As I often theme my writing with the concept of “just do it now, “ we are traditionally reflecting back on the year just lived. Some days our get up and go is pro forma. Our time to make the donuts occurs in a knee jerk fashion. Some days our knee jerks. Our Bubby Chicken, for those in the know- phrased the difficult times with a “just look away mamala.” Oh Bubby we believe now more then ever that your schmaltz and sugar laden food added wisdom to your 95 years. You didn’t exercise, but you never sat down. You worked the majority of your life and when you stopped formally working you worked at whatever you did. As you gathered your loved ones around the table, your emotional nutrition sustained us and your cooking created memories that still linger on. We talk about your baking as treasures. We reminisce about your traditions and the intensity is still palpable. How lucky my sisters and cousins were to have Our Bubby Chicken. So at this time of year, as we look forward to a New Year, pray for forgiveness and remember our ancestors , why not exhume your Grandma, Grammy or Bubby memories. Hanging with her babies and watching them grow into themselves was her Pilates, her group therapy and our legacy. So Bub, here’s to our days gone by. We carry you in our hearts and tapping into your Sechel gives us reasons to believe especially when we lose our way. When we played musical chairs and the music stopped, you pulled over one extra chair so we all stayed in the game. And by the way we spend more time “looking the other way,” as our knee jerks. May your neshama have an Aliyah, Bub.

“No Hell Below Us, Above Us Only Sky.

Whistleblower Claims women in ICE custody are being Coerced into Hysterectomies. The Irwin County Detention Center in Georgia is being investigated for performing hysterectomies for organ experimentation. Human guinea pigs. They are said to have coerced Spanish speaking prisoners into doing this and not really explaining why it was being done.
Ok, so they basically said get up on the table we are going to remove your dignity, humane rights to make decisions about Your bodies and eradicate your ability to procreate and bear children. These nefarious activities occurred all the while living in a covid-19 riddled and unsafe cell.
As we enter the New Year and light yahrzeit candles for our parents, we sigh a split second of relief as our protective instincts kick in. Thank G-d you were spared this moment in time when all your dreams for us had to be put on hold while we dodge bullets, run from rabid dogs, so to speak running around the streets and anxiously wait for when this demonic despot is no longer holding our health card in his hands. Pray for us mama, we’re scared fierce. L’shana tova tikatevu.

Allan Sherman-esque. Buy 1-get 3 free!

Hello Muddah,

Hello Fadduh,

Here I am at Camp Flor-ah-da.

It’s not so -entertaining,

They say I’ll have some fun if I stop complaining.

I went walking- with Jenny Eliasis.

She developed a bad case of psoriasis.

You remember- Shirley Skinner.

We are meeting for the early bird dinner.

All the sales people -over at the Walmarts – snuck in for me an extra dozen urine charts.

Now I don’t want this,

should scare ya.

But my roommate has a bad case of diar-rhe-a.

You remember- Joanie Hardy.

They’re about to organize a searching party.

Take me home, oh muddah, fadduh, take me home.

From Camp Flor-ah-da.

Don’t leave me, at the casino.

Someone next to me forgot to take their beano.

Take me home I promise –

I wont make noise or mess the house with daubers (bingo.)

–So please don’t make me stay, I’ve been here one whole day.–

Wait a minute, it stopped raining.

I think I like the music in the pool that they’re playing.

Playing mah Jong and Canasta- who knows with bridge I could become a masta.

So dear muddah and dear fadduh.

Hold your horses,

I seem to like it better. – I even started knitting a navy sweater.

I just watched -Bye Bye Birdie.

Go know, I ran into Auntie Gertie.

So for right now- wait till I call.

Someone asked for me to play some Pickleball.

Love, me!

Shelly Fireman- 212-308-8174
AROSEBYANYOTHERNAME2016
With Paul, Lenny and Murray kibitzing at the next table about how they met you and who knew you way back to the days of stick ball and Johnny on the Pony, the evening began. We walked into the Fireman Group’s splendid new venture. A beautifully appointed room, a stage setting for what looked like a grand scene from a Coppola movie. A staff of beautiful people appeared to be auditioning for a role in “Cafe Society ” a la Fireman. We marveled at how everything old is new again. The panoply of flowers and leather banquets combined with well shined brass and mirrors helped to create the setting. We comfortably nuzzled into our booth glanced at ourselves in the mirror, smoothed down the cowlick on our bangs and hung our hat.

Everything slowed down, albeit quickly came flooding through in thoughts.

I met Shelly Fireman in 1977. I walked down a few steps into the old Le Drugstore, the new Cafe Tartufo. I had an appointment to interview for a job. I was 27 years old and waiting for my real estate career to take off. I distinctly remember his buttonless denim shirt that flowed over his very cool looking jeans. It completed the picture in my mind of a well dressed beatnik. I was impressed. I thought ok Village Voice and Allen Ginsberg move over, I got this gig down. And so I was hired as his “assistant .” Little did I know this meant wearing lots of (hold on to your hats) and learning a whole new set of “Peas and Q’s.” I love food and the environment in which it is created. Still do, always will. So I bought a new pair of jeans and realized this was not a sit behind a desk as an assistant, just anywhere job.

I learned a lot about the hospitality business, in the “back of the store” way. The people I got to meet were foodies in every sense of the word. They cooked it, wrote about and designed the hardware to display the food. This is actually where the taste buds begin.

Shelly gave me a taste tester allowance as part of my job. I would go to other food shops and eat my way to a worthwhile review to present to him the next day. I also got to know the staff of sales people at the men’s dept. at Bonwit Tellers, very well. This was his go to store for even the simplest of cravats. If there is such a thing. Shelly’s creativity transcends to so much more than how to present a great bowl of pasta or who to hire to whip up the anchovy sauce for the mozzarella en carroza. Fritto misto

let’s try it with carrots. Ok, he would say, now add less sauce. As sybaritic pleasures go, great food and how it dances off the plate is way up there.

Fast forward 40 plus and I’m still holding on to my hat years later. I am still eating in his stores. Our friendship still real and long lived. Without a doubt his bride for the better part of his ride – Marilyn Fireman has held his attention, respect, devotion and love. She is his greatest success, his longest lasting pleasure and the prototype for the cherry on top of the Tartufo. Without her his tale would not have unfolded as the success story it is.

She is beautiful, talented and saint like in her patience. Brava Marilyn.

On Sept 7, 2001, Ira and I stood under the Chuppah on the

roof top of his 57th street restaurant, appropriately titled Shelly’s. This building housed the put a quarter in the little glass door and take your piece of cherry pie Automat style. Who doesn’t have an Automat story?

So a part of me feels possessive, as old friends often do. Not in like a claiming ownership way, but more of a I was there as the under belly of this empire was in its empirical stage. And ”you’ve come a long way baby.”

So my dear friend, with every morsel of good wishes shared, every memory of Gael Greene’s reviewing Fiorellos greatest pizza pie, (like her hats were ever a disguise)- every take- out order I brought out to Bill Berkeley to bring home to Marge and my thoughts will it make it home, every time you told me what a bad typist I was ( hello Apple where were you in the 70’s, I say Mangiare e Bene. Simchas biz hundert tzvanzig.

Come along “Cabbage”- “Burmese” is waiting to usher you back into our sunset. My Lady, Your Majesty, My Love.

Philip Mountbatten RIP

Her Majesty the Queen aka “Cabbage” to her Prince.

Lost the charm on her arm, now a huge major miss.

99 years strong, 73 the Queen’s consort.

Third cousins as they were, ruled the highest of courts.

The Royal Navy was his calling,

Through the Second World War.

Irascible and tough minded, never the bore.

For seven Decades plus the Duke of Edinburgh was anointed.

The man of “her” hour he was happily appointed.

The horses and corgis took mere second place.

Will cantor through life with the status of Prince-less.

As the grandkids walked in and put the smile on his face.

Can only suppose the regime at Balmoral.

Became much less stuffy with Prince Philip as the corporal.

Her Majesty, the Queen was married when a Princess.

We walked into our building the other day and one of our doormen, whose name happens to be David, called us over to let us know he has been meaning to tell us something. We listened as he proudly shared the wonderful news that his son Eric had recently become a Bar Mitzvah. He told us we could watch the service on You Tube and the theme for the party was all Baseball. We stopped in our tracks, wished him a big Mazel Tov and went upstairs to our apt.

We were thrilled for him and confused as we didn’t know he had children or much else about him. He always greeted us with a smile and we exchanged pleasantries as he handed us our Amazon packages.

Schools have opened up, the streets are bustling with children walking with super sized back packs and after school snack money in their pockets. Things feel re-booted, still left of center but closer to a familiar time, pre pandemic.

Back to several days ago when David called up to let us know our sushi dinner, that we ordered was here. Ah, the Bar Mitzvah. So we ate dinner and sat down to watch David’s son Eric become a Bar Mitzvah. Can’t make the names up for those in the know. We kvelled as Eric read from the Torah, sang along, silently prayed and sent a shout out upon request from the Rabbi to Hashem for our forever ago friend Rommy Revson who passed away yesterday. Baruch dayan emet. Oh, Rom.

We listened as David’s wife spoke about their son and we cried for their pride in him.

Moral of story -bottom line-it, grab moments of pleasure, now more ever especially in these precarious days with so much uncertainty.

So we got some paper, wrote a mazel message, put some gelt into an envelope for Eric and went downstairs to have a “Minchin by you Moment.”This time the blessing in disguise came with a shout out in the lobby from a very familiar face, albeit in concept a stranger. Make it a schepp nachas for no longer a stranger kind of day. We are all a community and hashtag stronger together. It’s a reach out to someone dear kind of day. Bh

We are still walking down aisles-Costco, Target, Fairway! Bh

Repost on an end of summertime day!
When the leaves were orange and the living was easy. What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth? Why do the people in the front of the picture appear so much larger than the people toward the back? Out of the mouths…when life was oh so mellow.

We bought our first pair of silk stockings which were to be held up by a stretchy pink and white striped garter belt. We felt so mature. Oh the days of Ozzie and Harriet, Susan Lucci, Soupy Sales and Wally and The Beav. We had “One Life to Live.”

We re-dialed, after our friends line was busy the first time and screeched with excitement, Conrad Birdie style, over our anticipated coed- girl/boy party that evening in Daren Scott’s basement. We will always miss Daren.
After we sat under a hot dryer with beer can sized rollers in our hair we brushed away the fumes from our eyes left by Aqua Spray. The decision to curl our hair rather than iron it straight was a good one, our hair came out just right. Getting ready “Was” the excitement. Our new madras blouse and alpaca sweater hung prominently in the front of our closet right above our shiny, new cordovan colored weejuns. Bright, new Penny, dated 1969 heads up in place.

A touch of revlon blush, a glimmer of “coffee bean” lipstick proceeded a spritz of Shalimar and we were on our way. With dejavu on our breath we can still recall euphorically how it felt when we unbuttoned the wooden clasps that kept our new Pea Coat in tact. The boys gathered on one side of the room, as the girls sifted through the 45’s on the other. At this point there was no bottle to spin in sight. Would the Angels sing tonight as our soldier boys danced under the Blue Moon? Wah a Watusi. It’s the dance made for a romance.

The specialty years of pre-teening encapsulated so many of our trial and error moments. Being in a click helped dissipate the error parts, we were all in it together. We made room for our daydreams laced with Johnny Mathis lyrics and we did get Misty. Our Barbie and Ken’s were repositioned and left to fetch for themselves in the back row of our minds. In the “still of the night” we hold tight to the memories that Jay and the Americans knew were those Magic Moments. Make it a fun Sunday.

“The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies and in time may go – but oh my dear our love is here to stay.”If we could clone “Grandpa Ira,” every grandchild from near and far would be inoculated with a locked in love and a fail proof, safe haven. Side effects -Prodigious Proportions of sharing, caring and lingering on the sunny side of street.

One day we woke up and the miasmic film like filter that shrouds the cataracts of life was gone. Our foresight replaced hindsight allowing us to see the forest in spite of the trees. I wish this on everyone.