When the music stops playing.

On deft ear it falls.

Open new path to listen.

Haiku

Stop, Smell, Flowers.
The hours are short even on the days that are long.
When windmills are tilted.
Judgements are challenged.
We showcase convictions.
Strum to the beat of our song.
The threats on the daily from the reality show news.
Are we facing the music, or singing the blues?
Court rooms and law suits and messages so strong.
We are facing catastrophes from hither to yon.
With standards much lower.
Distortions prolonged.
How will it pan out as in the rights or the wrongs?

Nip and Tuck!

It’s a Rap-

As we are designated to the “upper classmen ” line we are more aware of how tempus fugit (time flies.) Let’s (carpe diem) seize the day and in a (sicut enim medicus) just what the doctor ordered way, get out of our own. Inspiration came in waves this year. And so it goes. Nip and Tuck- It’s a Rap.

Bo to the tox and the forehead looks younger

Go to the thighs cause they tell you no lies 

As gravity tugs at our mugs with full force

Can’t look any younger by taking a course

Esteem to the team with eyes opened wide

Into home base we score wth full pride

Our mojo and moxie helps dig and look deeper

We mellow, we chill, we’re considered a keeper

Match up to our egos we know our self worth

We are one of of a kind on this entire earth

Consider the knife to smooth our appearance

We go to the doc and ask for some clearance

We fast over night cause we gotta look tighter, back out of the deal cause we pulled an all-nighter

So Vixen and Rudolph strap into ur sleigh

Ain’t going under that knife

No fricken way

We’ll accept what we look like cause older is wiser

We ain’t going backwards, we’re no compromiser

Let’s call up our buddies who know us so deep

So happy to hear how we’re perfect when asleep

With gumption and courage we hold our heads higher

Came into our own the seller, not the buyer

We like how we look and we feel so damn good

We heard it for sure from a friend in our hood.

We are creatures made real through contact…

“The great measure of human maturation is the increasing understanding that we move through life in the blink of an eye; that we are not long with the privilege of having eyes to see, ears to hear, a voice with which to speak and arms to put round a loved one; that we are simply passing through.” — David Whyte

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