Glass slipper spotted through glass ceiling

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!

And all the years in- between

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.

Counting 7’s, Aces and Blessings

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!

Repost for That Nostalgic feeling

We didn’t have cotillions but we felt like debutantes when we put our gold circle pins on our white blouses with Peter Pan collars. In the days of villager sweaters, Ladybug pins and capizio, we felt so grown up when we fastened our new silk stockings to our pink and white stripped garter belts. You with me ladies? How bout papagallos, Jonathan Meyer sweaters with a madras collar unfolded at the neckline? Hot stuff indeed.  Wait, the first day we debuted our baby bead bracelets encasing our names was certainly our defining moment. Then we had “game.”With our baby beads cozied up next to our gold bangles we were bound to have good luck forever. 

On the weekend we went for the tennis sweater and penny loafer look- dexters and weejuns our happy go to’s. Oh those days of firsts, of beginnings we remember with kindness and delight. What could be better than a pink or yellow mohair sweater with a coordinated skirt and matching pappagallos? The excitement, Big, Huge. In the sixties we were fashion plates as we walked out the door in our loden coats or pea jackets to head over to third ward park. We would convene around Tom Sabas truck and hung out with our group. The allure of Passaic in the sixties has lasted our lifetime. Can you say right place, right time? See you at Ginsburgs, I heard they got new color bangle bracelets.

Live Your Happy in The New Year

Dear 20chai plus one-
As I sat down to reflect upon the past year I revisited what I penned last Dec. 26. The outstanding news this year is my Nini, for those in the know, niece Ali regained her health and is out there louder and stronger than ever. Move over Gloria. Thank you Dear G-d. My Jackie girl, another #niecestopieces is about to give birth to Bella’s baby brother. BH! Rachel is  moving her way to the top of the Pot in the land of Milk and Honey. We were blessed to add more joy to our heart’s  as we prayed as two young grandson’s davened their way to manhood. We reaped pleasure as We watched our family and friends enjoy another go round knitted together by miracles. One of my take away quotes is wisdom Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s imparted. “RBG often repeated her mother’s advice that getting angry was a waste of your own time. Even more often, she shared her mother in law’s counsel for marriage that sometimes it helped to be a little deaf. Cut to repost. 
Maybe this time we’ll win. We make the promises, we pump up the expectations and we pass by the in winter only Mallomars at the supermarket.
“When a child loves you for a long time, not just to play with but REALLY loves you, you become Real. Does it hurt?” Asked the Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.
A favorite quote from a most favorite children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit ( or How Toys Become Real) by Margery Williams. 
So once again we try to brush away the sadness that takes away riches. We know for certain laughter especially when it involves the belly adds life to your years. Norman Lear, who is still going strong at 95 years young, believes as he was moving on up to the East Side with Maude and Archie and Sandford’s son that the “Good Times” even if they are  “One Day at a Time,” add years to your life. 
I know run on sentence counters, relax that is it. 
This year while reading the New York Times obits (MYOB) I came across one that shouted out loud. 
Dr. Shigeaki Hinohara a Japanese physician was listed. He lived until 105. He cautioned against gluttony and early retirement and vigorously championed annual medical checkups, climbing stairs regularly and just having fun. 
So as we -At A Glance- our 20chai weekly appointment book let’s replace shopworn with well seasoned. Oh and by the way, Yes hello American Express. That charge was a real purchase. Yes, I bought the whole  store. Uh huh, yep the whole store. It’s the store where I bought the Basket, the one I put all my eggs in. Eight yes, eight of them hatched. Minchun by you. B9F12037-C78E-47DF-B272-F487AED4BC1E

Melancholy and Marvelous

As I often theme my writing with the concept of “just do it now” I am traditionally reflecting back on the year just lived. Some days our get up and go is pro forma. Our time to make the donuts occurs in a knee jerk fashion. Some days our knee jerks. Our Bubby Chicken, for those in the know- phrased the difficult times with a “just look away mamala.” Oh Bubby, I believe now more then ever, that your  schmaltze and sugar laden food helped add wisdom to your 95 years. You didn’t exercise, but you never sat down. You worked the majority of your life and when you stopped formally working you worked at whatever you did. As you gathered your loved ones around the table, your emotional nutrition sustained us and your cooking created memories that still linger. We talk about your baking as treasures. We reminisce about your traditions and their intensity is still palpable. How lucky my sisters and cousins were to have Our Bubby Chicken. So at this time of year, as we turn our calendars forward, why not exhume your Grandma, Grammy or Bubby memories. Hanging with her babies and watching them grow into themselves was her Pilates, her group therapy and our legacy. So Bub, here’s to our days gone by. We carry you in our hearts and tapping into your Sechel gives us reasons to believe,  especially when we loose our way. And by the way I spend more time  “looking the other way,” as my knee jerks.