Hello, I just dropped in from the 60’s.

And then one day we just stayed in bed, under the covers, eating Hebrew National pigs in the blanket and drinking Whispering Angel. A perfect panacea for our stuck in packing mode moments. 

With so many things on our “to do” list, we are taking a take care of ourselfism, time out day.

In our throw precautions to the wind mindset, we shop for chopped meat and hope our cholesterol levels don’t recognize that our creatively stuffed peppers disguised the meat. We click channels between Turner Classic Movies and the sitcom from the 60’s and 70’s channel MeTv. We look for reruns of Dobie Gillis, I Married Joan,Topper and Leave it to Beaver. We turn back to TCM when The Beverly Hillbillies comes on. Jed Clampett was not a favorite.

Ok, one episode at a time, pre-binging.

In a look in the rear view mirror way we derive comfort in exhuming memories of eating Buitoni ravioli after school before leaving to go to our algebra tutor. Did anyone really need to know what a parallelogram or a quadrilateral was, ever? You do the math. 

Ah, the simple joy of listening to AM radio and Cousin Brucie, the prototype for the DJ in our Gen-X era.

The glory days when one of our pleasures was listening to the Temptations, cause we were “not to proud to beg” while we waited to be built up by buttercups, knowing at this point it was the “worst that could happen.” Run on sentence counters, I know. 

Guilty pleasures were driving under the tressel at Third Ward Park and the endorphin rush in spotting our friends cars.

The long ago and far away days, we so long for now. If only the worst of frustrations came in the form of busy signals and not because we had to upgrade our cell phones due to out dated-technology. We lovingly remember setting our Curl Free straightened hair with big, pink plastic rollers, spritzing Aqua Net hairspray and adjusting the awkward tubes from our portable hairdryers. We looked forward to our snacks of peanut butter-and jelly on Ritz Crackers, Ring Dings, Funny Bones and Yankee Doodles- always grabbing a can of Tab, the acronym for the first (Totally Artificial Beverage). All this came without hangovers. With lots of quarters, nickels and dimes we’d stop for snacks at the local candy store on Main Avenue. What a run. So back to today – under the covers and milking our day of pleasure until we go back to packing up our sock drawers. Throwing out so many single socks.

We long for the times when Cosmo Topper, married Joan and the only thing unstable were the rabbit ears on our black and white Tv’s and -that was an easy fix. Have a great Saturday.

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 some laps around the clubhouse pool.
And a walk around the 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.
Have a great Thursday.

“When I was just a little girl I asked my mother what will I be?
Here’s what she said to me.
Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be.
The future’s not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.
What will be will be.”

And then she let go of my hand and “what will be” became what is.

How much easier life would be if we had a crystal ball for which to see.
The future unfold before it came.
Minimize the struggles, our choice of game.
Challenges and misfortunes factored into the fold.
Gives us our backbone, our strength to behold.

With times so uncertain, a future unclear.
Our nearest and dearest become more clear.
But just for a moment with a dream in place.
Take away the name, add a new face.
If we could throw our troubles back into a pot.
Would we accept beshart?
Be grateful for what we got?
I suppose we would, but just for today.
With a dream, a prayer and fantasy intact.
We’d trade some for sure, not take ours back.
With less of that and more of this.
Our hardships, our strife wouldn’t be missed.
As fate unfurled, at our front door.
The cards were dealt, we tallied the
score.
Divine order in place, sensibility kicked in.
Focused on blessings, called it a Win.

“When I grew up and fell in love,
I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows,
Day after day.
Here’s what my sweetheart said-
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be will be,
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera”
Let’s do it Tuesday!



Alright 24 show us what’s on “tap.”

Right-left-right cha cha cha.

23’s about to wrap.

Let’s do the hokey pokey.

Double down and bet the store.

We ‘ll turn on the victrola.

And dance across the floor.

A little twist and hully gully.

If that’s what it will take.

Then we’ll lindy hop and jitterbug.

No more dancing just in place.

Hit the ground and sprint ahead.

Add input to affect a change.

Come on boogie woogie bugle boy.

The top man of your craft. 

“Stroll” into the New Year and bring along your draft.

Let’s “tap” into the Bossa Nova.

Rock and Roll and “all that jazz.”

Bunny hop and two step.

Swing dance with great pizzazz.

Step one, dance two. 

Shouts The Chorus from the line.

Fine tune an Arabesque, stay on Pointe and redefine. 

Add elbow grease to team effort.

Realign your goals in mind.

Offer a leg up, if anyone falls behind. 

So as you chasse across the finish line.

Or Fred Astaire across the ceiling.

We will welcome in this brand new year.

Position one as we are kneeling.

Hit it Elton.

“So goodbye yellow brick road.

Where the dogs of society howl.

You can’t plant me in your penthouse.

I’m going back to my plough.”

And to all a Good Night!

Robert Redford turned 87.

And Kim Cattrall 67.

When Sex in the City-

Becomes the “Way We Were.”

We hit the ground running.

It’s become one big blur.

Get your mojo in gear.

Take a Pilates class or two.

Sprinkle turmeric and wheat germ atop, your morning brew.

So get out there each day.

Take a walk thru the park.

Staying cross-fit- is not just a lark.

 With knee jerks on the daily.

And a twitch in your hip.

When you know the boats sailing.

Add your name to the list.

Whether Pepcid or Tums or you chew something blue.

This aging deal, is really quite true.

Depressed? -try to flip it, it can’t be so bad.

As you’re sitting and reading on the latest iPad.

As long as we keep our eye on the prize.

Mixing wisdom and experience to all we surmise. 

With laughter and humor at the top of the list.

Throw in the giggles, a tryst that can’t miss.

Together we’re Better without any doubt.

Let’s do it Thursday we are down for the count. 🙏

When you get caught between the moon and New York City.

From the Madeline Murals at the Carlyle, and foie burger at Minetta Tavern, We Love New York. 

Strolling through the Modern-

buying clocks with big numbers at the gift shop. Sharper Images.

We Love New York!

With euphoric recall we remember the Days of Comedy Clubs and “Arthurs“ jazz club, two drink minimums, laced with “sunshine and sodas and beer.” 

Oh the crunch of multi colored leaves as we strolled across Central Park in Autumn to have lunch at The Boathouse. Shout out to Amanda and Lee as we danced at your wedding there 10 years ago. 

Ah, yes NYC. 

From Drinks at the bar at The Four Seasons before the variegated visuals of the flowers and soufflés at Grenouille, we Miss our Golden New York. 

Memories of dancing at El Morocco and Le Club before backgammon in the backroom at Cavalleros, priceless. We closed the night before with an early breakfast at the open all night Brassiere.

How about the days of sitting on an auxiliary seat in the back of a smoke filled yellow cab with leg room, en route to an underground Allen Ginsburg poetry reading in a dive on Astor place near Tompkins Square Park? Run on sentence counters, I know. 

“I took a deep breath and listened to the bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.” Poems by Sylvia Plath inspired us to walk down to the Hip Bagel and add a schmear.

Shout out to our forever friend Shelly Fireman. Yep, the Cafe Tartufo, Fiorellos, Bond 45, Red Eye Grill- ( where the shrimp really do dance off plates) Shelly. He’s an iconoclastic, artistically brilliant guy who had a vision we jumped onto.

We heard about him and how he sculpted his multifaceted interests into a successful Empire. Mangia e Bene.

A perfect panoply of his Peter Max Art, knowledge of herbal cures i.e. Dr. Giller and his cocktails known as ACE (adrenal cortex extract.) 

Then the take a break stroll for Eggs, lox and caramelized onions with a toasted bialy from Barney Greengrass, yes, please.

We couldn’t help but prophesize that he would find a unique recipe for success through the perfect antipasto in the most lyrical of neighborhoods. He would breathe garlic into locations housing music, art and the sounds of Placido Domingo. Good guess, indeed. Bravissimo Shelly!

Moving on now to the long ago delights of Steak Diane at Quo Vadis before it became The Post House and now Marjorelle, the haute french cuisine jeweled endeavor by the Grenouille guys.

Throw back to a little black jack and throwing dice at a private after hours gambling joint in a townhouse on 72nd and Park. Brass, red carpeting and pink walls added to the late night fantasy of downing Harveys Bristol Cream. Bromo- seltzer set up on our nightstand could have served as the back drop of an Andy Warhol painting. 

B. Altman’s, Rita’s Blue Tent Dress Shop on Madison Avenue and accessories and Mini Dresses at Bendels was our idea of a perfect Saturday shop around before lunch at Yellowfingers or Daly’s Dandelion.

Sunday mornings of counting Ninas on the cover of The Times Sunday Magazine section through the distinct brilliance of Al Hirschfeld, was the precursor to lunch at the always crowded Maxwell’s Plum.

Oh those Eggs Benedict and mimosas under the kaleidoscopic stained-glass ceilings imagined and realized by Warner LeRoy. Pre- Tavern on the Green. What a treat before grabbing the latest Woody Allen film at The Paris Theater on 59th Street. 

Sunday night dinners with sauce secreto at Ginos draped with Scalamandre Zebras bouncing off the walls. Potato croquettes delight.

We miss, in the way, way back of the memory bin, the Pate at Brussels, anything at Le Bernardin- and the pasta at Joe and Rose (favorite of the Kennedys.) Everything and anything prepared at Christ Cellas on East 44th Street- no menus and house charge ready. Table in the kitchen please.

So just for today, we will brush off our blue suede shoes, pick out a paisley blouse, grab an old hermes belt, add a touch of Shalimar and dream of the Date-nut bread sandwiches at Chock Full o’ Nuts. We may be relocating but our memories are bolted down with every screw in place.

It’s a Wrap!
Just like that 2023 is coming to an end. Exhuming a memory of days gone by. -2017-

I took myself to the Lincoln Plaza Cinema to see a movie about an early period in J.D. Salingers life called “Rebel in the Rye.” On demand it if you can. I walked up to the ticket booth, money in hand and said “one senior please.” The gentleman selling tickets questioned whether or not I was 65 and could he see proof. I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse and pointed to my neck. He proceeded to hand me a ticket marked senior. I chuckled to myself aloud.
Shout out to Nora Ephron, at the Algonquin Table in the sky.
Her poignant book “I Feel Bad About My Neck And Other Thoughts On Being A Woman,” is a real feel good, feel better about yourself read.

Read it in one sitting, especially if you are put on hold while waiting to speak with a social security representative. My take away from the book is a permission to come aboard, take off the perennial turtleneck and don’t think twice about what to do with Lemons.

Ok now to Holden Caulfield main character in Catcher in the Rye. To skip around counters, I know I’m skipping.
Holden liked the Natural History museum because no matter what else changed in his life it always was the same. It felt like a little freeze-frame picture of his own childhood, a safe spot he could always come back to. The medicinal value of safe havens cannot be overestimated.

Nowadays, more than ever, freeze-framing memories and continuing traditions helps to keep the balance. In addition to history with old friends, meeting new people where it just clicks is a cracker jack prize with flair. Shout out to our “you know who you are.”
So with Nora Ephron and Holden
Caulfield in mind, we will say yes to
accepting the things we can not change, cherishing time spent with friends from long ago and appreciating the luck of meeting new friends to call our own. Just for today be a pacer, not a miler and make it a good day!

Cartier dressed up

On a Clear Day…
There’s a hold up in the Bronx, Brooklyn’s broken out in fights. There’s a traffic jam in Harlem- that’s backed up to Jackson Heights. There’s a scout group short a child, Khruschev’s due at Idlewild- “Car 54 Where Are You?” Gunther Toody and Officer Muldoon- where are you when we need you? Indelible visuals of their caricatures implanted in our minds. We only wanted them to get back together as partners. Their chemistry was real.

Johnny on The Pony was a fave, rough housing at its best. Great memory and first glimpse into early on-set competition was watching the boys play skully. Remember flicking bottle caps on to a chalk made skully board? Object not over-flicking–nope it’s on the line.

When the going was good, with euphoric recall, we remember the days of no wine, maybe sweet sixteen roses.

We drew the hopscotch board on the part of the sidewalk that was flat. Throwing our skate key as our hopscotch shooter was the thrill- where would it fall? Happy to land with two feet on 3 and 4 or 6 and 7 (double squares). Jumping rope, (sorry no double dutch here.) Trading Barbie clothes and discussing what happened on last nights episode of The Patty Duke Show are such comforting memories of times well lived.

A simple worry was that the street light would go on before we found our skate key en route home to watch the latest episode of Mr. Ed ( a horse is a horse of course, of course.) We loved playing stoop ball- loosely based on baseball, only we used a Spaulding and retrieved it from the stoop steps, rather than from a batter. Big favorite was the game of Jacks. We didn’t care that we were often left with scrapes on the side of our hands from pinky to wrist. Bacitracin and band-aids were big in our house. The boys on the block played Stickball, (baseball with a broom handle.)

And then came the “Whistle.” I think our father practiced it a few times before we heard it coming as a “it’s time.” We did not look forward to hearing that sound at all, and in the middle of a game-ugh! “But Daddy we aren’t done.” We haven’t finished trading candy( red licorice, candy necklaces, Bonomo Turkish taffy( hello Dental implants,) pumpkin seeds, Lik -m-aid and the gum that came with baseball cards, were big on our block and in our home away from home in the Catskills during the summers ( Loch Sheldrake Camp.)
Who remembers sen-sen gum?

Denominations of time didn’t matter. Ten more minutes would have done. We cherished these after dinner nightly reunions. Our early childhood friends are still part of us. Now we share Nexium, diet tips and compare blood pressure meds. Just sayin. The crescendo of childhood memories was getting our baby bead bracelets with the letters spelling our names and encased in gold. Our piece of the sky, indeed. Ok, then, so with resignation and dismay we left the street. Bath time, Ozzie and Harriet and maybe some of Pinky Pinkham-Dorothy Provine-singing a few tunes at the Charleston Club.

The corners of our minds are filled with the innocence of skate keys, Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys and never a clue that Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five would become the thundering moral statement of our time.

Oh, what we would give to hear that infamous whistle beckoning us to come in, just one more time- And Daddy this time we would come in and right away. Make it a good day!

So when I turned “65,” 6 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. I was shrouded in my husband’s tallit, I felt embraced.

Social security, Medicare with AARP F drug plan (no not that kind)- lactaid free cocktails, carpal tunnel procedures, medical tests you can’t pronounce; blah, blah, blah. Concurrently, however we brought back the supplemental bag of the real stuff that comes along with age appropriate hearing loss (really?)- whatever that means. 

Longer periods of peace of mind on the top of the list. Recognizing “what” really matters and “who” doesn’t. Bye Felicia. 

 Fast forward as we stand at the door of 2024 and shed one more increment of  PTSD from the Pandemic. Not so long gone.

It was during those long days when we Binge watched yes, The Sopranos from Jan. 10th-1999 and paid close attention to the sign that says “only take your masks off while eating.” Ok, back to Israel. Jumping around counters, I know. 

During our visit we met up with a high school buddy (Jon Kuritsky) for those in the know and his wife Diana. 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 varied and wonderful things with their lives. She’s a writer, he tows their land and they operate an inn/spa called NEA. Their family is their Life. 

We learned about a part of life or in fact death we never knew about before. Diana and Jon, pay it forward in a meritorious way. They are part of an organization of spiritual people who are known as Chevra Kadisha. Their responsibilities are to prepare the dead before burial according to Jewish tradition. 

At first we thought how morbid, how scary. With more understanding we learned that someone chooses to do so as the religious experience of being the last person to see the dead. We came to see it differently. Our hats goes off to them, as it would not even be within the realm of possibility for us to ever consider. Diana introduced me to not just any soap that they use. We bought it at the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv. It is multi-purposed and so many bars and years later we still use it. Our charitable “paying it forward” has a much different tone to it. My take away is that symbolically the soap is a form of cleansing the body and mind. 

So today we will go to grateful, all the while trying hard not to fall, as we walk into the New Year. We buy lite mayo and thinks it tastes fine, opt not to have a second Stoli at dinner knowing that we signed up for an 8:30 Pilates class.  Have a warm and welcoming weekend.

Time after Time.

“My romance doesn’t need a castle rising in Spain.

Or a dance to a constantly surprising refrain.

And wide awake I can make my most fantastic dreams come true.

My romance, doesn’t need a thing but you.”

Written by Lorenz Hart, Richard Rodgers.

Father Time You Need a Haircut.

World Book Encyclopedia, The Merriam Webster Dictionary and The Thesaurus– versus Google, Kindle, Amazon Prime, Tik tok, Facebook,
Instagram, and a myriad of search engines plus. A.I. give it a try.

Our days of licking our finger to turn the pages are virtually over. Although we still pick a hard cover over a battery operated read. Can you easily bring to mind memories of brown paper bags with pencil calculated totals of grocery store purchases? How much were a dozen eggs? Anyone else struggle thru trigonometry? Specific functions of angles and their applications to calculations- no comprende.

How about looking up Ticonderoga and cutting out pictures from National Geographic Magazine for a cut and paste project on Africa? Oh, and who doesn’t remember carrying that elaborate science project to school hoping it wouldn’t spill or rip?

What happened to Ed Sullivan on Sunday night, Tom and Jerry and a deeper meaning to Bugs Bunny then we ever knew (google him) Saturday mornings. Yes to the the guilty pleasure of Luke and Laura’s General Hospital Wedding? Would you “Bet your Life” on Groucho, if he threw in the swinging Duck? How bout (pie in the face) Soupy Sales?

Our days now where we are going at a slower pace with the absence of having to re-boot anything is high up on our “only if” list. We have finally come to learn when you call customer service you have to press #1 and scream loudly #9 times. Ugh!

When we step back and chronicle the speed at which life has reinvented communication it is mind boggling. Ironically we miss the days of waiting on line to buy tickets to a Grateful Dead Concert. We brought our lunch and a snack and sat through 3 hours and 42 minutes of loving Lawrence of Arabia.

The palpable, heart beating energy waiting to get good seats can’t be replaced by choose your seats on Ticketmaster on-line. We look back at memories of being careful not to touch chewed gum under our seats. We could come in the middle of a movie and watch it again for the same price of admission. A couple of cartoons thrown in. A box of bon-bons please.

Missing slower paced times. Some days we jam pack activities to avoid suffering from FOMO, ( fear of missing out.) Of What we ask.

Euphoric recall sets in as we exhume the days of the smells of home cooked meals. Very well done baby lamb chops, baked potatoes, canned le sueur peas and fruit cocktail with Entenmann’s toasted pound cake. Yes, two n’s.

We miss getting hand written letters, and saving them in our memory box, scented envelopes and all. I repeat – “Can it be that it was all so simple then, or has time re-written every line?” Hit it
Barbra with an A.

So just for today, pay less attention to the frequency of sound with every e-mail or text coming in. Explore some hand written behaviors. “I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter. And make believe it came from you.” Fat Waller’s piano version is fun.

Perhaps on demand old episodes of Dr. Kildare or Ben Casey -our original Mc Dreamy’s. Have a Great Thursday!