.

Freedom

2008-01-14T21:46:00.000-05:00

Her name was Azat. It means freedom in Armenian. She escaped from Turkey with her family during the Armenian genocide. She spoke 5 languages and was a very hard working woman. Her profession was being a dressmaker (an amazingly talented one) and of course, a mother - my mother. She was my role model. This is not the first time I have written openly about her. In fashion school, I used her as a model for a term paper about a fashion designer. Today is her birthday or would have been. I think of her every day. After she died, I found that paper I wrote among her belongings. Last month, my daughter did something that made me realize how much her grandmother meant to her. Not that I am fond of tattoos, but what can I say. I love my daughter too.

I'm Back

2008-01-11T13:56:00.000-05:00

I have often been asked "How do you do it all? Three kids, a full time job, cooking, etc., etc." My stock answer is, "I don't". So these last 2 weeks, I didn't do it all. I'm sorry, but I couldn't get to the blog. Hopefully, you are all still out there - those who comment and the silent majority that comment verbally or through emails. I am here, officially back. Everyone complains that they have too much to do so I'm not going to go on and on about how the holidays put my schedule into fifth gear. I actually have no reason to complain. I didn't have much in the way of gift shopping. The only people I buy gifts for these days are my kids and a couple of others - not much in comparison to earlier years. My husband and I didn't exchange and used the weekend in NY to be our gift (I secretly had hoped I would get an IPhone but...). I didn't even decorate, Tony did it. Then I was off work for the week between Christmas and New Year's. A great thing when you don't have travel plans which, in my case, involves cramming whatever personal work I have to do in half the time and then there is the packing. I guess I will never learn how to be frugal in that area. How can I leave with less than 6 pair of shoes (it's true, ask Tony). I know that sounds excessive, but I like to have options. All this time, you would think I would have had time to write a small paragraph, a spot or posted a "Gone Shopping" notice on the blog. I didn't even tell you what a nice time Tony and I had New Year's Eve at a local restaurant. I danced with my son who had to work the restaurant that night (for the third year in a row). At his age, I would have died if I had to tell my friends I spent New Year's Eve with my parents. Considering the situation, he seemed to enjoy it too. So life is good. I started the new year dancing, and I'm falling back into the routine. Hmm, maybe I was better off dancing.

Just 17, you know what I mean

2007-12-27T20:53:00.000-05:00

This Christmas Eve my youngest son, Thomas turned 17 which means, after a year of driving with a permit, he can now go for the driving test. His test was for 8 AM, we were there at 7. The fourth car in a line of anxious teenagers waiting for their turn to strike the first cord of emancipation from their parents. I knew what was going through his head. "Always use blinkers, don't go too fast, why does parallel parking have to be part of this anyway. How will I bear the humiliation if I fail". I failed my first time taking the test. Fortunately, I was out of high school so my friends didn't know. Truthfully, I didn't care much for driving. I did know I had to do this because my father was getting too old to drive and my mother never did get a license. The car my father owned, and that I was to drive, was his 1949 Buick Dynaflow. It looked like a tank, had no power steering and I needed a large pillow to see over the steering wheel. See why I didn't want to drive. When the two older kids needed a car, they would complain if they had to drive my mini-van. Ask me how much sympathy I had for them. But isn't driving what you had boyfriends for. Back then, boys drove and girls were passengers. Oh wait, things haven't changed in 30 years have they. My husband always drives. In the last 25 years, I can count on one hand how many times my husband has been a passenger with me driving and never for longer than a couple of miles. He can have this driving thing anyway, put me on the bus. Back to my son. It is 8 AM. His turn came. This nice gray-haired woman officer approached the car and got in. I went to wait in the building with all the other parents. We talked about how we felt. Some saw it with mixed emotion. I didn't. I saw it as another stage. Joy to the World - he passed. We went home, he called his friend. It is no longer, "Mom, can you drive me.... It is replaced by Mom, can I have the car." It starts today, and goes on from here - another rite of passage.

Christmas Traditions

2007-12-21T21:45:00.000-05:00

In my house, Christmas was the holiday. On Christmas Eve,we just prepared for Christmas. Then I met this guy who eventually became my husband. He is 100% Italian and is quite proud of it. He has good values and very old fashion traditions some of which I had to get use to. For instance, he insisted on having macaroni (never called it pasta) every Sunday with homemade sauce. When we first started dating, he had me sit with his mother so I would learn how to make "the Sunday sauce". I should have guessed from that that that I was a keeper. My husband is Mr. Christmas. He loves all of this stuff. The food, the gifts, Frank Sinatra. The day after Christmas, he is always depressed that it is all over. After we married, he expected it to be my responsibility to make Christmas Eve dinner. I resisted. We went to his mother's. Then, my son Thomas was born, 8 weeks early - on Christmas Eve. All of a sudden, I am making Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day dinner. I did this for about 12 years and finally decided, it is too much. I stopped doing Christmas Eve about 3 years ago, much to the chagrin of my family (see posts from Christmas comes but once a year). Christmas Eve dinner, the Italian way, should be delegated to a grandmother or grandmother-in-law. A mother with 3 kids, a full time job and a blog should be exempt. The holiday requires making a marinara sauce, frying a lot of fish, soaking this fish that looks like cardboard (baccala) into a edible delicacy, all resulting in a huge mess. Number 1, who invented this and number 2, why would anyone want to do this? I protest. This year, however, we will have some tradition on Christmas Eve. Tony's mother has moved up and we will visit early on Christmas Eve . I am taking her food shopping Saturday so she can get her fish, her pasta and cook for her children and grandchildren. It is nice. Merry Christmas to me and to all a Good Night.

Christmas in the City

2007-12-11T22:11:00.000-05:00

It's coming, it's practically here. No not Christmas, or New Year's, it's my weekend in NY city. Tony and I are leaving early Friday morning. We're staying at this hotel. We are taking the train layout tour of New York starting here, going there, and here. Oh, some non-train stuff of course like this place. I hear it is going to snow - good! I may never come home. If anyone has recommendations on dinner or drink places, please send me a comment. Will let you know how it goes.

Christmas comes but once a year

2007-12-01T08:43:00.000-05:00

Christmas traditions I have given up:

Cutting down the Christmas Tree. We no longer pack the family into the van the day after Thanksgiving and head north to cut down the tree. The kids have great memories of my arguing with my husband about which tree to cut (he was always right - it was too big). We have a fake tree now - it fits.
Decorations that were more kid oriented. The Santa and the Snowman on the lawn are replaced by lots of lights on the trees and garland on the deck that may stay up until a warm thaw.
No more cooking dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Love cooking Christmas Day, hate cooking Christmas Eve. Too much frying of fish that makes a mess. Invite me and I will come bearing gifts.

Here is the agenda for the rest of the December:

Saturday, 12/1 Christmas Dance

Saturday, 12/8 Progressive dinner

Tuesday, 12/11 Foodfest at work

Wednesday, 12/12 Department Christmas party

Friday, Dec 14 company party

Friday and Saturday, 12/14 and 15 - Weekend in NY with Tony (can't wait)

Wednesday, 12/19 - another department Christmas luncheon Friday, 12/21 - the start of cooking for Christmas. Monday, 12/24 - Christmas Eve (I refuse to cook - see above) Tuesday, 12/25 - Christmas - bring appetite and stay all day. Food starts being served from 2 PM with spinach pies and grapeleaves, goes to pasta and antipasti and then to the roast beef and turkey (can't wait) with lots of sides. The day ends with everyone tired, and a little drunk, watching "Stalag 17" (I'm told it is a Christmas movie and at this point, anything is believable). Wednesday, 12/26 - no after sales for me. I am so done.

Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T22:28:00.000-05:00

I never watch TV except for Project Runway and sometimes Desperate Housewives. But I give thanks to the Thanksgiving sitcom episodes from shows that were great to begin with. Some of my favorites: Cheers the gang gathers at Carla's house where Norm is cooking a huge turkey that won't cook. Diane shows up in a pilgrim outfit trying to bestow her sophisticated version of the holiday on the motley crew. As empty stomachs take over good manners and Carla's special brand of hospitality comes out, a food fight earnestly begins. Mad About You - The cute couple (I forget their names) invite their parents to Thanksgiving dinner. They go through 6 turkeys each one being ruined in one comic way after another. The last turkey gets flung out the open window in a panic by Helen Hunt. Will and Grace - Will, Grace, Jack and Karen commit to visit their individual families before sitting down to a meal together in Grace and Will's apartment. In order to get all the obligations in and over with in record time, they embark on a road trip using a kitchen timer set for one hour at each home. It starts with Karen visiting her husband in jail, and goes on. Each visit is funnier than the other. Grace's visit with her mother leads to her mother doing a "I told you so" dance and just when Jack was going to confront his father about accepting his homosexuality, the timer goes off and with a "Got Go", they all bolt to the next house. The Bob Newhart Show (the series where he is a psychologist with Suzanne Pleshette as his wife, Emily) - goes down as the best Thanksgiving episode ever. Bob's wife goes out of town for the holiday and leaves him and his friends to fend for themselves on Thanksgiving. While watching the football game, they attempt to cook the turkey dinner, getting drunker and drunker as the day goes on. The episode ends with a typical Bob Newhart skit with him on the phone trying to order Chinese food, slurring to the order taker "I want moo, goo, goo, goo". I could throw in the Thanksgiving movie, Scent of A Woman where Pacino takes Chris O'Donnell to New York for Thanksgiving weekend where, among other events, Pacino visits his brother who he hasn't spoken to in years. Sitting at the holiday table, Pacino tells off color jokes and dirty stories while his family tries desperately to get through dinner. The scene ends with Pacino lunging at his nephew, administering a choke hold that nearly kills him. I'm happy to say, my Thanksgivings were never as violent or as funny as any of these shows. So today, after watching the parade, listening to Alice's Restaurant and stuffing my face, I'll probably watch my DVD of King Kong, the original. Not very eventful, but I'll leave the drama to the TV writers.

Aunt Alice

2007-11-14T08:14:00.000-05:00

Every kid should have an Aunt Alice. This is the aunt who assumes the role of the surrogate mother. When your own mother is too busy being the mom, there is Aunt Alice. My parents were both from Europe and very much not hip. But Aunt Alice understood hip and sometimes even stood up for me against my parent's wishes so that I could be a typical kid. She was a little younger than my own mother, dressed in suits and business dresses and worked in a New York City office. At 12 years old, I considered that the utmost in hip. Alice loved New York. Every few months, she would take my brother and I on sightseeing trips to New York City. She introduced us to museums, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty and, her favorite, the Radio City Christmas Show. One of the best parts of the day was when Alice would give my brother and me a couple of nickels and turned us loose at the Horn and Hardart's Automat. She took me to my first performance of the New York City Ballet and my brother to his first Yankee game. She even took me to see the Beatles in Shea Stadium - twice! Always reading, Alice was a wealth of knowledge and interest. She was one of the original bobby soxers who waited on line to see Frank Sinatra in the Paramount. She could discuss current events, argue politics and reminisce about the war years in a way that made you feel so close to the era. It was factual, and fascinating. On Monday morning, Aunt Alice died at the age of 86. She had been in a nursing home for the last three years. At the time I put her there, she had fallen several times and I didn't know what else to do to keep her safe. Although it wasn't easy for her to give up her apartment, she agreed to go because it was best for everyone. During those three years, she never once complained about being there. In fact, she would tell me she was happy there. I believe she was. She enjoyed the company of her friends who visited her, the other residents, and of me. All she wanted was someone to converse with and I know she got that. She had her few minutes of fame when she worked for Dover Publication and they were looking for a grandmother type to appear on the cover of a booklet on family trees. It didn't take much for her to look the part. It came natural. Although she didn't have children, she had surrogates. She had me, my brother and about 10 other "children" who she adopted or adopted her. That was Alice and I am going to miss her terribly.

Mom in the Kitchen

2007-11-08T21:30:00.000-05:00

Last week, my mother-in-law came up from Florida to relocate to New Jersey to be near her family. She is 83 years old, and in her life, starting with the Bronx, she has lived in 4 places in New York, 5 in New Jersey and 7 in Florida. Obviously, she is not one to hold sentiments about any one place for any reason. I admire my mother-in-law for not having the fear of moving. Nothing stopped her from selling her home when the market was right or if she tired of the neighborhood. In comparison, I have lived in 4 homes and expect to die in this one (unless I can convince my husband to get an apartment in Manhattan - highly unlikely). So mother-in-law sold her house in Florida, and drove up with my husband. It's interesting how things change when you are the adult. Mom is very respectful of the son who she once pranced onto his baseball field, loudly ordering him home for dinner. Mom doesn't touch the food I have in the refrigerator for fear that I intended it for something other than eating (??). And mom buys toilet paper to use in my bathroom because she doesn't want to use mine up (??). I have forgotten what it is like to have someone cook those meals that only a mom/grandmother cooks. I come home and the comfort food I love is there. I haven't slaved over a stove all day being the mom. Mother-in-law is the mom in the kitchen. Sunday dinners are a little more special because she made them. Although my sauce is good, her sauce is awesome as are her meatballs. Maybe only because it is different from mine. Sunday dinners are the day we all try and be together as a family but when Grandma is cooking, the sauce is a little more special and worth being home for. I am enjoying my new found freedom from kids but for this short time, I am the kid again. Someone is cooking and food shopping for me. She loves it and so do it.

Trick or Treat

2007-10-31T19:10:00.000-04:00

There isn't a lot I miss about the early days of my children's childhood, mainly because many of the things you do with them then grow with you or you grow tired of. But I so miss the Trick or Treating part of Halloween. Every year, I would take off early from work to enjoy seeing them in the costume we struggled over either picking out or making for the last 3 weeks. First there was the Halloween Parade at elementary school where all the classes would walk around the school to the theme song from Ghostbusters and the great Halloween song, Monster Mash . My attempt to video tape the parade only succeed in getting a half hour tape of their feet. (I wasn't very technically savvy then.) Then it was off to "the" block in my neighborhood where the street was flat and wide and the kids would run amok from house to house getting candy and treats. It was the in block to be on for Halloween night. Then, somewhere around 6 PM, we would gather at a friend's house for the pizza and wine (just for the adults, of course). The kids would be eating their candy for dinner. The fathers would take over the night shift of trick or treating taking the kids to whatever neighborhood they still needed to go for more candy. So being grown up, we did some new things this year. Tony and I went to the Nyack Halloween Parade. A bit tamer than the Greenwich Village Parade but very worth seeing. I can see this as being a solid competitor to those who don't want to venture into the madness of the Village. The annual Halloween party at Ronnie's was great fun. His costumes are always great (see last week's post) but his wife is no slacker on this either. Here she is looking mighty fine: Then there is the house on pumpkin hill. A friend of mine told me about this house in Hillsdale where the owner would carve about a hundred pumpkins and light them every night starting the weekend before Halloween. It is awesome looking! If you click on the picture you can see some closeups of the great works. So I guess I have been reduced to just the pizza and wine today. But before coming home this evening, I drove to "the block". It was packed with kids who ranged in age from middle school and up. It is still the in place to be tonight. Tonight, I'll just have pizza, wine and remember.

Ronnie and Halloween

2007-10-25T22:21:00.000-04:00

According to my husband, Halloween is the start of the Christmas Season. According to his brother Ronnie, it is a sacred, religious holiday. From the moment Halloween ends to Halloween of the next year, Ronnie plans his costume. I too love Halloween and getting into costume. But my costumes are nothing like Ronnie's. One year, I was at my friend’s mother’s garage sale where I found my perfect versatile costume. She was selling a bride maid’s gown that my friend wore in the late 70s (typical puff sleeves and gathered Cinderella skirt). That gown turned me into a debutant one year, a 1890s whore (to Tony’s Jack the Ripper) another year and finally, a Can Can Dancer (by shortening the skirt) before the dress fell apart. My favorite was the year I was pregnant and became the Statue of Liberty (I didn't give birth to the State of Liberty, just dressed the part). My husband, on the other hand, loves the holiday but absolutely hates dressing up. Every year, Ronnie has us to his house and the rule is we must dress up. Other than the year he was Jack the Ripper, Tony has never felt comfortable in a costume. No problem, I made my husband a monk robe. Every year he would slip the robe over his head, tied a rope around his waist, sandals, and done. For a change, I think one year he took Thomas’ lightsaber and went as Obi-Wan Kenobi – for about 10 seconds. But it is Ronnie’s costume that is the highlight of the season. You would not believe the effort he makes so I had to show you. Here is a collage of Ronnie’s Halloween costumes:

A inspiration from a vacation at Plymouth Rock

The Devil Wore Prada

The year he went to Gettysburg Still don't know how he drank wine with that face

The Wall Street Devil and the Monk

I can't wait to see what this year's will be. Comment on your favorite. And yes, Jen and Robert (aka Stephanie), the small white pumpkin was Jaws.

The Great Pumpkins

2007-10-18T23:05:00.000-04:00

My husband is the king of pumpkin painting. Every year the family would go to the pumpkin patch where each kid would pick their perfect pumpkin and a bushel of apples (which no one ate). The best part was coming home to paint the pumpkins.

So to brag a little about Tony, I decided to blog his pumpkin art on this week's post. Although the pumpkin face ideas were generated by both the kids and him, Tony did the majority of the painting with the kids flocking around him at the table. I, with my untalented, inartistic abilities, would be relegated to the kitchen, searching recipes to use up a bushel of apples. Here is a retrospective of some of our finest pumpkin art. Please post a vote for which one you like the best and see if you can guess what the white pumpkin face of of 1998 represented. 1996 - traditional but

I think each pumpkin was like the kid it represented

The year of Tweety Bird. Can anyone guess what

the little pumpkin with the white face was? (Hint: Kept on swimming.)

No caption necessary. Who's the pumpkins here, huh

Not too old yet.

And this year's pumpkin patch. Carved by me and Tony.

But what the heck, we have pumpkins!

Columbus Day Weekend

2007-10-12T12:35:00.000-04:00

It was Columbus Day weekend when the fall colors are usually at their peak. In previous years, Tony and I would try and use that weekend as our fall getaway. When the kids were little, I would ship them off to my mom’s. This mini-vacation relieved us for a short time from parenthood while it was a few days relief from parents for the kids. My mother, brother and his wife would treat the kids to everything that their ever-trying-to-be-the-perfect-mom did not do for them. Their weekend would include a visit to McDonald, as much TV as they wanted, and a trip to the toy store where they would come home with some noneducational toy. I think we all made out.

Typically, Tony and I would go to some B&B either in the Berkshires or upstate NY. This Columbus Day weekend, given we had just went away and could only do a day trip, we decided to drive up to Dutchess County NY. I had heard about a winery up in Millbrook where there were great photo opportunities and good wine. So with camera in hand, and the top down on the Miata, we left home.

I can say the reports were accurate. The winery was very picturesque and the wine was surprisingly good. We attended a tasting where we picked up a couple of bottles each of a white Chardonnay and a red table wine, both under the winery's label for under $20/bottle and delicious. If the Miata didn’t have such a little trunk, I would have purchased a case but, little did I know, that little trunk would be the reason our day’s plans took a nose dive. After leaving Millbrook, we headed on Route 301 to Cold Spring. Shortly after getting off the Taconic, Tony, of course, picked up the vibration while I was still contently looking at the countryside. Before I knew it, we were pulled over on this two lane country road with nothing but trees as a landmark, and a large hole in the left rear tire. Oh yes, that little trunk, that did not have room for a case of wine, it did not have room for a spare either. We tried fixing the hole with tire repair fluid which leaked out as fast as it was pumped in.

Trying to be calm, I called AAA getting an operator who didn't want to be bothered. I gave her my coordinates but she kept asking me for an intersection. I should have told her we were between Maple and Elm. Then, of course, I got disconnected. We then called Mazda roadside assistance who first said courteously they would help only to called back five minutes later to say we were on a restricted road (??) and to call 911. I later found out that most auto company use AAA as their roadside assistance centers. Figures. Our lovely day was quickly melting. If I had a corkscrew, Tony and I would have had a better time.

So I now I feel that if I don’t get out of here alive, I am going down bestowing a verbal tirade on some deserving AAA person. I called AAA back three times before I got someone who didn't hang up on me and actually knew how to read a map. He found the road we were on and dispatched a tow truck.

In response to the 911 call, the local police came and so did Casey’s Towing for AAA. We headed back home in the cab of Casey’s tow where we made conversation by complementing his truck. Never mind that the cab was air conditioned by a small fan powered by the cigarette lighter. An hour and a half later, cranky, tired and eating hot dogs for dinner, we were home.

I'm determined to try again to see the fall colors, so this weekend, we are going up to Vernon, NJ. Its only 40 minutes from home and this time, I'm taking the Jeep and a corkscrew. I'll let you know.

Weekend in Rhode Island and the French chef

2007-10-03T22:30:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned before, I love this time of year and can't get enough of the fall festivals. This past weekend, Tony and I went to Newport, RI where they were having a Wine and Food Festival. So with the weather being predicted as perfect and good friends who welcomed us in their Newport home, we were set to do nothing but eat and drink wine all weekend - nice idea if you ask me. On Friday night, we attended a dinner at one of those elegant mansions in Newport, the Rosecliff. I have to say, I'm a sucker for a good night out in a elegant mansion reminiscent of the Gatsby era. I act like I do this all the time. The setting was beautiful particularly in the back of the house where 2 Bentleys were parking in front of the water's edge with a moon whose light spotlighted the cars as if they were sculptures of art. It wasn't until the end of the night that I realized the famous French chef, Jacques Pepin was there signing autographs of his books. Being an avid but amateur cook, I was excited to meet this great artist of food. By the time I arrived at the table, a woman behind the counter said he had finished autographing books for the evening. As he got up to walk away he started to walk towards me. I asked him if he would sign my book. "Of course", he said in that wonderful French accent and asked me my name. I felt like a teenage girl in a new school where the most popular football player asked me to dance. He proceeded to sign the book I selected which was his autobiographical, "The Apprentice: My Life In The Kitchen". I am reading his book which starts with his early beginnings in the outskirts of Lyons, the capital of the French cuisine. His father is a member of the French underground and his mother bicycled to markets to buy the best foods every week. If I was alive then, I would probably have done the same. He was 10 when he stated he wanted to be a chef. It wasn't until the next day that I looked at the inscription in my book. He wrote, "To Virgine, Cook with Love, Jacques Pepin. I think I love cooking even more.

Autumn and Christine

2007-09-22T17:55:00.000-04:00

September and October are my favorite months. There's fall festivals, pumpkins to paint and great clothes to buy in rich fall colors. Schedules get crammed with school, soccer and dance classes, but when the kids were little, I added one more thing to the busy autumn months that I actually enjoyed. That was to have their birthday parties in the Fall. Planning kid birthday party is a mother's rite of passage. You either love doing it or just want to get through it. The entertainment involved either spending hundreds of dollars at Chucky Cheese or a Fun Time Junction, or having the party at your house where you struggled to entertain 10 or more kids so they wouldn't tear the place apart. Some families had pools which made having the party during the summer easy. Serve pizza, everybody jump in. Given I did not have that option, I came up with my own solution. Being the old-fashion sensible mother I think I am, I preferred to take the home route. It would have helped if I had some artistic talents to get the kids involved in a craft or if I had a sophomoric sense of humor where I would not have felt ridiculous dressed in some costume telling funny stories. But, without those attributes, those parties could become the longest two hours of life. So, my decision to have the parties at home came under my terms. Those terms were that regardless of when their actual birthday was, the kids had to have their party in September or October. There were more ways to entertain in the fall. Hayrides, picking and painting pumpkins or watching scary movies with a sleepover were more fun than Chucky Cheese anyway. At least, I could relate to those activities. So as it went, Thomas’ December birthday was celebrate in September with a camp out in the back yard on the first Friday after the new school year started. Anthony’s August birthday was in October usually starting with a haunted hayride and then the sleepover and scary movie. But where I really lucked out was with my daughter Christine. Although her due date was in November, she got it right by arriving three weeks early to be born October 22. Although she did have her kid parties where we made candy apples, painted the pumpkins and had the sleep overs, we always used her birthday to get the family together too. She was very close to my mother who loved her only granddaughter in a very special way. If she was alive today, she would have been proud to see how strong and beautiful Christine is. Christine looks like a mini-me, but she is my husband. She has a love for NY and clothes both of which she got from me and my mother and has a kind sense of caring for people. From my husband, she has this strong focus on her work along with his creativity and sense of humor. When she was little, Tony would read these little girl books to her about “Rainbow Brite” and “Star Sprinkles”. She never speaks of them now but what she does remember are the movies he introduced her to. She knew all the classics; original King Kong, The Thing and Bride of Frankenstein and still speaks in movie dialog quoting mostly from her favorites, Jaws, Finding Nemo and the original King Kong. A sampling of a conversation goes something like this: Me: Christine did you pack for the trip Christine: Yes, I brought the gas bombs (King Kong). Me: I’m so mad I can't fix this computer and don’t know what to do? Christine (melodiously): Keep on swimming, keep on swimming (Finding Nemo) Me: Do you want fish or chicken for dinner? Christine: I want to be sure it’s the fish. It probably is Martin, it probably is. (Jaws) And so it goes. You get use to it. This October, my daughter will turn 21. If you ask her, it's just another day. She really was never big on the kid parties and sleepovers made her very cranky. I don't miss those parties. As I said, it is a rite of passage. But this year, I think we will paint pumpkins and have family over.

Me and Bobby K

2007-09-11T08:16:00.000-04:00

I am reading a book called "Robert Kennedy and His Times" that I started a year ago. It was suggested reading by a police officer who was part of a support group meeting I was attending on September 11 of 2006. The reason, he said, was that Bobby suffered from "survival guilt" and he thought I could relate Bobby was Attorney General at the time of his brother's assassination. He was described as "serious in purpose, a hard worker and devoted to his family (particularly to John). As committed to upholding the law as he was to his brother, when John was assassinated, Bobby was shattered. Dedicating his life to his brother's career and to upholding the law of the United States, his world was demolished. His brother was killed, and he could do nothing to stop it. He questioned his faith and asked "Why God"1. On September 11, 2001, I was in the World Trade Center complex when the first plane hit. My co-workers were leaving the building going in different directions. I left my office watching bodies falling from burning buildings. Boarding the ferry to Hoboken, I watched the first tower collapse as the ferry pulled away from the dock. I questioned what I was seeing. It made no sense. I always felt I was the kind of person who would know what to do in an emergency, could handle most anything and be there to help others. But this day, I did nothing to help anyone other than myself. I felt alone, scared and somewhat embarrassed that I was so safe while so many died. I spent the remaining days of that week home wanting to be with my family. It made me feel safe and in control of my world. I had nervous energy so for the next 3 days, I washed every window in the house and organized all our pictures into several photo albums making an album for each of the 3 kids. I was nesting and trying to feel in charge again. That Sunday, I went to church. I was a Sunday School teacher for the 6th grade. As I drove to church, I thought that the kids would want me to explain Why God did this. Until I got there, I didn't know what I was going to say. So I said just that, There is no answer. Why it happened, is a mystery to us in life that cannot be explained. But one thing I can say is that God didn't do this, man did.

Reference: 1: Robert Kennedy and His Times by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., copyright 1978

To The Dogs

2007-08-31T22:00:00.000-04:00

I find it interesting that within the same week we have news that Michael Vick is being suspended from football for staging dog fights, Leona Helmsley leaves $12 million dollars to her dog "Trouble". Are we all over the spectrum on this or what. On one side, a football hero is convicted of a federal felony whereas on the other hand a woman worth billions of dollars, known for her nasty temper and abrasive nature, leaves a fortune to her dog. Quite honestly, I'm not sure which is a bigger crime or who is the bigger idiot. Admittedly, I'm not a dog lover. I'm not a dog hater either. After spending the last 21 years worrying about children and how to take care of them, the last thing I would consider is entering into a responsible relationship with a dog. I do have a cat and have for many years. They are self-sufficient and I like that about them. My first cat was JB. I found him at a vegetable market on Ninth Avenue in NY. I stopped in to buy produce and this little kitten was being kicked around by the shop owner. The poor kitten was holding its paw up as if it was injured. I went home and thought about the kitten all night. The next day, I went back to save the cat from a life of rotten fruit. We took him to the vet and after a few weeks with his paw in a cast, he was as good as new. JB turned out to be a great cat. He would go out and when he wanted to come home, would stand on the mailbox and ring the doorbell. He was very protective of me too. When a stranger would come to the house, he would plant himself at the door and hiss as if he was a mean furious tiger. When he came home hurt from a cat fight, I would heal his wounds. When he died, I cried. Putting all these events in perspective, I wonder if the Vick's case was over publicized. He did a hateful thing to a living being. I wonder if Leona's grandchildren who she excluded from her will felt the same way about her.

Football and the Summer of Content

2007-08-26T10:12:00.000-04:00

Every year I dreaded summer. While most are planning vacations, lazy days at the pool or beach, I was struggling trying to find a full time babysitter and activities that would entertain my kids and keep them out of trouble. My budget would be in the red paying for day camps, summer clinics, trips to the movies, or whatever. It seemed to be forever that this would be going on until the two older kids were in high school which led to a worse set of issues about who was coming in and out of the house with who and doing what! I hated summer - until this year. This year, with the two older kids having full time jobs, there was only my youngest, Thomas to deal with. He is 16. Up until the age of 10, Thomas was the type of kid that would come down stairs sliding on the banister, yell out "boring" at a display at the Smithsonian and wind up in the principal's office in grammar school for hitting the girl who hit his friend (who got even the next week by pushed him into a pile of mulch). I loved Thomas but was convinced I had a lunatic on my hands. Somewhere along the line, though he settled down. He always made good choices of friends which led to my having close relationships with their parents. In spite of his antics, teachers and parents liked him. And then he chose to play football. In 8th grade, the high school coaches come to the middle school to talk to the boys about football. He was interested and signed up for freshman football. Little by little, it became an obsession. Instead of that 70s Show, he is watching ESPN - constantly. Star Wars posters are replaced by Tiki Barber and whoever else in a football uniform. I find him bidding on Ebay for football jerseys that he must have. But here's where the contentment lies. Training starts before the school year ends in May and continues all through the summer. Every day he is at the school with team and coaches and safe (exclusive of the tackling part). When he's not practicing, he's too tired to do much else except play Madden (like I said, obsession). We never went to the beach this year except for some time in Newport where he came for only a few days and hurried back to practice. It's what he wants and what makes him happy. He made his summer and made mine too. Ah contentment.

The Peak

2007-08-23T12:53:00.000-04:00

Almost everyone I knew that grew up in the 60s and 70s listening religiously to radio station WNEW-FM, 102.7. The station born in the era of Vietnam and antiestablishment sentiment, the station delivered progressive rock that was under the radar of the mainstream AM stations delivered by disc jockeys free to offer their individual preferences without restrictions. Among the first of the DJs were Rosko whose husky but smooth deep voice recited antiwar poems against hypnotic music that made you feel - well never mind. His show started with a “mind excursion” and ended with “I sure love you” – hmm. Then there was Jonathan Schwartz who had more affection for playing Sinatra than he did for playing Layla. Sunday morning, he played nothing but Sinatra but I remember one show where he admitted that Sinatra's version of “Downtown” (originally by Petula Clark), was just awful. Mr. Cup-of-Coffee, Dave Herman woke me up in the morning with his “Bruce Juice” set. I remember the day Dave Herman discovered Springstein. He discuss with his listeners how he went to the Springstein concert with an "okay, show me what you got" attitude that quickly changed to wow. To end the day, I would go to sleep to Alison Steele the Nightbird. She opened her set with her standard soliloquy “The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Night bird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we exist only to feel…” before playing something like the, Moody Blues or if it was a stormy night, Riders on the Storm by The Doors. It has been close to 20 years since I listened to radio that way. Every DJ today is a woose. Those early voices played music that embodied the feeling of the time. Their playlists related to news events, their personal feelings or the world as it was that day. I felt connected to the music world. I knew the members of the band without having to look them up. And I don't get this satellite radio thing. It requires me to stick to a genre and search within it's choices like I am googling - while I am driving. I just want to turn on the radio to a DJ that plays good music from many genres, talks about music and tells me what they just played.

Recently, I found a station that is as close as I can get to the old WNEW. It’s called The Peak and is out of Peekskill, NY. Not accessible everywhere but I can get it from the car and on one radio at home. An example of a playlist has Suzanne Vega, Dire Straits, Church (?), and Bonnie Raitt. A disc jockey from a competitive NY station 95.5 WPLJ, Jimmy Fink is the afternoon jock who I listen to on the way home from work. He’s pretty good and offers playlists with old but obscure music from the 60s and 70s such as Blind Faith’s “Can’t Find My Way Home” together with the latest release from artists such as Mark Knopfler (formerly of Dire Straits). He's got some interesting dialogue too that doesn't center around a commercial.

At 10 AM and again at 10 PM they do something called 10 @ 10. For that hour, they pick a year and play the music and news clippings from the then. Today’s year was 1968. The set started with the Foundations singing “Build Me Up Buttercup”, continuing with Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing” and somewhere in the middle, I am listening to “Combination Of The Two” by Big Brother and the Holding Co.

Now that’s music!

Recommended reading: The Rise and Fall of Rock Radio by Richard Neer

Woodstock 1969

2007-08-18T18:17:00.002-04:00

In 1969, I was 17 years old. I graduated high school and that summer, went to the Woodstock festival. Going to the concert seemed to be a cool thing to do (or as I would say at the time, it was “far out”). A few weeks before, my friends and I went to a Greenwich Village record store and purchased our tickets. We drove to the site with a guy who owned a VW van and the four of us, with him at the wheel, took off that August 15th weekend to Woodstock. To this day, it is a mystery to me as to why my mother and father let me go. I am from a very strict, Armenian family. My mother was a hard working dressmaker and my father, retired, had very little to do but to tell me what I couldn’t do. He was the stricter of my parents and the only reason I think he let me go was that he must have thought I was going to an Armenian event – or he was drunk. Since, he never drank, I can only guess, he was very misinformed. Being it was August, I assumed that it would be very warm in upstate NY. My mother kept telling me to take a sweater. I refused. She insisted. I still refused. My friends picked me up and we arrived somewhere near the concert on Friday, parked the van and walked to the site. We heard a few acts and then went back to the van. That first night, traffic wasn’t going anywhere and we realized we weren’t going to sleep in that comfortable hotel room we booked. All of us slept in the van. The temperature in upstate NY really plunges at night and I was freezing and uncomfortable. I hated being cold and regretting coming. I wanted my mother or someone to save me. Before completely breaking down, I went through my suitcase to see if there was anything else I could put on. And there it was – my mother got her way. The sweater we argued about was stuck into my bag. I was saved. It was cold but I had my sweater - my wonderful sweater. As everyone knows, it poured 75% of the time that weekend but it didn't matter; I had my sweater. I didn't know it then but I was one of thousands that were part of an inspirational, monumental experience. Thirty-eight years later, I still have the sweater. It is safe, in my daughter’s closet. In her room, is the Woodstock poster framed with my tickets. It is what makes me "cool" to my kids and their friends.

A Midsummer's Night Dream

2007-08-16T22:20:00.000-04:00

You must have felt like this. Something you see in a store attracts you, you ponder it, walk out of the store without it and spend the next week or more obsessed with wishing you had it. I’ve done this a lot but this summer I became obsessed with getting the free tickets for the Shakespeare in the Park play in Central Park. Every year, the Public Theatre in NYC puts on 2 of Shakespeare’s plays in the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park. The only way to get tickets is to stand on line until the tickets are distributed at 1 PM. There are 2 tickets per person and only for the performance that same night. I had to go and devised a plan to get my tickets. Last Saturday morning, I woke up, at 5:30 AM, packed a blanket, a book and some food and left for Central Park. I found a great on-the-street parking spot, near the 77th Street entrance of the park and got on line at 6:30 AM. Am I any crazier than those who stood on a line at midnight for the latest Harry Potter book, the latest Madden video game or an IPhone. No, I didn’t think so. There I was in Central Park at 6:30 on a beautiful Saturday morning looking, like everone else, like a homeless person. There was a women sitting in one of those folding green chairs with a blanket wrapped around her, with a hooded sweatshirt that said "Harvard" on the front and big Jackie O sunglasses. Others were asleep in their aero beds. Many past the time with cards, scrabble or some other game. One group, obviously experienced in line sitting, played games and ate on their portable table with a slatted top where the legs screwed off and the top rolled up into a bag. It’s one of those things you buy at Crate and Barrel and then find a use for it. After getting tickets, all would go home and dress for the performance. Although they still didn’t look like they were going to gala night at the opera, we all looked much cleaner. At 1 PM, I got my tickets. I didn’t savor the moment too long as my next challenge was to get my husband to go to the play – without a puss on his face. The play was A Midsummer's Night Dream - a little daunting to follow for your first exposure to Shakespeare, but I assured him he would have a good time and it would cost him virtually nothing. He agreed. I packed a picnic to eat in the park and we drove in. AGAIN we found street parking within one block from 77th Street. Truly, this was my lucky day. The play was good and, as promised, we did have fun afterwards at a bar on Columbus Ave. The night ended without getting stuck in traffic, paying a fortune for parking, or eating at some mediocre restaurant. For me, it’s not about the play; it’s about NYC. You’ve got to know me to understand.

Anthony's Birthday

2007-08-13T13:08:00.000-04:00

I knew when I was a teenage that I wanted to have a family first and a career of some kind after that. As fate is, I started a career in Facilities Management at The New Yorker magazine and met my husband through work. We married when I was 30 and had my first child at 32. Tuesday, August 14th, is my first-born child, Anthony's birthday. He is 22 years old. If you have more than one, the oldest child is who you make your mistakes on. By the time I had the third, I felt I finally got this baby-sleeping thing under control but I never understood what they meant when they said a mother could recognize what’s wrong with a baby by its cry. I am freely admitting those deafening cries all sounded the same to me. But even with my inexperience, if you look at Anthony, he doesn’t look wrong.

This semester, Anthony is starting his final year at Fordham. He will be the first in my family to graduate college. He works as a waiter and bartender on Friday and Saturdays. He goes out with friends that he has had since middle school and one since he was 1 year old. I think he does too much but I wasn’t any better. I’m very proud of him. Many of my friends have kids that are much younger than mine. They sometimes wish they had the freedom I have. I’ve waited 20 years to be able to take off on a Saturday morning to NYC without having a soccer practice or something I signed up for get in the way. Now when I go to the city, I’m usually back home before any of the kids actually wake up. It’s great having some freedom again, but I would kill to have all of the kids over for Sunday dinner each week This year, my husband, Tony and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. To commemorate the event, we booked a weekend alone where we vacationed in our earlier years with and without kids, Cape May. It was just great, just great. Then the following weekend, we headed to Newport, RI where a year ago, I booked a one week vacation expecting some of the family would join us if not all. Anthony and Thomas, my youngest, came for the first few days. Christine had to work. The days the boys were up were great fun for them and us. Then they left to go home to their own responsibilities. My husband and I were alone together again – uh oh. Now I’m thinking “can we actually find more things to talk about for another week?” We did and even went to a blues club where I didn’t feel like the oldest hippie there. We started to find the things we left behind when we had Anthony. So today, I celebrate Anthony – who started the best part of my life.