When the Tough get Going! Repost with ❤️ from several years ago.

So we are up to the Oscars. Tradition Strong on a Sunday eve in early Spring for as many years as our pre- Gingkgo Biloba or Prevagen days can recall. So we’ll pour ourselves a glass of Red, make a pasta sauce and throw in the “kitchen sink.” Circa the 1960’s Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor with a cherry on top. As we embark on our second year of the Virtual Oscars, a watch worthy and up for many Oscars movie is Nomadland. It is a portrayal of a woman who embarks on a journey through the American West after losing everything during the recession. As the movie unfolds we watch as Frances McDormand travels and travels and travels.

We first met her in Fargo in Minnesota,1987. We loved her as Marge Gunderson and now, watching her as Fern, beautifully directed by Chloe Zhao. Many Oscars to be won.
Love us a little Bill Macy and now some David Strathairn as performers extraordinaire.
In this year as we are all navigating the same storm from our own boats keeping our eye on getting to shore safely is the direct goal.

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 and 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. Unquote.

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, shapes and promises 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.

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. Allow all that therapy to pay off.
Spend time with people who would mention your name in a room full of opportunities. Now, more than ever we all need more than anyone can give.

The Wizard made hay from the scarecrows stuffing. Nomadland strikes a chord on what we value.

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 by. Make it a good Wednesday.

Sometimes life makes it impossible not to believe. The pieces are at times heavier than your strength can bear. 

When you are called on to lift the weight of disappointment-knowing you’ve  spin your golden threads, let the meant to be’s usher you into place. The tough times have a way of calling on us to reveal the “all we gots.”

Hamantaschen, Hamantaschen,
Where art the best?
We are on an adventure.
Through a taste test.
The flavors and the textures.
In one bite or two.
The crust and the filling baked like our Bubby use to do.
Seeking the memories, we are hitting the ground.
We’ll go store to store.
The streets we will pound.
Add the sugar and the butter, the vanilla extract?
Measure the amounts, don’t mix them in blind.
The hamantaschen we knew,
Were one of a kind.
We’ll tap into Amy Rosen.
We are thinking she will know.
Her cooking and her baking- a win, place and a show.
We favor the prune, but appreciate the rest.
Hey, we will taste it all.
In our search for the best.
We love the Nova from Murrays.
The Bagels we get at Tal are swell.
The strawberries from The Boys.
Puts a smile and a kvell.
The hamantaschen only our taste test will tell.
Get back to ya!

After a prophylactic double mastectomy- didn’t save the nipples -getting rid of old library cards and who needs more than one cake cutter – is a piece of cake. Run on sentence- and such is Life.

Gardening situates you in a different kind of time, the antithesis of the agitating present of social media. Time becomes circular, not chronological; minutes stretch into hours; some actions don’t bear fruit for decades. The gardener is not immune to attrition and loss, but is daily confronted by the ongoing good news of fecundity. A peony returns, alien pink shoots thrusting from bare soil. The fennel self-seeds; there is an abundance of cosmos out of nowhere. Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers.

My eyes have told the story of 72 years of living life.

The beauty and the glory-the trauma and the strife.

From the views of new born babies, to the heavy hearted woes.
My eyes have told the story of a lifetime I behold.

With a new venue in our picture.
An horizon flooded with change.
A little nip and tuck-to welcome in the new terrain.
An astigmatism of the future.
The bar set with numbers strong.
We are widening our scope, focusing on the straight and on the long.
We will tap into our moxie.
Our eyes upon the prize.
Let’s usher in this chapter called “Smarter Laced with Wise.”

Mangiare e Bene

We sit down at the table, pass around the basket of bread.

Our menu in our hands, ordering we do dread.

Pasta, pasta everywhere, but not a drop to eat.

We love to see our peeps, we eat and then repeat -AGAIN?

With a stroll to 84th Street, a brisk walk round Central Park lake.

Another fettuccine bolognese we really cannot take.

Our pants are getting tighter, as the buttons they do pop.

And then we order dessert and pull out all the stops.

Four forks around the key lime.

Or a spoon for creme brûlée.

A holy moley to the cannoli.

Decaf cappuccino on the side.

We glance into the mirror, as it really tells no lies.

Our girlish, curvy figure, so very far away.

When we get up in the morning we start a brand new day.

A scoop of some plain yogurt- add a banana to the bowl.

We have yet to stand on the scale.

The Veal Milanese has taken its toll.

As we dress for one more table and another group of friends.

The caring and conversation we trust will never end.

If we eliminate the bread, skip the pasta page indeed.

Perhaps some broiled salmon, is exactly what we need.

Let’s do it Tuesday.

Step out, step out of the sun, if you keep getting burned. —Evan Hansen.
Ok listen up, what’s it going to take?
Adages galore bout repeating mistakes.
First toast to health and good luck along the way.
Stay with me this time, cause it will juxtapose naysay.
As time marches on with challenges stockpiling.
We fuss and we muss with the “not importants” all the whiling.
“Elementary dear Watson,”
It’s easier said than done.
We’re turning our cheek, as we’re coming undone.
We try flipping the negatives.
Counting one by one.
Will they like us and invite us to come back?
The hard on ourselves, try cutting some slack.
Hit the ground running.
It’s medicinal indeed.
Give it a chance.
Plant a new seed.
The news on the daily, breathtaking for sure.
Like a minute under water, open a new door.
Dr. Seuss and I quote.
“I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win cause you’ll play against you.”
Give yourself a good Monday.

A Side of Gypsy! 🎼

Have some nova, Mr. Goldstone.
Have a bagel, have a schmear.
Have a latke Mr. Goldstone.
Any spare that I can spare I’ll be glad to share!
Take a dish, have a pickle, have a knish, here’s a fork.
Put your feet up. Feel at home.
Have a coke, something corked?

Would you like to hear a joke?
G-d forbid a smoke.
Have a decaf mit your babka.
Mr. Goldstone come sit by us.
Come Daven by the river, meet us on East End and 84th.
Finish up Mr. Goldstone, you’re already on your fourth (course.)
Have some flanken, cooked with care.
Everybody give a bissel cheer.

We sat you-next to Murray.
Go sit in that Big green chair.
Have a Goldstone, Mr. Bialy.
Tell me any little thing that I can do.
Have some liver, chopped on a cracker.
Have a cookie, have a few.
What’s the matter, Mr. G?
How bout another pot of tea?
Good Shabbos-Mr. Goldstone.
Raise a stoli, maybe two.
Keep your senses- helps stability.
Mr. Goldstone we love you. 🎼