Category Archives: About Life in General

Shame on you, Billy Crystal! Your tasteless and unnecessary joke at the expense of a segment of the population was uncalled for.

No, I’m not talking about the bit with you dressed as the great Sammy Davis, JR in the Midnight in Paris sequence. That was pretty clever and well done. I’m not even talking about the stupid joke that was cynical and mean about a hugging a black woman after watching The Help. That one made no sense and wasn’t funny. (Take my advice and leave African American zingers to someone like Chris Rock. People are way too touchy these days.)

What I am referring to is the throw away line about Christopher Plummer. In a L.A. Times informal poll, 16.98 % agreed with me that making fun of Captain Von Trapp’s age, saying he might wander off during the show, was Billy’s lamest joke. How stupid and uninformed about senior citizens was that? I loved it when Christopher Plummer bounded up the steps to accept his award and gave an articulate and beautifully delivered acceptance speech, as well.

On the other hand, I thought Max Von Sydow and Christopher Plummer looked old for 82. These guys must have lived hard. They looked older than some of the people I just did a Writers Workshop with in Seattle who were all in their mid to late nineties. I’m guessing the Seattleites didn’t do as much partying as the Hollywood set.

I want to let you in on a little truth: 80 is not old. I have many friends who are in their eighties and look like what Hollywood portrays as sixtyish. My friends have as much vitality as I do, as much joie de vivre. Not that some don’t have a few physical issues, but who doesn’t? It comes with the territory. “Getting old is not for sissies,” as Bette Davis said. Of course, in Hollywood, old is probably considered to be 40. Fifty, just ask Demi Moore, is ancient. Sixty? Forget about it!!

Which brings us back to Billy Crystal, who will be 64 this month. You’re almost a Medicare Citizen, Billy—get over yourself! You are not the youthful sprite that you once were—Harry met Sally almost 25 years ago. And Billy, you don’t look healthy, either. The dyed black hair made you look pallid. And your face was so puffy you looked like you were on cortisone or prostate hormone therapy. I don’t believe as some are saying that your round punim came from Botox and fillers. But something’s up.

To be fair, Billy was not alone in his ageist prejudice. From The New York Times: “The whole night looked like an AARP pep rally, starting with an introduction by Morgan Freeman, who was followed by Billy Crystal.” Wow, if they had made an allusion to Morgan’s race or Billy’s religion, the Political Correctness Police would have been issuing tickets right and left.

I didn’t find much written about the fact that many of the Oscars winners were older. And that they won the old fashioned way: they earned them through superior work. The younger generation has a hard act to follow.

I am in a continual state of being two steps behind in this technological world. I just can’t keep up. Neither can my ancient computer nor my copy machine.

My first confession is that I am a slow texter. I don’t like to make mistakes so I actually read over what I’ve written, which slows down the pace. But the biggest problem is my chubby fingers, which are constantly hitting a key I don’t want. The worst is when I hit send without meaning too. Sometimes I send a message that says, “G#bf3td”. It’s so embarrassing, let alone uncool.

I can’t say I am getting any better. If only the keyboard was different and the keys further apart! Apple, you have a lot to answer for. And can there be some UPDATES in this department? What if there was an attempt to change the set up so that the period and comma were on the alphabet keyboard? And the apostrophe! (I am sure if anyone who is younger than 35 reads this, they will tell me of some changes I don’t know about.)

I won’t give up, though. I think texting is an important way to keep in touch with my kids and grandkids and my niece and nephew. It’s instant, which makes it so personal. More important, it’s the only way I can get some members of my family to communicate with me at all. I love the photos and videos that keep me posted—and make me feel I am almost there. I get these almost in sync with event.

One day I really got into texting myself. I was shopping for boots and wanted my daughter’s advice so I texted her photos of the different selections. That was fun—I didn’t have to write anything.

Old Friends and New

“You can make wonderful new friends, but you can never make an old friend,” my friend, Carol, told me a few years ago. I’m not sure what she was referencing, but its truth still reverberates in my head. Although I have made fantastic new friends since we moved to Palm Springs, there’s a tie that binds you to your old friends that is enduring. A shared history cannot be created anew.

Carol and I have been friends since seventh grade. We both are educators, although within the field we took different paths. We now take a Girl Trip every year with two other friends we’ve known since we were—well—girls. Judy I’ve known since first grade. Joan, since I was ten. These get-a-ways have ranged from staying at a cabin on an island in Washington state to a spa experience in Napa. But it doesn’t matter where we are—at The French Laundry or grilling in the backyard, each trip is an immersion in memories, talks about what we are doing and thinking now, and always, always, laughter that evolves into outright giggles.

When we go on these trips, we share a room. I haven’t shared a room with anyone but a family member for a long, long time. I was a little nervous about it. I like to stay up reading until pretty late, and I’m not a good sleeper. Would I disturb my roommate? What about bathroom issues? Closet space? Plucking a hair on my chin?

It ended up that I shared with Judy. She and I have very similar handwriting for two reasons. One, we were both in Mrs. Dorn’s class and we learned to write from her. (I know this for a fact because I recently looked at my sixth grade picture. On the back, Mrs. Dorn had written something in handwriting that is close to identical to mine.) The second reason is that although I was actually sloppier, I loved the way Judy’s writing looked so I copied her.

But, I digress as usual. Back to sharing a room. Although we share similar script, our lives had moved in very different directions. Judy became an executive in a large company. I taught in a small school, and did diapers. We hadn’t been close for decades. Would this work, I wondered. My fears were put to rest as we put out our products on the bathroom counter. Toothpaste, the same. Shampoo, the same. Vitamins, the same. Etc, the same. It was truly astounding.

I come away from these trips knowing more about me than when I arrived. My old friends have memories of me that I have forgotten. It has become a merging of who I was with who I am, and brought me a sense of wholeness that I didn’t even know was lacking.

Last night, we had two couples over for dinner that we have known for a thousand years. We all got married within a month of each other. As I set the table, I thought of all the times we’d had each other over before—how as young brides, we’d been trying to impress with our limited hostess prowess. As young parents, we’d have the gang of babies lined up in high chairs. Then, in a flash, our kids had grown up and we all have grandkids.

We aren’t as close as we once were—geographically we are spread out. Our lives have diverged, but we know each other so very well. The conversation last night could have been on the same topic—childhood pranks and travails—but it couldn’t have been the same with new friends. That’s because when Gloria told the story of how she had gotten her older brother into trouble, I could picture it exactly. Her brother was my brother’s best friend. When Mike talked about his mother, I could picture her exactly—because I knew her. And that’s how the night unfolded—story after story that we all connected to.

I am leading a writing workshop with Carol this winter at an assisted living facility. One topic we had the seniors write about was what they cherished now that they didn’t before. Ava wrote that it was friendship. Before, she’d had her husband and children, her music and her place in the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. Now, she cherished her closeness to her friends.

So I guess the Girl Scouts have had it right all along: “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.”

Days of Wonder.

Sometimes we get so caught up in the details of living that we forget what life is all about. Then comes along what social scientists call, a life cycle event, and you have the opportunity to remember. That’s where we are right now—in the most positive way possible. Our daughter just had a baby girl and we are reveling, not only in the baby, but in the miracle of birth. It is a time that finds us in awe of creation.

Joeli was born in the morning on New Year’s Day. She is exactly one-week-old as I write this. I am in Seattle helping out Joeli’s mom, dad and big brother and I wouldn’t give up these days for a trip to Bhutan (a place I’d love to visit, but probably will never get to J.) I can sit holding her for an hour, just watching her. I don’t need the television on, the Internet running or the phone at my ear. I am just immersing myself in the moment—I am so aware that life doesn’t get any better than this.

I’m not talking perfect here—sleep deprivation, poopy diapers, breast feeding challenges for my daughter, getting my grandson off to school early in the morning and other issues—these are all part of the package. But with all of it, in the foreground is the awareness of how special this time is. For this whole week, it is as if our world has stopped spinning, and we are in the cocoon of new birth.

“Look at her stretching,” my daughter will say. “Four days ago she was doing that inside of me!”

Yes, exactly, I will think. Sometimes when I’m holding Joeli against my heart and she kicks her tiny feet, it flashes me back to when I carried my own kids deep inside of my body.

This has been a time that has brought us all back to the basics—to all that is good in our nature. There is a simplicity to our days that has stopped the chatterbox in my head that insists on planning, listing and achieving. I know, even as I in-put this and prepare it for my blog, I am already leaving that place. I want to resist, but have to be realistic.

Maybe it’s because I am older that I have been able to stop and enjoy this time. When my other grandchildren were born, I was still working, still had parents who needed care, still in a frenzy to get it all in. As an older grandparent, the impatience of middle age is behind me and I have been able to step off the merry-go-round of my normal life.

Maybe it’s Joeli, herself. Whatever, it has been wonderful.

Entitled?.

I agree with Peggy Noonan. Steve Jobs’ final words: “OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW!” “were the best thing said in 2011.” Noonan also wrote, “”Oh wow” is not a bad way to express the bigness, power and force of life, and death.”

I think she is right on. When faced with a year of natural and human made disasters that left many of us speechless with horror or disillusionment or pain, it felt comforting to know that a man who was a visionary in the world of techno-development, saw death as an astounding happening. It gives us the sense that there is more than what is visible here in front of us…and that death is not the end. You sense that there is a bigger picture that we are not capable of knowing.

You do wonder what it was he saw when he looked away from his family’s eyes.

I remember my mother doing the same thing when she was dying. She did it often in the final days. I would say she was going to the other side. I know she was seeing something or someone that gladdened her when she looked above my head and behind me. I remember sitting next to her one day when my dad brought in a baby picture of my daughter. Mother, who had seemed to be almost comatose, grabbed the photo and slapped it onto her forehead. She stayed that way until Dad brought a picture of my son. Then she took his picture and did the same. I remember thinking that she was eager to go to the other side, but was hesitant to leave us behind. I think she was trying to manipulate the process by trying to imprint their images. If she could take the memory of the children with her, she would gladly go.

When my dad was edging towards death, I sat with him every day too. Once he started awake and said, “Who is that?” There was no one in the room other than him and me. I thought maybe he was seeing someone I couldn’t see… . “I don’t know ,” I said. “Who do you think it is?” He knew from my tone that I had gone “Woo-Woo” on him so he just rolled his eyes and sank back onto his pillows.

Dad used to roll his eyes a lot that last year. I remember my sister coming into town, armed with the decision she was going to talk straight to Dad.  “He probably wants to talk about dying,” she said. “I’ll give him the opportunity.” So she did. As she talked about his approaching death, Dad, who really wasn’t interested in that topic, rolled his eyes at me behind her back. I fixed him a strong martini and handed it to him. He sipped gratefully.

What’s weird is that now my dog rolls his eyes at me in just the same way. Every time he does it, I think of my dad and wonder about reincarnation.

We don’t realize how entitled we are–we Americans, I mean.

I’m not talking about the one percent. I’m talking about the 75 percent. Maybe that percentage is off–I was never good at math–but a lot of us Americans feel entitled to a good life. We feel if we work hard and save, that in the end, we should be able to have nice things, go on vacation, be safe, have a car and maybe a house. There are the uber-rich, sure, who have no roots in reality. But, all those people you just saw running around in the malls, trying to buy the latest and the coolest, don’t fit in that category.

It’s become so apparent to me this year how lucky we are. What we take for granted just doesn’t exist for so much of the rest of the world. Yesterday, our hot water heater went out. We were without hot water for 24 hours. I boiled some water on the stove to wash the dishes. We went without showers for a day. I put off doing a load of whites. We survived ! 🙂 It does make you think about the people who don’t even have running water. And I know that includes many Americans.

When I walked out of the grocery store yesterday, a middle aged woman was standing with a sign in the parking lot. I had just donated a bag of groceries inside the store. I have decided that this is the way to help the hungry, not by giving handouts. But I decided to talk to her. I asked her if she knew about social services. She said she was a graphic artist who’d been laid off by Nickelodeon, and her insurance had just run out. She was living in her car. She’d never thought she would be in this position and didn’t know what to do. I told her she had to get herself into the system–that this is why we pay social security. I told her to call Jewish Family Service or Catholic Services. These agencies help people in crisis. I said that begging for money wasn’t going to help her out for long. I gave her twenty dollars….Whether her story was true or fabricated, I can’t tell you. Her sign was lettered perfectly as a graphic artist’s would be. In the old days before Elizabeth Smart, I probably would have taken her home with me. But you can’t be too careful with strangers, right?

AS this year ends, it is time to celebrate our good fortune. It is time to be thankful for all we have. Happy New Year.

On our family trip to Hawaii.