Collage With Care
— Read on www.collagewithcare.com/

In my own little corner, in my own little chair. I can be whatever I want to be.” Rodgers and Hammerstein- written in 1950 for Cinderella. Time has a way of showing us what really matters. Cinderella’s mother taught her to “always have courage and to show kindness to others”. Believing in the existence and presence of magic was a must as well. So against all odds- fending off a wicked step-mother, jealous step-sisters and every stigma attached to the “step syndrome,” she managed to surface as the Queen and laureate of second chances.

When you miss the first boat out, for whatever reason and fortuitously get another chance to dance in the moonlight; grab it tightly, as to loose it would be the stranglehold of tragedy. Give up being bound by failings for past mistakes, i.e.bad choices. Destiny always rears it’s head In spite of whatever form of mutiny you throw in its way. Living with high emotional content slows down the aging process. Get that facelift through opening up the doorways that have been blocking the sun from your path to happiness. John and Yoko lived by the adage “life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.” Unfortunately his elongated job with destiny was cut short and it took her breath away. And I quote- Life on life’s terms- You know when you know, the clock is ticking and so on. I decided when it’s the stuff I can control, when the decisions are in my hand, I’ll listen to Cinderella’s mom and add courage and kindness to my shout out loud I am what I am moment. I’ll stir in a touch of magic and 180 my way to a better place. Time waits for no one. Let’s do it Tuesday!

When the leaves were orange and the living was easy. What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth? Why are the people in the front of the picture so much bigger than the people toward the back? Out of the mouths, when life was oh so mellow. 

We bought our first pair of silk stockings which were to be held up by a stretchy pink and white striped  garter belt. The days of Ozzie and Harriet, Susan Lucci and Soupy Sales. 

We re-dialed after our friends line was busy the first time and screeched with excitement, Conrad Birdie style, over our anticipated coed- girl/boy party that evening. After we sat under a hot dryer with beer can sized rollers in our hair we brushed away the fumes from our eyes left by aqua spray. The decision to curl our hair rather than iron it straight was a good one, our hair came out just right. Getting ready “Was” the excitement. Our new madras blouse and alpaca sweater hung prominently in the front of our closet right above our shiny, new cordovan colored weejuns. Bright, new Penny, dated 1967 heads up in place.

A touch of revlon blush, a glimmer of light pink lipstick proceeded a spritz of Ambush and we were on our way. With dejavu on my breath I can still recall euphorically how it felt when I unbuttoned the wooden clasps that kept my new Loden green PeaCoat in tact. The boys gathered on one side of the room as the girls sifted through the 45’s on the other. At this point there was no bottle to spin in sight. Would the Angels sing tonight as our soldier boys danced under the Blue Moon? 

The specialty years of pre-teening had a wonderful life of its own. We made room for our daydreams laced with Johnny Mathis lyrics. Our Barbie and Ken’s were repositioned and left to fetch for themselves in the back row of our minds. In the still of the night I hold tightly to the moments that Jay and the Americans knew were  Magic.

So when I turned “65” two years ago we celebrated at The Kotel in Israel. We contacted the Women at The Wall and created a rite of passage. I raised my hand to G-d, all the time holding onto the wall. Social security, Medicare with AARP F supplemental, drug plan (no not that kind)- nexium cocktails, carpal tunnel procedures, medical tests you can’t pronounce; blah, blah, blah. Concurrently, however we brought back the supplemental bag of the good stuff that comes along with age appropriate hearing loss. Whatever that means. Longer periods of peace of mind on the top of the list. Recognizing “what”really matters and “who” doesn’t. Oh, and you don’t have to win every Mah jongg game as long as you were able to put the game together, big count. Binge watching Mrs. Maisel (shout out to  Rhonda in three episodes), and The Kominsky Method,  replaces filling your dance card with idle chatter while blind dating a new couple.

We returned to Israel this past Thanksgiving.  Gave thanks as we watched our second grandson become a bar mitzvah. Piece of good luck.

 Two years ago at the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, I found a bar of soap that I love. Story to follow. 

We met up with a high school buddy (Jon Kuritsky) for those in the know and his wife Diana. She introduced me to the soap. They live in a beautiful village on the Mediterranean several hours north of Tel Aviv called Shavei Zion. It is in between Acco and Nahariya. They do many interesting things with their lives. She’s a writer, he tows their land and they operate an inn/spa called NEA. 

Here’s where the soap comes in. I learned about a part of life or in fact death I never knew about before. Diana and Jon, pay it forward in a meritorious way. They are part of community of people who are known as Chevra Kadisha. Their responsibilities are to prepare the dead before burial. At first I thought how morbid, how scary. When I realized someone chooses to do so as the religious experience of being the last person to see the dead, I came to see it differently. My hat goes off to them, as it would not even be wIthin the realm of possibility for me to ever consider. My charitable paying it forward has a much different tone to it. Anyway, I used the bar of soap for two years, sparingly. It was great for everything from washing my face, to getting tough stains out. If you are still reading, I ended up getting another bar of this soap from a cousin who lives in Israel. My take away is that symbolically the soap is a symbolic for cleansing the body and mind. We simultaneously count blessings all the while trying hard not to step on the cracks, while leaping into the next phases of life. We buy lite mayo and thinks it tastes fine, sign up for Pilates and appreciate that the FOMO’s (feelings of missing out) really only exist when you are. Make it a great Saturday!