Leave your mistakes, disappointments, mea culpas and excuses in the box at the door marked Debbie Downer. Your shoes, you can leave them on and hit the ground running. If Harry is wild about you, sit next to him, make him your friend and invite him over when you order in Sushi from Gari’s. Find your group of Harry’s and don’t bother with the Sam’s. 

With our children in America being murdered at rapid fire speed, our life long friend’s loosing loved ones in a few months time and our body parts going to the repair shop often, let’s cast our own spell and really, really, really live for today. 

After spending part of the winter months in a retired state of mind I feel now more than ever the role we play in our own destiny. We are our own gestalt barometers. Complete the project, write the book and call Papa Lenny and invite him to lunch. That smile on his face as he ate meat loaf, mashed potatoes and corn – priceless. “The best of times is now. As for tomorrow, well who knows, who knows, who knows. So hold this moment fast. And live and love as hard as you know how.” Jerry Herman, that La Cage song gets us every time. We have jettisoned into mid- life and then some so it’s time to put on your tan shoes and pink shoe laces and throw on that polka dot vest and man oh man. Here’s to Debby and Walter, dear friends who got their mojo on, took this pic in Mexico and won the cover shot for AARP magazine summer issue. Ok, poetic liberty, truth stretching and brushing the flies in my picnic of life away for good! 

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.

No “Pulse” Nightclub- Orlando, Florida –Las VegasJUNE 13, 2016 -tragic repost— Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School -Parkland , Florida- February 14, 2018 Valentine Massacre 

“That certain night , the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dining at the Ritz- “And a Nightingale Sang in Barclay Square.” Words by Eric Maschwitz, music by Manning Sherwin. The song was written in 1939 in a French fishing village Le Lavandou right before the outbreak of the Second World War. Fast forward— On a steamy week-end eve you get dressed, put on your lipstick, turn off your music and walk out the door. You look forward to debriefing the week with a friend and meeting some new friends. You’re all set to chill in a high energy, safe haven club, on your local Barclay Square- the nightingales were singing. Dry martinis, familiar faces and music you listen to at home and know every word to. A perfect design for a five-star time. One would think. And then the World According to Garp doesn’t happen. No Lin Manuel, THESE senseless acts of tragedy are what is “promised.” Our promised land nearly 70 years after World War Two- on the the doorstep of World War Three. “Praising Isis, Gunman attacks Gay Nightclub, leaving 50 dead in worst shooting on U.S.Soil”– the headline in today’s New York Times. Yes, on U.S. soil, the same dirt that has a potential presidential candidate who made this horrifically designed tragedy about him. We scream in horror, we cry in disbelief as one more lunatic walks into one more gun shop and puts down one more stolen credit card. We then pay dearly for the laws that govern the strongest nation on earth. We pray for the insane and fund them in jail after they take away our freedom of choice, as to which place to dance the night away–that takes our Life away. In concentration camp like fashion we become prisoners of the loose cannon, suicide bombers who live to die. The adage of ” do guns kill people or do people kill people” is one big oxymoron. One avenue for slaughter is people buying guns. How long is congress on sabbatical from revising laws on buying over the counter rifles in a store that houses beef jerky too? Dear G-d please look in our direction. We need our backs covered and we are willing to double down for this.

You know there are 6 more weeks in Boca. So whad ya do this week-end? This musing is inspired by Brad Zimmerman. And just who is this Brad guy? Here goes. A sixty something, in great shape guy whose claim to fame is that he opened for Joan Rivers in Atlantic City, before the days of progressive wheel of fortune slots. Love those! (Shout out to Robo.) He’s a New Jersey guy, way of New York, schmoozing his way on Florida stages. Joan Rivers one- liner to him was and I quote ” you are the funniest comic I ever worked with in your price range.” We laughed and then we cried through the evening. He is still waiting for his career to amount to more than bupkes. Also, if his girlfriend Amy from high school gets divorced perhaps he’ll marry her. A Zuchen Vey. Brad’s stereotypical Jewish mother is still giving him “what for’s.” How lucky to still have her nudging him and reminding him he’s not a shmendrik. Her question to him now, ” so when are you going to get off the stage and give me a grandchild? We left after 90 minutes, no intermission, yes we used the facilities beforehand. I kept thinking on our way to get some key lime pie and a nite cap, if only he went into his father’s furniture business he might not being standing alone on a small stage in Palm Beach Gardens. His spiel was audible when the forced A/C wasn’t noisy. Vayismir. Getting to the theater a bit of a gantseh magilla- but not to worry, we don’t shivtz the small stuff. 

It was a humor filled, delightful evening. His shtick had a cute gimmick. The evening was so provactive of our days of growing up with similar hand me downs. I can’t type fast enough, I could plotz.

Earlier in the day we spaetzered around The West Palm Beach Antique Fair. 

You shouldn’t know from the thrill-big, huge. With every piece of schmutz on every amber glass bowl our endorphins rose to sea level. We sifted through the tchatchkes, the thigamabobs and the doodads. If you haven’t left me yet it’s over soon enough. Trust me, oy. We bought a few things, you’ll see below. 

And then we knew we arrived –over the free, fluffy marble cake samples placed in front of us at Flakowitz. Uh, the look on my husband’s face priceless. His favorite and free. Does it get better? Ok, listen up. We had a Flagel and a schmear and we were off. We were on our way to play pickle ball with that new couple we met on line at Costco. I don’t, know, maybe, could be the early bird’s shadow portends to more then 6 weeks in La-la land. I’ll get back to you later. 

Some days feel like the best days of your life. Yesterday felt like a rebirth. The beginning, the middle and the end all feeling like the same moment in time. We were shrouded in a veil of togetherness. Living in the present was our only concern.  United in a day of frolic, we kept our eye on the prize.  Like a flock of sheep, we followed along and went with the flow. Our hearts served as the guiding light that led from one feel good department to the next. We didn’t need the french fries, although we knew they were one request away.  No pleasure was out of reach. Want a cookie for the asking and it appeared.  Giggles, smiles, omg’s, we knew we felt the same and nothing was going to stop us. A shared day of beauty, a stolen moment to focus only on the good, the better, the best. I think we agree we would sign on the dotted line with a glitter pen to bottle the love and sprinkle it around. “Someone day we’ll find it, the rainbow connection- The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Shout out to Gloria’s mom- “pick your table wisely.” After a Mah jongg drought, which can only be understood by those in the know, I grabbed my ever ready mj bag and left the house. I showed up early and waited in the lobby to go up with the one and only Marilyn H. Everyone loves Marilyn. Much like the mj tiles themselves we all are distinctive characters in our own special way. My homies consist of two tables of play. We overlap, fill in for one another and share so much more than tiles and and dollar bills. A panoply of choosing tiles and catch up stories, as we glance at pictures of weddings and babies. Does it get any better, I ask? Cliches run wild as this game brings out predictable facets of our personalities. We open and close the window with frequency, decide upon the chicken or tuna for our meal of choice and in a medically prescriptive way we laugh a lot and often. Last evening was just one of those on pointe times. The Chinese tiles all have different symbols and meanings. A recurring tile that kept showing with unusual frequency was the 2 Bam. Symbolically bamboo represents the “axis of the earth.” One definition of axis, is a straight line about which any object may rotate. Here’s to our table of play being the constant and so many more days of belly laughing through two Bams.

We counted the 7’s while never loosing sight of our “Hearts.” Our day of play began with the knowing format, or so we thought. We took our seats, shuffled the cards and waited for the expected silence while figuring out the hand we were dealt. Only this time we were all dealt the same hand. Nostalgic memories laced with an opportunity to dejavu our way through the next several hours. We threw the cards and shot the breeze. We counted so many more “remember when’s” than 7’s or Aces. Our fourth player who completed the game was a lovely friend of Joy’s named Michele from Cleveland. And yes, as fate would have it, like the corner piece in the puzzle, we knew people in common. She snapped our picture, marveled at how many years Roberta and I hadn’t seen each other as the connection was obvious indeed. Joy and I had connected through my last few winters in the sun. We are old, new friends. In teenage like fashion we talked over one another, giggled a lot and brought old names to mind of people we knew way back when. 

The beauty of the day was “the way back when’s we’re sitting at our table, and in between catching up and having so much fun, we got to play a little too. Joy couldn’t be sweeter and lives by the more the merrier creed. We played at Roberta’s home and she is as funny, kind and as easy going as I remembered. She not only had the dark, split pretzels I like sitting right next to the fresh fruit and popcorn- she smelled beautiful like Lily’s of the Valley and brought the bottle out so we could write down the name. 

My take away is when they say you can’t go back home, it’s only because they didn’t grow up in Passaic. Yesterday was “Mighty Mighty Great!

Dear President Sh*t hole- this is a repost from two years ago. And this isn’t your focus because? “That certain night , the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dining at the Ritz- “And a Nightingale Sang in Barclay Square.” Words by Eric Maschwitz, music by Manning Sherwin. The song was written in 1939 in a French fishing village Le Lavandou right before the outbreak of the Second World War. Fast forward— On a steamy week-end eve you get dressed, put on your lipstick, turn off your music and walk out the door. You look forward to debriefing the week with a friend and meeting some new friends. You’re all set to chill in a high energy, safe haven club, on your local Barclay Square- the nightingales were singing. Dry martinis, familiar faces and music you listen to at home and know every word to. A perfect design for a five-star time. One would think. And then the World According to Garp doesn’t happen. No Lin Manuel, THESE senseless acts of tragedy are what is “promised.” Our promised land nearly 70 years after World War Two- on the the doorstep of World War Three. “Praising Isis, Gunman attacks Gay Nightclub, leaving 50 dead in worst shooting on U.S.Soil”– the headline in today’s New York Times. Yes, on U.S. soil, the same dirt that has a potential presidential candidate who made this horrifically designed tragedy about him. We scream in horror, we cry in disbelief as one more lunatic walks into one more gun shop and puts down one more stolen credit card. We then pay dearly for the laws that govern the strongest nation on earth. We pray for the insane and fund them in jail after they take away our freedom of choice, as to which place to dance the night away–that takes our Life away. In concentration camp like fashion we become prisoners of the loose cannon, suicide bombers who live to die. The adage of ” do guns kill people or do people kill people” is one big oxymoron. One avenue for slaughter is people buying guns. How long is congress on sabbatical from revising laws on buying over the counter rifles in a store that houses beef jerky too? Dear G-d please look in our direction. We need our backs covered and we are willing to double down for this.

 Remembering it’s the happenings, the italicized big things that offer the inner smile, the laugh out loud good, tingly feelings up and down your spine. Sign up for those as a mini course and make it the journey. Don’t let the road to no where be the rest stop. Pull over to the side of the road for a minute, then call it a hiccup. 

I’ve been reading a fascinating account of six elderly New Yorkers documented by a man named John Leland. He has tracked their lives over the past three years. It is a series of articles that are showcased in The New York Times. Adages galore about older/wiser, but a couple really hit home. The study shows through these six people how the emphasis of anything other than your core friendships of family and friends who become family are the small things. Shout out to the mighty, mighty Indians. Tonight I am going over to a destination mini reunion at a Boca steak house. The Clifton/Passaic area goes south. In my picture show there will be faces we’ve followed on social media, we’ll raise a glass and share  a tale or two of where our paths have taken us.  I look forward to going back in time to the days when we wore dresses and skirts to school- only. How bout that special vinyl box that housed our 45’s and yellow convertible plastic discs. Can’t forget the pink Curl free combs and Dip-pity do. When we told tales out of school it’s because we heard it through Marvin’s “grapevine.” Those were the days my friend when the magnitude of problems was keeping every snap on our one piece blue rompers closed during Mrs. Rudin’s gym class. My first real understanding of brave was Henry Flemings decision to stay at battle on the fields of war or flee and face the equally dangerous consequences. Ah, that pre-teen, eighth grade read of Stephen Cranes -Red Badge of Courage. All pride -no prejudice. So tonight as Jill and I walk in we’ll embrace the faces from long ago and feel never far home.  I’ll look for Meryl and oh wait there’s Joy- hoping all along my skill at connecting the dots kicks in when I know the face and quickly search for the name. 

       And so on this 45 degree day in Sunny Florida let’s find our seat – lunch room style.

Dear 20chai

Maybe this time we’ll win. We make the promises, we pump up the expectations and we pass 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 flies in our picnic of life. Sadness only  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, Archie and Sandford’s son that the “Good Times” even if it’s “One Day at a Time,” added 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  “wishful drinking” with “wishful thinking.” 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. Alevei-