The 8 ball- eight card fit- eight hands playing at the table – 8 is enough- Dinner at 8- 18 is chai – . Eight heart stealing Gomberg kid’s . One thing the number 8 symbolizes is the ability to make decisions. With a history of parents who got a babysitter and then drove around trying to decide where to go and what to do- I have taken my primordial history and flipped it. Date book in hand, organize the games, get the tickets and not letting ontogeny recapitulate phylogeny. And I quote- Be decisive right or wrong. Make a decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make decisions-end quote- author unknown. 

The Pythagoreans called the number eight “Ogdoad” and considered it the “little holy number”. Number 8 – let’s make it great!

That’s all she wrote!

Rise early, have a tan, collect things and have hobbies. Advice imparted many years back by an older, wise gentle person who wreaked with gravitas. So I started collecting book marks. It all began as a kid when we drove to Florida and stopped at South of the Border in South Carolina. It was plastic and had a picture of a sombrero. I added two more one from Williamsburg Virgiinia with a picture of our founding fathers. My third came from a school trip to Old Museum Village in Monroe, New York. That one I clipped to the top of the page of my Nancy Drew adventure.

On a random rainy day when I feel I’ve lost my place in my book I look through my collections. Flipping pages to see what happened next, albeit antiquated is still my choice of read. The absence of loosing battery, with no clicks or beeps and nothing to plug in to find out if the protagonist gets pulled over on the road for texting is my slow down, regroup time.  I pause the haunting thoughts, turn the beat around and as my Bubby would say, “look the other way mamala.” Metaphorically with the rapid pace of the progression of time, on the days that feel endless with emotional clutter how cool would it be if in an etch a sketch erase style we could come up with a resolve. In Louis Armstrong’s “wonderful world” when he heard babies cry and watched them grow he knew they’d learn more than he’d ever know and he said to himself “what a  wonderful world.” So here’s to the days before unplugging, rebooting, memes, twittering, emoticons or cyber bullying. As the dots come dancing in response to a text, sometimes hours later, with no audible voice, no inflections and a smiley face replacing a giggle I pray for the millennial’s and our grandchildren a collection of bookmarks where they can find their place even if their battery wears out.

Lady Luck generally woos those who earnestly, enthusiastically, unremittingly woo her. At times when you find yourself working your way back to

productive, meaningful and valuable, remember there are only (4) corner pieces to your biographical puzzle. Valuable? I would say so. Keep white out and tide pens close by.  With lot’s of lemons into lemonade reminders put “finding your way out of a paper bag” into waze and head North. Ask for directions from the friend reaching down to give you a leg up. And then shut up, because if you find one friend, who takes you from zero to ten when you’re on the side of the road because you ran out of gas, your luck just changed. Here’s to Tiger and Momma. Thank you for sharing your very long ladder and turning the heat up in the hot tub even when you are not getting in. 

When it boils down to niceties make mashed potatoes out of cauliflower.

Some of the people… not everyone is meant to break bread, raise a glass and smoke the colloquial cigar together. When your personal book report is due after you read the whole book, no cliff notes, you italicize the memorable parts. While your now the only person grading your critique your goal is pleasing you. Write yourself a thank you note. Take care of you and have your own back. One day if you are lucky enough to count decades, what other people think matters less and less. Carry your own concept of yourself and play your own game all the while keeping your eye on the prize. The Cracker Jack box hid the prize somewhere toward the bottom. So for today, open the bottom of the box, rip open the prize and make the rest of your day valentine sweet. 

Life always offers you a second chance.  It’s called tomorrow. Two things you never want to hear from someone you are seeking help from to a problem is,” we’ve never see this before and “there is nothing we can do about it.” Not every problem has a solution, but most do. There are times when keeping your sunny side up in a rain storm feels impossible. Often, as hard as we try “the see what tomorrow brings” just doesn’t do it for us.

Who’s to say what level of water makes you sink. Until you are up against the wall and facing a situation that needs to be fixed to work properly, it’s hard to know when your “ Say Uncle” moment is. We’ve all encountered now or never moments where making split second decisions either gets you the last seat on the plane or doesn’t. 

More importantly when your doctor explains two different methods for cure and leaves it up to you, after the what if it was your daughter question.

At one point in a decision making process do you cave? The path of least resistance has room for one more. Do you sign up for it or take the high road that has very little traffic?

So just for today why not follow Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction for a rare, early spring. Trust your situation will be remediated, (for those in the know) and this time put the horse before the cart. What are you waiting for? 

Collage With Care
— Read on www.collagewithcare.com/

In my own little corner, in my own little chair. I can be whatever I want to be.” Rodgers and Hammerstein- written in 1950 for Cinderella. Time has a way of showing us what really matters. Cinderella’s mother taught her to “always have courage and to show kindness to others”. Believing in the existence and presence of magic was a must as well. So against all odds- fending off a wicked step-mother, jealous step-sisters and every stigma attached to the “step syndrome,” she managed to surface as the Queen and laureate of second chances.

When you miss the first boat out, for whatever reason and fortuitously get another chance to dance in the moonlight; grab it tightly, as to loose it would be the stranglehold of tragedy. Give up being bound by failings for past mistakes, i.e.bad choices. Destiny always rears it’s head In spite of whatever form of mutiny you throw in its way. Living with high emotional content slows down the aging process. Get that facelift through opening up the doorways that have been blocking the sun from your path to happiness. John and Yoko lived by the adage “life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.” Unfortunately his elongated job with destiny was cut short and it took her breath away. And I quote- Life on life’s terms- You know when you know, the clock is ticking and so on. I decided when it’s the stuff I can control, when the decisions are in my hand, I’ll listen to Cinderella’s mom and add courage and kindness to my shout out loud I am what I am moment. I’ll stir in a touch of magic and 180 my way to a better place. Time waits for no one. Let’s do it Tuesday!

When the leaves were orange and the living was easy. What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth? Why are the people in the front of the picture so much bigger 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. The days of Ozzie and Harriet, Susan Lucci and Soupy Sales. 

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. 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 1967 heads up in place.

A touch of revlon blush, a glimmer of light pink lipstick proceeded a spritz of Ambush and we were on our way. With dejavu on my breath I can still recall euphorically how it felt when I unbuttoned the wooden clasps that kept my new Loden green PeaCoat 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? 

The specialty years of pre-teening had a wonderful life of its own. We made room for our daydreams laced with Johnny Mathis lyrics. 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 I hold tightly to the moments that Jay and the Americans knew were  Magic.

So when I turned “65” two 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. Social security, Medicare with AARP F supplemental, drug plan (no not that kind)- nexium cocktails, carpal tunnel procedures, medical tests you can’t pronounce; blah, blah, blah. Concurrently, however we brought back the supplemental bag of the good stuff that comes along with age appropriate hearing loss. Whatever that means. Longer periods of peace of mind on the top of the list. Recognizing “what”really matters and “who” doesn’t. Oh, and you don’t have to win every Mah jongg game as long as you were able to put the game together, big count. Binge watching Mrs. Maisel (shout out to  Rhonda in three episodes), and The Kominsky Method,  replaces filling your dance card with idle chatter while blind dating a new couple.

We returned to Israel this past Thanksgiving.  Gave thanks as we watched our second grandson become a bar mitzvah. Piece of good luck.

 Two years ago at the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, I found a bar of soap that I love. Story to follow. 

We met up with a high school buddy (Jon Kuritsky) for those in the know and his wife Diana. She introduced me to the soap. 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 interesting things with their lives. She’s a writer, he tows their land and they operate an inn/spa called NEA. 

Here’s where the soap comes in. I learned about a part of life or in fact death I never knew about before. Diana and Jon, pay it forward in a meritorious way. They are part of community of people who are known as Chevra Kadisha. Their responsibilities are to prepare the dead before burial. At first I thought how morbid, how scary. When I realized someone chooses to do so as the religious experience of being the last person to see the dead, I came to see it differently. My hat goes off to them, as it would not even be wIthin the realm of possibility for me to ever consider. My charitable paying it forward has a much different tone to it. Anyway, I used the bar of soap for two years, sparingly. It was great for everything from washing my face, to getting tough stains out. If you are still reading, I ended up getting another bar of this soap from a cousin who lives in Israel. My take away is that symbolically the soap is a symbolic for cleansing the body and mind. We simultaneously count blessings all the while trying hard not to step on the cracks, while leaping into the next phases of life. We buy lite mayo and thinks it tastes fine, sign up for Pilates and appreciate that the FOMO’s (feelings of missing out) really only exist when you are. Make it a great Saturday!