Tag Archives: Life

Family Weekend

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This weekend was family weekend.

Last night, POB made a huge tenderloin which didn’t seem so aggressively carnivore-centric, until her vegetarian sister (SOPOB) called to say she and her son were coming.  POB’s father (FOPOB) also came over, in part, because he liked the menu.  (Not only can you not fool all the people all of the time, but you can’t please them either.)

And to round out the alphabet of “OB”-centric initials, sister of blogger (SOB), husband of SOB (HOSOB) and father of blogger (FOB) also came.  HOSOB got a really short haircut and looked so adorable in that way that little boys do when they get their hair cut (except he is 54 or so, but still sooooooo adorable).  And not the way an older man looks cute and helpless when he puts on a hat with ear flaps (you know, the “look” that cuts one’s IQ in half).

Since having a child, it makes me happy when those whom I love have home-cooked meals. Of course, POB has to do the actual cooking — I just plate everything and set the table, except when I don’t, and then POB is overworked and I don’t deserve her.  But last night I wasn’t a slouch or sloth.  (Of course, I think I deserve a merit badge for good behavior, but I digress.)

My nephew didn’t like dinner and was honest about in that way that kids can be.  Everyone else was polite and HOSOB seemed to enjoy the carnivorous portion of the meal especially.  FOB seemed to enjoy the wine.   SOB seemed to enjoy leaving (she later reported having a really sound sleep — must have been vicarious dose of triptophan from all of the food HOSOB ate).  FOPOB was non-committal.  Our son and nephew enjoyed being together.

Today, another generation descended.  A cousin from the Catskills who studied and lived in China for 5 years came for brunch, along with her half-Dutch, half-Israeli boyfriend who went to school in Switzerland and whom she met in Shang-hai. He is now in the States, in New England. It is too confusing to figure out which of the many pairings of culture shock he is currently experiencing.  He is sweet and gentle notwithstanding his inherent Dutch directness and Israeli hubris.

Also along was a brother of this cousin who traveled the far distance from the Catskills to a suburban hamlet in Massachusetts.  He introduced us to his girlfriend.  This was big. His girlfriend was polite, sweet and quiet — i.e., not Jewish.  Hey, non-Jews have tamed our family, to wit: my sister-in-law and brother-in-law.  So, really, we are scared the non-Jews we love won’t marry into our family because we are so loud, and — hmmm, how shall we say — undiscriminating about our dinner/brunch table discussion topics.

So we were loud, especially my cousin (her boyfriend), and she didn’t seem unnerved by it, even when those cousins started talking about importance of sloping leaching fields in the separation of solid waste from non-solid waste.   Septic tanks and the related issues of sanitation are not approved topics of conversation at my table (even though these were favorite topics of their father z”l who was a wonderful, if controlling, human).  As I was trying to stop the story (we WERE eating), his sister piped in about the variations of “spicy stomach” she and her friends had in China. Ok, ok, ok. All of this after I lectured them (again) about the inappropriateness of pictures they put on Facebook.

My dear cousin (DCOB) — an elder of my generation — also joined us.  He is such a gentle soul.  He is very involved in eastern traditions, medicine and meditation.  He also has a tremendous collection of American folk music.  I know that you are thinking Asian monk living in the splendor of secluded monastery that has access to folk music and occasional WiFi.  Think again.  Think yin-yang.  How yang?  He is a criminal defense attorney living in a large apartment complex.  DCOB’s wide ranging interests and openness to new and different things was evolutionary in our family.  The next generations is more free to focus on their inner muses.

Still, after 3 hours, I called SOB, who prescribed M&M — meditation and medication.

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Aging.

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Ok, so a friend told me, in a meaningful and affirmative way, that my new picture on my new company’s website is not horrible.  She said, “it looks like you.”  Excuse me while I have a body lift. Don’t think that I wasn’t being self-affirming in that statement.  My first thought was: excuse me while I put my head in the oven.

After 45 years, I have got to come to terms with what I look like.  I have to stop hoping that a glamorous woman is going to stare back at me in the mirror one morning.  Years ago, I had an apartment mate who believed she would wake up one morning transformed into a six-foot tall blonde. Ok, the blonde part could be done. But growing 12 inches when you are 22? Nah. This is a long winded way (who, me?) of saying, I used to laugh about that until I realized that I have the same insane delusions.

Too things about aging really annoy me:

(1) puffy eyes. I have those now from doing the client/prospective client blitz now that I changed jobs.  And I spent the last two days at a conference schmoozing people I never met before.

(2) sagging neck skin. If only my neck skin wasn’t starting to do the chicken dance.

One part is getting easier with age. People (mis)take my gray hair for experience and knowledge. Would I be less smart if I got my hair colored?

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Why is Sarah still in my life?

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How does a woman deride hope and faith in our democracy and receive standing ovations?

I am going out on a limb here, but not everyone can be president of the United States.  Neither Joe Six Pack nor Joe the Plumber can run a nuclear superpower.  Also, not every opinion is worth as much as any other.  To think otherwise is ridiculous.  One may have a right to one’s opinion, but if it is illogical or ill-informed, it should be ignored.  Remember how much flack then-President Carter got when he said he asked his daughter Amy what she thought of nuclear disarmament?  Because we knew that a 13 year-old is not an expert (to be fair, he was making a point about that younger generation’s desire to live nuclear bomb-free).  The GOP lambasted him.

Now, the GOP thinks that every stupid idea based on half-truths and discredited sources should be held as on par with those of the President of the United States and his cabinet and advisers.  That is just mean-spirited, corrupt and disrespectful.  [Now, I didn’t think much of the ideas of GWB, his cabinet and his advisers, but I certainly agree that they knew more than most people and that the relevant opinions were those of experts who thought the Bush doctrine and the Cheney secret police were ill-conceived and ignorant.]

Sarah Palin has some great one-liners but a stand-up comic is not good training for president.  Also, other than one-liners, she cannot put together a string of words to make a coherent sentence.

Ok, I am going to pretend I am a GOP operative and Sarah is a Democrat (G-d forbid).  Here is my theory:

No matter how many times she makes mistakes or shares her baseless views and ideas, there is this invisible machine that rehabilitates and spins the mistakes and idiotic policy statements into victories for the true America.  Any ordinary candidate — especially a female candidate — would be left to tend the embers of her political career after the various Sarah fiascoes.  But there is an invisible force that will not let her fail.  Why are people so invested?  Well, I just keep thinking of that cold war movie about a sleeper mole who is in line for the presidency . . . . maybe . . . naw . . . yes? . . . Is Sarah Palin the real Manchurian Candidate?

Hey, according to the GOP, my opinion is as important and valid as that of any politician or commentator.  So, my opinion is that Sarah Palin is the Manchurian Candidate and she was sent to the US to ruin us.  In your face, lady in the McCain town hall who believed that President Obama is Arab (and so what if he was).

But Sarah was right about one thing:  “President Palin” breeds fear in my heart AND, I hope, all those who love their children and want the world to survive for a few more generations.

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The generations of progress

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Sunday night is family dinner night.  SOB (sister of blogger), HOSOB (husband of sister of blogger) and FOB (father of blogger) come over.  From time to time, COB (cousin of blogger) and COROBs (cousins once-removed of blogger) also come over [there is one COROB whom I miss very much — she knows who she is — I would love for her to come, too, when she is ready].

So, on Sunday night, we had the usual gang plus a COB and COROB.  COB is the de facto family historian, so sometimes we discern breakthroughs of understanding and gentility invading our otherwise harsh and unforgiving gene pool.  COROB’s brother is coming in with his girlfriend in a few weeks.  COB asked COROB if “we” liked the girlfriend — one person’s opinion can shape a multi-generational disposition towards an interloper in — I mean new person to — the family.

COROB answered, “I don’t know, I haven’t met her.” And the generations of the family fell quiet.  This was indeed momentous.  Any member of a prior generation would say something like, “How could we possibly like her?  He would have brought her around before if she was a keeper.”  In other words, unworthy unless proved otherwise through hazing rituals only known among the clan.  Here was an opening to be level-headed about the matter.  The profundity cannot be overstated.  We older cousins could not grasp this “perestroika” of a sort at first.

Luckily, just when the world as we knew it was teetering on the edge of kindness and generosity, we had a disagreement over whether kashrut is important as a sign of belief in G-d or because it was sound eating practices.  Were the rules codified because of hygiene or because they set the tribes of Israel apart from other regional tribes?  The COROB and COB disagreed with me somewhat assertively but something had changed in the dynamic of the family just from that little openness shown by COROB earlier towards her brother’s girlfriend.

I heard myself say, “you’re wrong AND you can still come back for dinner next time.”  Wow.  Now, that’s progress.

Hmmmmm.

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The Slug in Winter

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Our son has no interest in going outside in cold weather.  He would much rather watch movies and read books.  I don’t blame him, but POB (partner of blogger) and I get cabin fever.  Also, reading and watching movies is great until our son starts bouncing off the walls from lack of activity.  Boys need to run around.  Think golden retriever.  Lots of running, for running’s sake.

Last winter I bought one of those tiny exercise-trampolines — the kind that slides under our bed when not in use (and it is often not in use).  Realizing that our son is as strong-willed as she is (genetic code cannot be denied), POB brought out the trampoline and made our son jump up and down as he told us stories and whatever else came to his head.  POB and I took turns taking walks outside.  It wasn’t exactly “family” time, but it was the best we were going to get on a frigid winter day.  (I hope Groundhog Phil was wrong and we will have an early Spring.)

It reminded me about the commercial with the parents running the kids up and down hills and then putting them on treadmills just to get them tired out.  Life imitates art or art imitates life.

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My inner diva

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I had to have a close-up taken for my new firm’s website.  Last time my picture was taken for a firm website, I had no wrinkles or gray hairs.  What a difference 3.5 years makes.  Now, laugh lines and a shock of gray.  Last time, the pictures were taken by a professional photographer.  This time, by someone in the mail room.

Nevertheless, the difference in photographs was shocking (to me).  And the transition from the color picture to black and white didn’t do anything to help.  In a culture where young and cute mean success, this was my very own personal reality check and public relations disaster.  I can’t turn back time and pretend I am young and cute, but I can have a passable picture that doesn’t scream old and wrinkled.

At my insistence (and that of my assistant, G-d bless her), the guys in the mailroom tried to enhance the picture as much as possible, at least to get rid of that strange patina that affected part of my face as if a skin disease. But, I just have to get used to the fact that I am older and it shows.  I guess I will market that as “experience” and “judgment”.

I saw a lapel button once that said, “Aging to Perfection”.  That picture — which probably captures how I really appear — is more like “Aging Out to Pasture”.

And, yes, I had a diva moment.  And it isn’t like I have a right to be.  Nevertheless, let this be a warning to all:  Beware an aging woman and her photo.

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First Impressions

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My assistant and I have worked together for ten years.  We would take bullets for each other.  So, when I changed jobs, so did she.

She is young and pushy and doesn’t smile naturally.  And she has no boundaries when it comes to her opinions on my life and the world in general.  Remember she is barely 30, and I am older than 45.  So no shrinking violet.

And still she wonders why one person got testy when she asked about our building IDs for our new firm.  The IDs were supposed to be ready at 1pm.  I asked her how many times she asked.  She said “five”.  It was only 4pm. I asked her, in a Jon Stewart voice, “Really? You’re not sure why she’s angry with you? Really?”

The scary part is that she is mellowing with age.  G-d help me.

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We live in a crowded city

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I went to the gym again tonight as part of my new mind-body balance regimen.  Who am I kidding?  Myself, of course.  But let me dream for another day and then crash-land into Hershey milk chocolate nuggets, take-out food and acne.  For two days, I have breathed calmly and deeply, in with nourishing oxygen, out with bad energy.  It started out great, until I realized I was breathing car exhaust and then started hyperventilating, but I digress.

In my karmatically balanced state, I walked into the locker room, certain I would rise above the bloggable moment.  Then I rationalized even a vegan sneaks a bacon rasher every now again.  I had to entertain this juicy rationalization because I have to report the bloggable moment.  I walked over to the toilet stalls to the left of the sinks.  At the sinks were two women — strangers it appears — one, brushing her teeth (bravo on the oral hygiene), the other shaving her underarms (obviously ANYthing can be done in public nowadays).

Let’s reflect on that.  Oh, and someone was eating a power bar of some sort not 5 feet away.  I guess I should have mentioned that you shouldn’t read this while eating.  My bad.  All that carbon monoxide I was deep-breathing to cleanse my body.  Hmmmm.

I happen to know where the chocolate nuggets are stashed. . . .

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My sister, speaker of the truth

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I bumped into my sister at the gym.  She said very excitedly and pleased, “you don’t look horrible!”  I looked at her.  “Well you started a new job and you don’t look bad. . . ” in a voice that suggested that “not bad” is the new “fabulous”.

Ok, so in the “new normal” of our lives, I am striving for looking “not bad.”  Good thing the floors and walls in the gym are padded.

I made sure to re-apply my lipstick often today.  “Not bad” is just not good enough.

But, seeing my new company ID picture, I know that my sister was just telling me the truth.  So, I realized that not looking horrible is now a goal and “not bad” a compliment.

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Sunday was a great day

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Sunday was my free day before my new job.

POB (partner of blogger) excused me from the otherwise obligatory lunch with her father and a children’s Hebrew music concert at our synagogue.  POB is TOO good to me.  I don’t deserve her but let’s keep that quiet (she hardly ever reads my blog often so I am not giving the secret away).

So, I watched cartoons with our son, went to the gym for a long, long time (I am still hurting Monday night), got a manicure, bought food for dinner with the extended family (my side) and started preparing it.  POB — G-d bless her — likes having my extended family over, even when I have slacked off ALL day. And they love her (what’s not to love?)

As an aside, it is a little bit of heaven to go to the gym without the stresses of having only 45 minutes to sweat, stretch, and be grossed out by those in the locker room.

The family came over and we started to reminisce about seminal moments of our clan gatherings at our aunt’s and uncle’s house in New Rochelle. And how we all thought we should have been consulted when they sold that house. That house was special because of the wonderful memories created there when the older generation was young and tall (and, yep, alive). Younger than their children are now.  It was a great fun to remember and laugh.

After everyone left, we cleaned up and my son was all ready for bed, he said, “Good luck tomorrow, E-Mom, I hope you make new friends and have someone to eat lunch with.”

I didn’t have time to get nervous about going to a new job the next day (ok, I didn’t get nervous until it was time to go to bed). 

It was a great day.

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