One hundred memories of life in a box.
One hundred memories of life.
None were left on the cutting floor.
None were lived through a splice.
We are sorting through decades of life on the run, baby pics and sporting events.
We are heavily endowed with the emphasis on Fun and go on while we still -can run.
Papers of sadness, rekindled our grief, a moment to sit and reflect.
A box filled with toys unfolded the joy-blessed with 2 girls and six boys.
Our heap of relief.
Legos and baby dolls, more shoes than we need.
So we sort and we pack and we throw and we keep.
On from Plan A to Plan B and C.
Wait don’t toss that just yet.
We may need it some day to learn how to knit, or to sew or crochet.
Tomorrow may offer a second chance ok let’s keep it out of the way.
One hundred more memories of life in a box.
Can you believe we did oh! so much.
We are moving on to a chapter unknown.
New ventures and hobbies and such.
So we add some more “stuff,” to the bag of give aways.
We pray we won’t miss that old sweater.
We have a little room in the box that says “save.”
As we move on to new ventures in warm weather.
On our way we will go, yes we are ready and set.
We will count on the hope of new beginnings.
With our lives wrapped up tight.
0n our wings with our prayers.
As we sail into sunsets unknown.
Here’s to one hundred more boxes.
Of memories to make as we add a new “Place to call Home.”

And I quote -Why are there so many songs about rainbows

And what’s on the other side?

Rainbows are visions,

They’re only illusions,

Rainbows have nothing to hide.

So we’ve been told,

And some choose to believe it.

I know they’re wrong wait and see.

Someday we’ll find it,

The rainbow connection,

The lovers, the dreamers and me. End quote-

Lyrics by Jim Henson- favored artist Kermit the Frog.
Rainbows and Frogs- “look, look, look to the rainbow, follow the fellow who follows his dream.”

The fascination of the colors, shape and promise offer a trilogy of endless wonderment. Dorothy searched for happiness “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” She learned that after her laborious travels, the click of the red shoes bringing her “Home” to Auntie Em’s smile was her Oz.

So you gamble at the track to win, place or show. Aren’t placing and showing, winning? Just get out of the gate, play your own game and recognize opportunities often disguised as hardships. In holy grail fashion , become the laureate of second chances even if your horse places or shows.

Don’t judge a situation you’ve never been in. Hard life lesson, learned. Our friend’s Love, Love their dogs. Like in OMG- DOG! The unrequited love in the wag of their tale and lick on their faces puts a smile on theirs second to none.
Our neighbors adopted a baby at birth. They threw the word adopted away as it had no “H” for Heart in it. When you have eight grandchildren that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with “Everything,”- make them yours in heart, body and soul. Their memories will become your legacy. Believe me they know who loves them, chicken nuggets and all. If they don’t want scrambled eggs for breakfast offer them pancakes.

By the way guys it’s not dew on the white roses you sent yesterday -they’re tear drops. Very sincerely yours.

As next chapters come with rapid speed, listen carefully for the song of the male frog- a grunt, a croak. It often serves as the conduit to where you want to settle in. Don’t re-gift your life to people who treat you as after thoughts. First row, first seat – grab it when the music stops.

The Wizard made hay from the scarecrows stuffing. Fill each seat at your table with only the deepest of players who have your back while you turn around to watch as the parade passes. Let’s do it Wednesday.

What happens when corned beef and pastrami meet on the corner of Potato Knish and Dr. Brown’s Soda? They bump into the Salami on rye with deli mustard sandwich and all get ready to watch as Mr. Ed whispers to Ozzie and Harriet a cute story about (who remembers their neighbor Thorny- Played by Don Defore? Yup! Run on sentence. 

They are meeting over at Donna Reed’s house to watch the Beaver and his brother Wally take on Ken Osmond a.k.a. Eddie Haskell in a game of H-O- R- S-E, in their driveway. 

After a pot luck dinner with bread pudding for dessert they sit around the piano and sing out loud with My Little Margie, Aunt Bee who got a ride over with Barney and was escorted by Opie. Oh “kay” then. They take out the game of Clue and wait for That Girl ( Marlo Thomas) to be Bewitched by (Elizabeth Montgomery) all the while Ann Sothern, who came with Don Porter is taking the minutes of the day. 

In prances Eddie Albert with the fur clad, diamond bearing Eva Gabor from their Green Acres via Park Avenue Pad. And- a good time was had by all. 

They also played monopoly trying to remain financially solvent while forcing their opponents into bankruptcy. So who let the dogs out?

The surprise guest was Jim Backus. He came in and announced “I Married Joan,” and they all agreed that everyone Loved Lucy. 

The category is Sitcoms in the Sixites. We’ll take our fav Columbo for $1000.00. Please. And I quote – “Just one more thing. There’s something that bothers me. One more question. My wife. What did you pay for those Manolo Blahniks? 

Make it a “Sunday in the Park” kinda day!

Neil Simon Penned One Long Love Story. Valentines Day!!

In 1997 he wrote the screenplay Proposals. The take away thought about what he loved in a character he developed is ” her humor is different. Her take on life is different.”

“Never Underestimate the Stimulation of Eccentricity.”

Homage to Neil Simon-. We binged your movies to help ward off “The Biloxi Blues.”

Whether we were “Barefoot in the Park, while “Lost in Yonkers” or hitching a ride home from “Brighton Beach,” we waited to hear Jonathan Schwartz “Playing our Song,” on WQXR American Standard Radio. Marvin Hamlisch played Carole Bayer Sager’s lyrics to his music with his particular Zip-a-dee-doo-dah enthusiasm. We swayed along and knew all the words. Your collaborations with Mike Nicols and Gene Zaks prolifically chronicled our youth. Oh Neil, we got hooked when we read your name amongst the credits as we watched Sgt. Bilko, played with such guile on The Phil Silvers show. We waited to hear your interviews with Joan Hamburg on 77 WABC to learn what play was next to be “Broadway Bound.” Her interviews typically came at the end of her show after the bargain shopping and food segments. There was often a reference to Shelly Fireman, our forever friend and his spin on delicious Italian fare.

When we spatzered around our favorite thrift shops we heard your familiar very New Yawkish sounding voice broadcasted live. When Joan interviewed you, the two of you had a repartee we so enjoyed, although we considered you quite the “Odd Couple.”

We marveled at the big city duplex apartments with sunken living rooms, and gilded cage appeal that set the stage for many of your playbooks. Was Willy’s (Walter Matthau) apartment at the Beaux Arts Ansonia really that big? We thought it could possibly the best pad ever to play hide and go seek. Did Jane Fonda actually run around “Barefoot in the Park” as she pleaded with Robert Redford to try again to save their marriage? We wanted to live in her apartment as soon as we moved to the Village. We knew we didn’t want to live uptown and become a “Prisoner on Second Avenue.”

We weren’t sure you could top the episode when Felix Unger walked into Oscar Madison’s cluttered apartment to try to get back together with Gloria. You certainly did when you portrayed the classic “Northeast distributor of Guilt,” and had Molly Picon threaten to keep her head in the oven over the troubles with her bachelor sons. Oh, Frankie.

Our take away quote of yours is “if you can go through life without experiencing pain you probably haven’t been born yet.” Neil Simon- we trust you’ve be filling them with laughter in Suite 203-04 during your “Chapter Two.”

A picture is worth a thousand words. Complex and sometimes multiple ideas can be conveyed by a single image, more befitting than words.

What shall stay and what shall go?

In the still unpacking process, we are up to old photos and very old black and white Polaroids.

There is no substitute for the Army pic of my father where the eyes are shaded blue and the faintest application of pink sits upon his cheeks. 

Old wedding albums with other spouses are in the garbage pail sprinkled with this mornings coffee grinds. No brainer.

The shots of many lifetimes ago gets its own pile to go through one more time. 

There is no hesitation on dumping photos of Lake Tahoe and old ski instructors.

Too many lessons of so many activities offers a panoply of memories customizing our so many years alive. Lucky indeed- poo poo!

Ok, back to Rachel and Ali and Jackie dressed up as clowns in the keep forever and Classic pile.

Positioned very far away from the one more look, one more sigh and dump garbage bag.

An afternoon of coo-ing, aw-ing and hard swallowing gulps of missing people so much. Oh mommy, if only we could have one more belly laugh- gut wrenching realities in our faces.

We paused, went for Carvel and returned to the sight of graduation and bar mitzvah pictures eight grandchildren later. Never missed a photo shoot of pasta and pancake sleepovers and flowers on our terrace. 

So until we meet again in the garage on a low chair sorting through memories of gelato in Italy, croissants in Paris and sacher torts in Vienna we will throw out one more bag of our long agos and far aways and get ready for our charity event in Boca where we will collect one more photo to put in the keep for now pile. 

B’h

My recollection of school days began before the first day of school. As the hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer played out my thoughts of the first day of school would begin. Nectarines, apricots and dounut peaches were peaking their season. Our sunscreen mixture of baby oil and iodine was rounding the bottom of the bottle and the sand in the bottom of our beach bag was over ready to be emptied out. This part of the summer for me offered a peaceful feeling and an ideal moment to finish the best of my summer reads.

The first week of August often felt like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. Summer months are secretly shorter in an uncanny way. As we would watch Dr. Kildare, The Patty Duke Show and Columbo, during the month of August we would view commercials for school supplies, back to school outfits at Macy’s and the latest fluffer nutter cookie in school size packages. 

As the final days of summer approached and our ourlast barbecued hot dog, fresh corn  (one dollar an ear) and slice of blueberry pie with coffee Haagen- daz ice cream was devoured we would turn our thoughts to first day of school new outfit choice. 

If Indian summer hadn’t kicked in we could chosebetween a new Villager outfit which sported a circle pin and black patent leather shoes- or a new skirt with a madras blouse, alpaca sweater and cordovan penny loafer weejuns. New penny in place.

 Next pre-school activity would be to set up my blue loose leaf folders. I used colored tabs to divide social studies from algebra. Once the colorful, plastic pencil holders were filled we would clip it into the front of the loose leaf and give it a final click to close.

I was a good, but “could be better student if I applied myself.” My focus was more on writing funny compositions and being popular than understanding how to do a parallelogram or how to conjugate the pluperfect case in any language. 

I graduated High school in1969 when our sources of reference were the World Book Encyclopedia, the Merriam Webster Dictionary and The Thesaurus. 

With no thought to use computers, penmanship was something we got graded for.

 In the absence of Google, Siri, iPads, Kindles, Facebook, Instagram, and a myriad of other search engines, we recall licking our fingers to turn the pages of The Red Badge of Courage. I actually still love a hard cover over a battery operated read. 

One hobby that came out of my “school days” was collecting bookmarks.

One year when we drove to Florida and stopped at South of the Border in South Carolina. I got my first book mark. It was plastic and had a picture of a sombrero. I added two more one from Williamsburg Virginia with a picture of our founding fathers. My third came from a school trip to Old Museum Village in Monroe, New York. That one I clipped to the top of the page of one of my Nancy Drew adventures. On a random rainy day when I felt  I’d lost my place in my book, I would look through my collections. 

Flipping pages to see what happened next, albeit antiquated is still my choice of read. In the absence of loosing battery, with no clicks or beeps and nothing to plug in to find out if the protagonist gets pulled over on the road for texting, is my slow down, regroup time. Metaphorically with the rapid pace of the progression of time, on the days that felt endless with emotional clutter, I’d put on my “Red Badge of Courage” tap into Astrid Lindgren’s character, Pippi Long-stocking and etch a sketch my way to Neverland.

In Louis Armstrong’s “ Wonderful World” when he heard babies cry and watched them grow he knew they’d learn more than he’d ever know and he said to himself “what a wonderful world.” So here’s to the wonderful world memories of school day’s before unplugging, rebooting, memes, twittering, emoticons or cyber bullying. 

As the dots come dancing in response to a text, sometimes hours later, with no audible voice, no inflections and a smiley face replacing a giggle, I pray for the millennial’s and our grandchildren a collection of bookmarks where they can find their place even if their battery wears out. Good Old Golden Rule Days.