It seems that the parents of the Da Baby Princess have been teaching her about The Beatles – ask her to name them and she can. Da Parents are in their mid-30’s and Beatles fans (I’m guessing).

I’m in my early 70’s and I was 17 when the Beatles became ‘all that and a bag of chips’.  All the girls my age were gaga and bananas and what-all-else about the Beatles. I was – okay, that’s a bit different. I bought their albums, the only one I never got around to buying was The White Album.

I was just never a huge fan, I don’t think I am a huge fan of anyone or anything. I don’t like ALL of anything.

My favorite Beatles song is Girl from the Rubber Soul album, which was released in 1965 and is my favorite album.  So early days, I was 19 in 1965.

Truth to tell I always like The Rolling Stones better.  My favorite album is probably 12 x 5, released in 1964. It’s mostly old R&B classics. I can’t say that I know much of their later work, and by later I mean anything in the last, oh say, 30 years. What I heard first is what sticks with me.

There is one song that Lennon and McCartney wrote, that I had never heard until I worked in a day care place. It’s a lullaby and the version I heard, and fell in love with, is by Linda Ronstadt. For years that song has been on my mental playlist, popping up at odd times and then playing on a loop. I was kinda shocked to find out it was a Beatles song – who knew, not me.

The point is – When it comes to music, books, poetry, I like best what I heard, read, first. I wonder if that’s because first impressions are the deepest and most lasting.

Or am I just holding tight to what I loved first?

Categories *

Leather and lace

Who am I to say…and yet I do *sigh* Because this is bugging me, and has for years, I’m just going to say it and move on.

You don’t get to say: “I’m fun.”  “I’m sensitive.”  “I can make lemonade from life’s lemons.” which all really means “Congratulate me for being better than you” or just plain “Hey, Hey – Look at me, I’m wonderful (and you’re not)”

Other people get to say that about you, you don’t get to say it about yourself. And then there is the “good writing” advice – show don’t tell – apply it to your life.

Or maybe I’m just being too sensitive *snort” *eye roll*

Moving on –

Scrolling through Instagram (and it’s many ads) this web site turned up and I actually clicked on it – because the ad showed clothing items I absolutely love. This site sells, amongst other sizes, plus size clothing. At various points in my life, including quite recently, I required plus size clothing. Now I only require plus size boob containers. Always the plus size boob containers – two piece outfits always required me to switch pieces (Bad Me!) – size 8 bottom, size 14 top. Dresses? Oh hell they never fit.

Anyway, I’ve never considered myself a girly girl. I’ve always liked my clothes tailored, but I also like soft silky fabrics and, for some strange reason, I’ve always had a penchant for lace. And floaty things. Leather, lace and silk – that was me. (Also unusual sleeves and cuffs.)

What is it with me and lace? Maybe I am a girly girl – never how I’ve thought of myself. Maybe, just maybe, I am like every other human being – a mass of contradictions. Which poses another question –

Do you think of yourself as just one ‘thing’? One type, one attitude, one philosophy? Aren’t we all mutts, a mixture, an amalgam, in every aspect of ourselves?

Of course we are!

Categories *

Where's my tribe, my kindred spirits?

Those concrete and carbon monoxide, city lovers? All those folks who are awestruck from the architecture of buildings old and new. All the urban vampires who get their energy and sustenance from the hustle and bustle through the concrete canyons?

It has now been firmly established that I cannot, simply cannot live without a view of trees and sky or the sounds (and sight) of birds. I need these like the very air to breathe. BUT –

The only time in my entire life, all 72 and half years (so far) that I did not have that/those, was the four years I lived in Philadelphia. That’s when I learned that what I had always taken for granted – trees and sky and birds – was essential to my well being. ESSENTIAL.

I lived in NYC for 44 years and always, always had that – and the most perfect view was when I was living in the middle of Manhattan – yes, the damn birds woke me every morning around 5am, and yes, my third floor windows looked directly into lush trees BUT if I lifted my gaze, just a bit, I could see the Empire State Building. Now that is perfection!

I read all these blogs where folks wax rhapsodic about “Nature” – many of them live in rural areas or suburban areas. They have ‘gardens’ and lawns and forests. They spend time hiking through wooded areas, are passionate about it. I enjoy reading these blogs. I don’t understand their enthusiasms,  and I certainly would not want to share these environments in real life but I am often amazed at their knowledge of the natural world (as some call it) and it is all very fascinating to read about and look at the photos – and that’s where I draw my line.

There were times when people would ask if I was getting away from the city for the weekend. And I would reply – “Why? What for?” And they would reply “To get out in the country, of course!” Um, what did the country have that the city didn’t?

The country is a one-trick pony. Whereas the city – the whole damn circus, baby! Have you ever been to Central Park? Or the Bronx Zoological Society? Or the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens? And yes, I have gone skiing – in Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx.

Yes, that is New York City and there aren’t many like it in the USA – but still. Cities, with a few notable exceptions (Philadelphia!),  usually have it all. Or close to. The country will never have it all – it will only ever be ‘the country’.

I do not understand, and I mean this with all sincerity and bemusement, why all the inspirational claptrap advocates, urges, nay, demands that we must all return to ‘Nature’ to find peace and solace.  I am happy and appreciative that ‘the country’ exists and may it always be so. I mourn the loss of forests, their flora and fauna, of clean and clear water river, lakes, streams. They are beautiful and essential to the well being of the ENTIRE planet, and in small doses, essential to my personal well being BUT

I don’t want to live there. They are not my essential soul and essence. They don’t strike awe in my heart or bring peace to my soul.  The Grand Canyon is just a huge hole in the ground, the desert is a whole bunch of sand, and I prefer sand, if sand there must be, adjacent to an ocean. And mountains, well, a lot of dirt and rocks. (Wow – that’s big! And-so?)

If nature brings you joy and peace and calm – whether it’s your back garden or a forest or just a couple of acres that you call your own and you like to interact with it – planting, mowing, tending and growing – I am so happy for you. Happy you have found your place and happy to read about it, truly I am.

But you’re not my people, not my tribe.  Where are the people who can walk up Fifth Avenue on a sunny Spring day and be stopped in their tracks by the breathtaking sight of the sun glinting off the Chrysler Building?

Or be reduced to tears by the wonderment of looking out over Central Park on a late Autumn afternoon, the setting sun transforming the gold and red leaves of the trees into a fantasy of light and shadows, and the turrets and towers and spires of The Dakota in the distance conjure flights of imagination into magical places that never existed.

It’s not just New York City – The world is filled with cities that evoke such emotions and people who are filled with ineffable joy to be amongst the wonders of nature and man. To be alone from, and yet, together with, members of their tribe.

Categories *

Quotidian Minutiae

The post title is a high falutin way of saying – the everyday details, occurrences of an ordinary life, the mundane.

Today, being Thursday, is shopping day. For some reason there aren’t many Ubers working today – the weather is nice if you like warm and humid (I don’t mind warm, humid, of course sucks big time.) So why would that be a factor. Sometimes when it’s rainy, despite the fee being higher, there isn’t a lot of availability, but a bright sunshiny day? 

I was circling the produce department in hopes of finding something worth the exorbitant prices – cherries were on sale, I tried one, it was awful. Well, maybe not awful, just tasteless, so even on sale for $2.99 a pound, not worth it. I sniffed a few packages of strawberries but they all seemed to have been opened, I suspect someone ‘re-arranged’ the contents of the packages to a) get only big juicy ones and b) overpack the pre-weighed 16 ounce package to get even more bang for their buck.

Anyway –

A young-ish woman was circling the same display I was and she casually picked up a package of strawberries and a bag of cherries. I said “Whoa, maybe you might want to sample those first. I tried one and their tasteless” She looked at me quizzically, sampled a couple of the cherries and said “No flavor” and put the bag back. Then I told her how to choose strawberries. I picked up the package she had and pointed out that the strawberries on the bottom (clearly visible) were more white than red. Then I told her to sniff the strawberries – if they didn’t smell like strawberries then don’t buy them. She sniffed, she put the package back. ‘Where can I get good strawberries?” she asked plaintively. Ah, so me being nice, I started going through the strawberries again. I found a package of good looking berries, held it up to her nose, said “What about these?” She caught that ripe strawberry scent, smiled and put them in her basket.  The fun thing was – she thanked me and asked how I knew to do that. I said “I’m old.”

We had to wait a long time for an Uber going home too. But – we got a Lincoln Continental. Not an old one, those beauties, but not a new one either. We asked the year and the fellow said ‘2007″. Me, I’m used to the Lincolns from the 70’s and 80’s – that’s how I used to get around – one of the perks of the job I had – access to a ‘black car’ service. I suppose you could say it was a forerunner of Uber.  Except we had to make an actual telephone call, the cars were radio dispatched, as a matter of fact, if memory serves me right, the name of the company we used was “New York Radio”

Ah, the good old days…late nights and limousines.

Categories *


My brain looks for patterns and then makes connections. That said, my spatial abilities are limited to non-existent. My ability to see patterns and then make connections does not include concrete applications – I can’t mentally take a concrete object and locate it to a concrete space. I depend on my husband to figure out how furniture and such will fit into the allotted space.

But on a more esoteric level patterns and connections are how my brain works. Perhaps because I am a Libra, an air sign, all things air are vital to my imagination and well-being and persona.

For as long as I can remember wings fascinated me. The sky fascinated me. Light fascinates me. And the shadows that light creates. The feel of light. The smell of light. The memories that light evokes.

While I think I have become inured to photos of sunsets and sunrises (Yes, yes – all red and colorful and whatever – my husband and his friend Richie have a standing joke – “seen one, seen them all”) I still am fascinated by the sky, sunrises or sunsets filled with shadow and depth and substance, almost to the point that they are concrete and one could hold them. A camera can never capture the complexity of light and sky – and yet we continue to try.

Categories *