Tag Archives: Life

And so it goes

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After four days of being free of all family and work obligations, and being totally concentrated on re-uning and having fun, life resumes. I am in better shape this week than most, having eschewed the Dartmouth “boot and rally” battle cry [Blogger’s translation: If you have drunk too much, just throw up (i.e., boot) and keep drinking and playing beer pong (i.e., rally)].

I think people are tired of hearing me talk about Dartmouth, and POB (partner of blogger) had heretofore only heard me mention it in passing and only in relation to my dear friends from there.  So, it is surprising to most (including me) that I would drone on about it.

Who said, “youth is wasted on the young”?  So true.  I wish I could go back to the College on the Hill now as a 46 year-old.  A community waiting to welcome me back after 25 years of ignoring it.  The Prodigal Daughter returned and was embraced as if no time had passed.  That is extraordinary and humbling.

But if I had to choose that dream world or my life before the weekend, Dartmouth (and the dream) loses by more than the football team used to lose to everyone (except, of course, Columbia).  I guess I am belatedly enjoying the gift given when I was far too young to enjoy it and make the most of it — four years devoted to making me a scholar/athlete/artist.  Of course, I wasted the time and am none of these things.

What this weekend did do was make me want to redouble my commitment to accessible college experiences for everyone, without the overhang of outrageous loans, etc.  Because having prosperous parents shouldn’t be the litmus test.

And so it goes.  Back to life and the mundane and magnificent.  And back to supporting my tax dollars for higher education.

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I am your mirror (just one more reunion story)

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We were at a sit-down, dressed-up dinner on the lawn in front of the library at the College.  We were sipping champagne in a beautiful setting and we were nostalgic and wistful and glossing over the really bad things that happened there.  It felt like we were in a film about British aristocracy before World War I.  My inner snob was momentarily overwhelming my otherwise egalitarian (and self-satisfied) character.

And, then . . .

And, then —

From stage left, I heard a loud booming voice breaking through my revelry, rising above the din and seemingly causing the sumptuous scenery to fall away: 

“[Blogger], I hear you have a partner!! How could I have been your roommate for a year in college and not have known you were gay? 

I think you’ll agree that I am pretty intuitive?!

So, I decided you didn’t know either.  Am I right?  I am right, aren’t I.  Yup, I knew it. 

You look great by the way.  You have a son.  Did you have it or did she or neither?” 

WHOA!!!!

And I thought my sexual orientation was just about me.  And I thought people didn’t ask about paternity and maternity in polite company.  Nah, this is reunion after all, and I am “radically” different than I was 25 years ago.

I adore this person.  And her comments were so authentically “her” that I just smiled, laughed and enjoyed the feeling of 25 years just melting away. 

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Beauty Hints

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The craziest people in our class are plastic surgeons.  You might expect that they would wield knives, but not necessarily for good or ethically neutral purposes if you know what I mean.

So, one of our group compiled a list of beauty secrets:

1. Still a #1 choice in the lip category — Chanel. Twinkle is a bit more gold tone, and Blizzard more rose. Both are frosted, not matte. Chanel gloss stays on well and is very moisturizing. Unlike regular lipstick and some other glosses, I find it has no taste. I am giving this product 4 out of 4 stars, with a high $$$. Available in most department stores.

2. Trish McEvoy. Excellent cosmetic line in general. I use her pressed powder and eye shadows. This line sells the items with magnets on the bottom so they all fit neatly into one small compact organizer. This is a mid-tier price line for cosmetics, but very high $$$$ for skin treatments. I use her Beta Hydroxy pads, but I cut them in half to stretch them further. Her Beauty Booster moisturizer is expensive, but could change your life.

3. Trish McEvoy lip products. Really love her Esential Lip Pencil in Baby Pink. These pencils are not like some other pencils which are liners or stain — these are all over coverage like lipstick. They are not drying. I use her lip gloss over the pencil in the Very Sexy shade, which is essentially clear. But these lip glosses are very moisturising and also have no taste. The lip pencils and glosses come in other shades, but Baby Pink and Very Sexy are my choices.

4. Cle de Peu under eye concealer and liquid foundation. These are very $$$$$ products, but if you have dark eye circles like me you would pay any amount for the concealer. The foundation is like silk and does not break my skin out like many other products. Has SPF 22. Have only seen this line at Neiman Marcus and Saks — recommended by In Style magazine.

5. Yonka Masque for Sensitive Skin. Had a facial with this line of products at Mandalay Bay. My skin felt like a baby’s butt. I called the spa afterward to get the name of the products. Sold only in salons, I prefer the Trish McEvoy beauty booster, but love the masque.

You cannot go wrong with this list.  The provider of the list looks FABULOUS!!!!!

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Gender Neutrality and other things

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At Reunion, we stayed in the dorms.  Because there is one (count with me, ONE) inn in the entire town.  Don’t think Jesus in the manger.  Think Daniel Webster, as in, “it is a small college, Sir, but there are those of us who love it.”

Our dorm was a “gender neutral environment”.  None of us knew what that meant.  We felt a little dumb asking undergraduates who weren’t alive when we were at the College to explain it.

Apparently, all the bathrooms are co-ed but the toilets and the showers are single room occupancy only.  But the toilet is separate from the shower.  Maybe teenagers and 20-somethings don’t have to pee before they shower (let’s not imagine the Seinfeld episode, for surely it will blind us), but 46 year-olds do.  So we have to go from our rooms into the hall way into a toilet and then out into the hall way and back into the shower.  Too many opportunities to flash too much flesh even though we were wearing our granny bathrobes.  And, as earthy as some of us (me) are, we all wore flip-flops into the shower, because as one said, “there is hair in there and it belongs to someone we don’t know and that is just gross.”

I believe I overheard someone saying she Purelled her feet after taking a shower but I could be making that up.

And, and, many people complimented me on my fragrance.  It was my friend’s bug spray.  I’ll get the brand and publish it in another blog.

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What a difference 25 years makes

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Ok, so I was “chubby” (work that euphemism with me, please) in college.  Once leaving college, coming out and feeling the rhythm of post-college, I lost weight — a lot of weight — and resumed being the skinny kid I was before 11th grade. 

Of course, many people haven’t seen me in 25 years.  (Some one asked me, “so were you thin in high school and then just went out of control for the college years?)  Now the guys, now a little chunkier with a lot less hair, were checking me out.  I was amused by it, and a little creeped out because they were married. 

In fact, two of my married friends were hit on by married-men-not-their-husbands.  Really?  Really?  I thought one of the waitresses was really cute (a grad school graduate picking up extra money — I was in the back talking to a fellow classmate who owns the catering company and she introduced me to her husband the chef and the entire staff).  Hey, if everyone is checking out people, I could, too.  And besides it would be too ooky to check out my classmates, even though many clearly did.  One of my friends, a straight woman, saw this same waitress seemingly sweltering in the heat in her uniform and said to her, “You look hot!”  As in, “it is Hot Like Africa Hot here and you must be sweltering and sweating into my food and that is too gross!”  Still, my friend reported to the group that she told the waitress she was HOT!  I love my friends.

In a too-weird-for-words episode, I was standing with some friends on Main Street and a guy comes barreling out of the nearby café to talk with one of my friends. The guy says “how’s the film business in NY?”  Ok, my friend isn’t in film anymore (as in not for 20 years) and he isn’t in NY.  So, my friend says where he is and what he does and the guy says, “you may know my brother! He died in 1996 but, before he died he was the foremost authority on [the most obscure crazy thing NO ONE has ever thought about].” Ok, now that is a conversation stopper. What do you say, “So, you like staying in the dorms?” or “Got kids?” 

Somethings a person doesn’t need to remember:  nicknames like Crabs, Stain, Fiend and — yes — Swivel. 

Finally, in the too-late for this reunion, but something to remember for next time: 

When someone asks you what you do after blowing hard about all the fabulous things he or she does, just say, ” I just released an album about yodeling.  You might recognize certain cuts from the Sound of Music, but I included more authentic tunes and some new, really edgy stuff.  If you would like, I can put on my lederhosen and bring out my trumpet-like instrument and demonstrate.”

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The 25th College Reunion That Was

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According to the new-ish President of the College, Dartmouth alums are different because we cry when we sing the Alma Mater.  I am not a sentimental type about my college years and it is hard to cry when part of a verse talks about having rocks in our brains (see below).

Dear old Dartmouth, give a rouse, For the College on the hill,
For the Lone Pine above her, And the loyal ones who love her [words omitted]
Though ‘round the girdled Earth they roam, Her spell on them remains.
They have the still North in their hearts, The hill winds in their veins,
And the granite of New Hampshire In their muscles and their brains.

Crazy, right? I cried like a baby.

It was good to be back on the Hanover Plain.  The campus is just beautiful and being in an environment with undergraduates reminded me of the gift of learning.  In the midst of this beauty with a diverse undergraduate body of scholar-athlete-artists, it can be hard to remember how racist and misogynist the campus was in the early 80s, but that, too, must be acknowledged.

And, that, and for a group of friends, who have known each other for 29 years, we celebrated our years there, and also 25 years of life since then and the friendship bonds that have sustained us. 

I think what makes us unique is how we celebrated.

  • First, we talked about deal breakers for new relationships (some of us are not married; and we also talked about when we are — G-d forbid — widowed).   One mentioned that her much older aunt was seeing this man who was terrific in every way (wait, he was really cheap – so not every way) but when they were both in the airport traveling east to see family, she said, “Watch my bags, I am going to the restroom” and his response was, “Oh, I don’t bother; I wear Depends”.  Thereafter, ensued a spirited conversation about medical versus recreational use of adult diapers as a bright line deal breaker.  [Blogger comment: we are 45 but we like to be ready for big life decisions so we start thinking about these things ahead.  Also, many of us after childbirth cannot sneeze without worrying about leakage.]
  • Second, we got teary-eyed about the meaning of our friendships and how we are each other’s go-to people in a crisis.  We laughed, we cried, we hugged and we clasped hands and celebrated being together. [Blogger:  some random people tried to break into these deep moments and change the mood and we wouldn’t let them.]
  • Third, some of us played beer pong until 4:30am just like in college.  Others of us, not so much.  [Blogger comment: Of course, everyone was tired because college beds and prison beds are not that dissimilar.]
  • Fourth, we really played it to the bone. We were direct with each other and with our other classmates.  One asked another, “are we supposed to be ok with your drinking this weekend?”  Another said to a surprise attendee, “You really need to apologize for [disappearing without a word for 23 years after his best friend asked him to be his best man].”  [Blogger comment: This was not for the faint of heart.  We asked and wanted answers.]
  • Fifth, we were each other’s memory-recall buttons and coaches.  One of our number kept asking us, “did I have a fling with that guy?” and we did our best to keep the record straight.  Another gave us a real teachable moment when, being introduced to someone, she said, “Nice to meet you” and he said in a slightly hurt (possibly belligerent) way, “we know each other”.  Then the friend remember the fling that happened more than a quarter-century ago.  The resulting advice was to say, “good to see you” to everyone and anyone.  [Blogger comment: This is in addition to the old standby, “Good for you!” Really, good, GOOD, for you!”.]

Next blog entry will be the crazy things that happened while we were there.

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BP — Beyond Pathos

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Today, there was a fire on the BP ship that is siphoning the oil from the half-capped gushing breach.  Just add this to the ever-growing list of bad and greedy decisions and botched and mismanaged corrective efforts.

Sometimes people are so recklessly stupid and ineffectual that they deserve to go to prison just for these reasons alone.   Criminal stupidity and inefficacy in the first degree should be punishable by life imprisonment.  And the entire management of BP should be shackled right about now.  And the people who didn’t fire them when their stupidity and inefficacies were evident also deserve orange jumpsuits.

And now we have to rely on the government workers led by different party machines in the various gulf states.  These are the individuals who, according to popular wisdom, didn’t qualify for the private sector jobs at companies like BP.   Give up all hope.

If President Obama could plug this hole, he would.  If they try another top kill, I am sure he will insist on jettisoning BP’s CEO, the director of the MMS (and other government officials who allowed the oil companies to write their own rules) and maybe even Rand Paul, as part of the junk blast into the hole.

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A confession

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I have been strong and even-keeled about my 25th college reunion — ok, maybe the sheer number of blog entries suggests otherwise.

I have to confess that I have been working my triceps and biceps because CLEARLY I will feel less like a failure standing next to my classmates who are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies if my biceps and triceps are toned.

I mentioned this to a work colleague who said:

“Or you can either (i) wear long sleeves or (ii) keep your arms glued to your sides.” 

Now, that was brilliant.  She should go instead of me.  (It took me a while to realize that she wasn’t suggesting I actually glue my arm to my sides, which I also thought was a brilliant idea.)

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The seasons, they go round and round

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Today, my always capable, unflappable father gave me his power of attorney.

This may not seem like a watershed event at first glance but let me tell you about him.  He is a hybrid of the 1930s good provider and a modern-day sensitive man.  I use the 1930s as a benchmark because, as a child growing up in an immigrant home during the Depression, he always provided for his family ahead of himself.  No fancy car or fancy clothes for him, but for my mother and the kids, whatever was necessary — within reason.  True, he bristled (ok, more than bristled) at the conspicuous consumption of our classmates in high school (and our desire similarly to consume conspicuously) and at what my mother termed the “Gucci, Pucci and Fiorucci crowd”.  Ward Cleaver he wasn’t.  But he is a gentle man who adored my mother and who took care of her tirelessly and with love all through her long illness.  And, when I was a troubled 20-something, he would hug me and tell me to hold on tight to him and all would be ok.  Wherever “there” was, he would go there for his wife and his kids because he loved us.

These days (as opposed to during our growing up years), he makes few demands on his kids and is happy just to be around us.  Of course, the quid pro quo is that we have to listen to the same stories and opinions that haven’t advanced since the 1980s (ok, maybe 1990s) but, to be honest, he is a lovely, lovely man who is heartsick at the prejudices and other cruelties that still exist in the world.

Up until recently, convincing him to change a habit was hard because he is a fiercely independent spirit, even as his aging started to make us worry about one thing or another.  SOB (sister of blogger) and I had to enlist POB (partner of blogger) to talk to Dad about many different things over the years, because (1) Dad adores POB and (2) if we talked to him about it, you could see the indignation in his face and hear it in his voice as he asserted that he, as parent, was not to be questioned.

So, today, my father, aged 90, handed over control to me.

I am moved so deeply that he trusts me and I am so afraid that this means that my incredibly strong, independent father thinks he needs help on big picture decisions.  I prefer to think that he has gotten to the point where he thinks (in quintessential Dad language), “hey, if I can delegate the senseless paperwork to my daughter and not worry about it, I am way ahead of the game!”  So, Dad, on that theory, I accept the power of attorney, only so you have more time to sculpt and paint.

Because I cannot today imagine a world where the man, who kept me together and helped back on my feet when I was in my 20s and fragile, is slipping away.

Stay strong, Dad.

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A Note to My Sister

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Dear SOB (sister of blogger):

I really appreciated your notes of appreciation (“you’re a saint” — but we are Jews, for G-d’s sake) and helpful hints (“take care of [my husband] while I am gone”) this week.

It was epic to set up Dad’s computer and bring him into the 21st century, especially when he was so comfy in the 19th.  He still can’t access email even though I made it as simple as possible.  (I think the double-click is the problem.  He remembers to click once but not twice.  How do you teach a 90 year-old reflexes of the computer age?)  I guess sainthood — or beatification at least — is indeed warranted.

I am sorry you missed Sunday night dinner, but HOSOB (husband of SOB) carried on valiantly.  I appreciated your email reminding me (threatening me?) that HOSOB could only have one dessert serving.  Good thing we had a big enough plate:

 

Just kidding.  He had a small piece and some fruit to amortize the artery-occluding stuff in the chocolate cake:

 

ReeeLAXX, will you?

HOSOB and Cousin Gentle played with SOPOBAB (son of partner of blogger and blogger) and we all learned a lot of things about playing together.  Don’t worry, it was SOPOBAB that did most of the learning.  HOSOB and Cousin Gentle offered helpful hints, like “incorporate everyone’s imaginative story lines” and “don’t drop your pants until you’re in the bathroom, the light is on and the door is closed”.  These are important things that the bigger guys need to say to littler guy.  Lesbian moms just don’t have that authenticity when it comes to bathroom and trouser-dropping etiquette.

FOB (father of blogger) had a little too much wine, but what the heck, at 90, he can live a little.

He is coming over to my office tomorrow so we can go over “some papers”.  Um, BOB (brother of blogger), aren’t you a lawyer, too?  I think I may have to conference you on the phone so you can share these tender moments of wrapping up Mom’s estate and dealing with FOB’s talking about the end of his life.  [Imagine my putting my hands over my ears and making crazy noises to block out the conversation.] Ok, here is the deal:  I may be strong enough to put FOB on the internet, but I am wholly too young and immature for the rest of it.

FOPOB (father of POB) also came.  I think he had a good time, even with a large complement from our side of the family.

Cousin Gentle recounted his tour yesterday of Revolutionary War-era New York.  SOPOBAB was quite taken with the subject and Cousin Gentle needed to make up stuff to satisfy the boy’s endless curiosity.  I had to throw some curves into the conversation to give Cousin Gentle some time to come up with a plausible story line about the slave trade during that time and other assorted information that SOPOBAB needed to know.  FOB was so taken with SOPOBAB’s curious mind that, together with the extra wine, he was pronouncing our child Einsteinian.  Ok, I have to say that SOPOBAB’s questions were impressive in that they were probing and based on some knowledge he has gleaned from videos and books — more than I will ever know about that historical period, I assure you.

Also, Cousin Gentle bought Reddi-Whip after having it at your house.  He served it to a guest at his house.  He said it wasn’t as good as your supply.  Do you have private label Reddi-Whip because you buy it in bulk?  That was also a conversation topic.

Now you are caught up.

I leave on Thursday for my 25th college reunion.  I will blog from there — it will be like Anderson Cooper reporting from the field.

~ Blogger

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