Recipe for long living, long ago. How many had grandparents who lived well into their 90’s? Maybe they knew Vic Tanny existed but they were too busy working hard, cooking and baking and smoking cigarettes to get to know him well. My Grandmother, (Bubby Chicken), for those in the know, led with an indomitable spirit. She had a startling ability to push unpleasant thoughts down the block and across the street. She was too busy to worry about what so and so said or thought. With rolling pin in hand and her grater not far away she filled part of her days. I often wondered if she slept with her apron on as it was ever present and the first thing we noticed when we ran in for her endless Hug. 

We believe she was the prototype for the ” I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn high to fly” lyrics. So, noodle and or potato pudding, apple cake, rugalach with raisins and jelly and her famous candy bowl filled with hard candies were things we came to depend on. We never knew how we would make it to dessert as we were left stuffed with carbs, salt, schmaltz and gribenes(for those in the know.) And- just in case she had her trustworthy mylanta, gaviscon- or “here mamala have a tums” waiting on the counter next to the left over flour and right under an old plant that still had the ribbon and card on it from last Mother’s Day.

In the absence of probiotics, papaya enzymes, lactaid free whatever’s, Pilates, colonoscopies, portion controls, calories counts on products, my grandmother and her friends lived forever. 

 Were their stomachs better equipped? Was it not considered abuse to reach for the sugar and go for the salt first? Perhaps endemic to generations long ago who focused less on Vit. D levels and more on how good Halavah tasted, whether it was marble or chocolate covered. The conundrum eludes me, how about you?

A three pronged example of a lifestyle fast forwarded is a workout on the treadmill, a bullet green shake and dashing off to have our blood work tested after a 50,000 unit regimen to pump up the numbers. Bub, we all miss the high caloric, straddled with confectioners sugar way you celebrated life. By the way thanks for palming us the good luck gelt every time we left your side.

Recipe for long living, long ago. How many had grandparents who lived well into their 90’s? Maybe they knew Vic Tanny existed but they were too busy working hard, cooking and baking and smoking cigarettes to get to know him well. My Grandmother, (Bubby Chicken), for those in the know, led with an indomitable spirit. She had a startling ability to push unpleasant thoughts down the block and across the street. She was too busy to worry about what so and so said or thought. With rolling pin in hand and her grater not far away she filled part of her days. We often wondered if she slept with her apron on as it was ever present and the first thing we noticed when we ran in for her endless Hug. 

We believe she was the prototype for the ” I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn high to fly” lyrics. So, noodle and or potato pudding, apple cake, rugalach with raisins and jelly and her famous candy bowl filled with hard candies were things we came to depend on. We never knew how we would make it to dessert as we were left stuffed with carbs, salt, schmaltz and gribenes(for those in the know.) And- just in case she had her trustworthy mylanta, gaviscon- or “here mamala have a tums” waiting on the counter next to the left over flour and right under an old plant that still had the ribbon and card on it from last Mother’s Day.

In the absence of probiotics, papaya enzymes, lactaid free whatever’s, Pilates, colonoscopies, portion controls, calories counts on products, my grandmother and her friends lived forever.

Were their stomachs better equipped? Was it not considered abuse to reach for the sugar and go for the salt first? Perhaps endemic to generations long ago who focused less on Vit. D levels and more on how good Halavah tasted, whether it was marble or chocolate covered. The conundrum eludes me, how about you?

A three pronged example of a lifestyle fast forwarded is a workout on the treadmill, a bullet green shake and dashing off to have our blood work tested after a 50,000 unit regimen to pump up the numbers. Bub, we all miss the high caloric, straddled with confectioners sugar way you celebrated life. By the way thanks for palming us the good luck gelt every time we left your side. 

 

“There were bells on the hill, 

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

Till there was you.”

Lyrics by Meredith Wilson-1957 for The Music Man- Paul McCartney loved and incorporated the song into The Beatles repertoire. We heard this song performed at Broadway by the Year last week at Town Hall on West 43rd Street. The Antiquated theater couches precious jewels of entertainment. 

On the top of our list the bells, the jewels – our grandchildren. The noise, the tumult, the pita chips, the sticker books and the craft projects fill our hourglass. The artifact of time is what we have to carry from day to day. Gratefully we fill them up with the things we pray for as we eliminate the clutter and have the bugs fixed. 

The “till there was you” moments are here now as “the parade marches on.” We embellish the when you get it moments even if we just get a glimpse of how good it can be. Bronzing opportunities and saying hello in passing is taking life on life’s terms and sculpting success. A PH.D. of a sentence. 

So just for today let’s realize a dream we never dreamt. Perhaps some questions about the meaning of time and space will be answered tonight. Neil deGrasse Tyson moderates a debate we are attending at The Museum of Natural History. It’s an Issac Asimov tribute. The subject- Is the Universe a Simulation? Maybe a computer simulation. I suppose the answers we are seeking won’t be unfolded this evening. As we imagined all along they were right there with the “bells on the hill.” Only now we hear them. 

 

“There were bells on the hill, But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

Till there was you.”

Lyrics by Meredith Wilson-1957 for The Music Man- Paul McCartney loved and incorporated the song into The Beatles repertoire. We heard this song performed at Broadway by the Year last week. One of our music events that we religiously attend at Town Hall. The Antiquated theater on West 43rd Street couches precious jewels of entertainment. 

The bells, the jewels our grandchildren. The noise, the tumult, the pita chips, the sticker books and the craft projects fill our hourglass. The artifact of time is what we have to carry from day to day. Gratefully we fill them up with the things we pray for as we eliminate the clutter and have the bugs fixed. 

The “till there was you” moments are here now as “the parade marches on.” We make the when you get it moments happen, even if we just get a glimpse of how good it can be. Bronzing opportunities and saying hello in passing is taking life on life’s terms and sculpting success. A PH.D. of a sentence. 

So just for today let’s realize a dream we never dreamt. Perhaps some questions about the meaning of time and space will be answered tonight. Neil deGrasse Tyson moderates a debate at The Museum of Natural History we are attending. It’s an Issac Asimov tribute. The subject- Is the Universe a Simulation? Could it be a computer simulation?

I suppose the answers we are seeking won’t unfold this evening. As we have come to learn, they were right there all along with the “bells on the hill.” Only now we hear them. 

 

My mother loved FOOD- shopping, unpacking, organizing the refrigerator,preparing, cooking, eating, wrapping leftovers, eating, cleaning out the refrigerator eating some more. She studied food and became a dietician. Studied some more and with her masters degree was titled nutritionist. Then got an M.S.W. In social work at the age of 50. I think she wanted to figure out through research why food was always top of mind. 

I relied on radishes cleaned and in Tupperware with French dressing as an after school snack. Sometimes I opted for Buitoni Raviolis, yum as I think about it now.

I waited around and did homework until dinner. I came to expect something breaded, something fried with Le Sueur Peas and a baked sweet potato. I looked forward to broiled baby lamp chops- I still do. The melody lingers on. Snowballs, hostess cupcakes, twinkies, drakes ring dings, yodels -yum and yum. Euphoric gastronomic recall. She saved the Lindt Chocolate for her card games. 

As the culinary seed was planted I waited for it to sprout into my type of cuisine. I too love food. However everything else around it feels equally as appealing. I have an extensive salt and pepper shaker collection. Varied, and meaningful. Collected from places I’ve been, antiquing and from gifts. Some are antiques, several glass, some ceramic. Betty Boop and Harley Davidson sets hang out in my cabinet together. Dishes, silverware and amber glass represent my treasured items. Flowers and table settings add to the allure of my meal. My collection of soupcons (fancy serving ladles) makes me smile.

Shopping for the ingredients and researching who has the best mozzarella and filet mignon a past time. Aligning the seats for comfort and space adds to the canvas. I make sure the creases in the napkins are well pressed and the water glass is properly situated. I light candles and get dressed. I then set up the ice on the bar and cut lemon slices. All the time this is going on I have the oven on, the flames on low and I check my ” something breaded, something fried.” I learned from The Best.

 

With all the mechanical knowledge that every kid we know has how is it possible that the grown ups around them are slipping backwards? And— not just with how to download, update or successfully install a new computer program. Algorithms really? I read the definition three times and couldn’t get it. From Mayor Bloomberg to Mayor De Blasio WHAT? Would Joe Lhota have triumphed over this mess?Was there an Al Gore Florida counting error? Did everyone think De Blasio would reverse bike lanes? New York, New York, what a wonderful town. The city that never sleeps. We are the role up your sleeves and take car services home in the middle of the night from your job population. Rudy,Rudy even you are looking good. Our populace is struggling to understand this ill elected head of our city. 

With no dress rehearsals and slim second chances what is happening to the “if you can make it here, you’ll make it anywhere city? Subway slashing exists with more severe Marla Hanson tragic endings. How about the Mayor backing Al Sharpton in his disdain toward our police force? Oh and carriage horses- a visual landmark and a throwback to the Trader Vic days. The Plaza Hotel, a euphoric experience to behold. Who remembers luxuriating in the plush red carpet walk downstairs to sip a Mai Tai. Love those little umbrellas, still.

 

The Four Seasons Restaurant closes in July. Loehman’s is now replaced by shop at Barneys for a $3,000 handbag. But – it’s still a 30 minute wait to sip hot chocolate at Serendipity. I miss the long ago and far away error. Mayor Beame, Lindsay everyone looks better, like them or not.

So the bigger issue I chose not to address this morning- Is there a stronger punishment for multiple abortions? To be continued… One nexium day thank you! 

 

Distance yourself from the offender- the goal of the day, week, and happier New Year. When isn’t it prudent to take the first step toward wonderment? We stay above the fray, make sure our Vit. D levels are new guide appropriate, strap on our confidence and still proceed with caution. 

The times when we get hit standing still are unavoidable. When it’s them not us we question why the “them’s” are still around. There is confidence in knowing we can’t bubble wrap ourselves against the offenders so we accentuate the positives and eliminate the negatives whenever we can. The “you know when you know’s” often play out in the “we should have know better’s.”

One more chance to scotch guard our feelings by meditating our way to lemonade. 

When drama adds trauma to our new found stability we bolt the hell out of there. At this point we have paid off our emotionally limiting mortgages, have a mortgage burning party and marvel at how the lemonade was there all along. The only inertia for going forward and shopping in the aisle of good and plenty is the treadmill of time moving under our clay feet. Why Wednesday? Because we can.  

 

World Book Encyclopedia, The Merriam Webster Dictionary and The Thesaurus– versus Google, Kindle, Amazon prime, Facebook, Instagram, and a myriad of search engines plus.Our days of licking our fingers to turn the pages are virtually over. Although I still love a hard cover over a battery operated read. Who else can easily bring to mind memories of brown paper bags with pencil calculated totals of grocery store purchases? Anyone else struggle thru long division or angles and intersecting lines geometrically speaking? How about looking up Ticonderoga and cutting out pictures from National Geographic Magazine for a cut and paste project on Africa? Oh, and carrying that erstwhile science project to school hoping it wouldn’t spill or rip. 

What happened to Ed Sullivan on Sunday night, Tom and Jerry Saturday mornings and yes the guilty pleasure of Luke and Laura’s General Hospital Wedding? Some days going at a slower pace with the absence of having to re-boot anything is high up on my “only if” list.

My iPad lost internet connection over the week-end. As I re-visit the feeling of panic (and I imagine I am not alone)- I find it bluntly disturbing. If we step back and chronicle the speed at which life has reinvented communication it can take our breath away- literally. Some days it  

 feels like a race to get to the front of the line to buy coveted tickets to a favorite concert. What happened to the languid walks home from school, stopping for a milkshake and French fries and lingering to avoid homework time? How bout dialing a phone, getting a busy signal and wondering which friend your best friend was talking to? “Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time re-written every line?” Tell me Barbra can you relate? So just for today, I will pay less attention to the frequency of sound as my messages come in. I will take pause at my full world of electronics and explore some old hand written behaviors. And then I will resume my modern world routines, turn up the dimmer on my light and wonder where I misplaced the bag of pencil sharpeners. I know I have them somewhere.

  
And William Greenberg – Hammentaschen for dessert. With comfort food on my mind at 7:49 Saturday morning I look at this two ways. First, we are home one week, which feels like one month and my daily routines are just kicking in. Second thought is that my PTSD- (post traumatic stress disorder) as we are facing placement decisions is wearing off. And I quote- Home is where the heart is, hang your hat and stay for awhile. “Love begins by taking care of the closest ones- the ones at home.” Mother Teresa. As we prep our terrace for spring and continue 

planting our “roots” at home I am even more grounded in my belief that there is “No Place Like Home.” The way it looks at night, the smells thru the kitchen door and the recuperative power of my bed, my remote and my morning coffee in no particular order are the things I long for. 

I am now mired in the “carry me over the threshold into a new phase of life.”

I know that the four walls that define me now have very little to do with location and everything to do with mindset. What about the mind and the heart catching up? What’s so wrong with staying put? We add and subtract on a daily basis as our priorities shift. We alter our equations of activity and hope for vitality. 

We buy new vegetables and bake an apple pie. We go about our daily routines and know that New York is our kinda town. As long as life keeps offering you the three for a dollar kinds of deals- take them. Only stir the pot when you’re making chili for your favorite Sunday game. Have some hamburger sliders, big bowl of pasta and your drink of choice. Celebrate “everything”

 until further notice. Try living the -go with the flow deals -that were impossible in your youth when format and construction were optimum. As long as love wears a smile, we’re up with the roosters and we stop for that overdue massage- Let’s proclaim everyday our own private holiday. And now Ella sing to me your version of Blue Skies.

Took flight from the law- The lead story this morning about the Jet Blue Stewardess who was caught smuggling cocaine in her roll on luggage was shall I say eye-raising. 

Hey guys, what happened to my hard to find shampoo samples and my small bottle of liquid Chanel face make-up you confiscated a few years back? Was this the first time she did this? Was there a slip up in “the cut” some of her cohorts were getting? Well it took the focus off who has a prettier wife in the resume of candidates. 

In 1997 Quentin Tarantino had a hit movie called Jackie Brown. I loved it, bought it and played it over and over again on my Betamax until the tape got tangled. Pam Grier played the lead character, a flight stewardess who smuggled money for her arms dealer boss, (Ordell Robbie), played by Samuel Jackson. Indeed she gets caught. The fiction plays out with her trying to enlist her bondsman Max Cherry (Robert Forster) who happens to fall in love with her, to help her make off with the money.

Life imitating art. Quentin and his askew insight into the deranged side of human behavior directed this one brilliantly. 

When will someone say “Uncle?” At what point will the state of this world in which we are living demand the proper attention for one and all. How much longer can this miasmic like state of disbelief continue?

The stewardess got caught, but at one point in her scam? The candidates mudslinging is now below the belt, after months on end of repetition. I always believed playing by the rules was the means to a successful end. When will our “United” States of America use laser beam intensity and pull the plug? How much more of this outlandish charade and abusive treatment can possibly be allowed?The loud and strong message is ear drum shattering. 

Everybody knows the trouble we see. How often do we turn off the news only to turn it back on where we left off?

Our country is in a state of mass destruction and reaching prodigious proportions.

The future looks bleaker as November gets closer. How is this possible that our choice for leader is like a blocked artery? At least there is a method of repair with that kind of blockage. When will someone insert a baloon, clear out the plaque and announce an independent party run? Bloomberg- can you hear me now?