You know there are 6 more weeks in Boca. So whad ya do this week-end? This musing is inspired by Brad Zimmerman. And just who is this Brad guy? Here goes. A sixty something, in great shape guy whose claim to fame is that he opened for Joan Rivers in Atlantic City, before the days of progressive wheel of fortune slots. Love those! (Shout out to Robo.) He’s a New Jersey guy, way of New York, schmoozing his way on Florida stages. Joan Rivers one- liner to him was and I quote ” you are the funniest comic I ever worked with in your price range.” We laughed and then we cried through the evening. He is still waiting for his career to amount to more than bupkes. Also, if his girlfriend Amy from high school gets divorced perhaps he’ll marry her. A Zuchen Vey. Brad’s stereotypical Jewish mother is still giving him “what for’s.” How lucky to still have her nudging him and reminding him he’s not a shmendrik. Her question to him now, ” so when are you going to get off the stage and give me a grandchild? We left after 90 minutes, no intermission, yes we used the facilities beforehand. I kept thinking on our way to get some key lime pie and a nite cap, if only he went into his father’s furniture business he might not being standing alone on a small stage in Palm Beach Gardens. His spiel was audible when the forced A/C wasn’t noisy. Vayismir. Getting to the theater a bit of a gantseh magilla- but not to worry, we don’t shivtz the small stuff. 

It was a humor filled, delightful evening. His shtick had a cute gimmick. The evening was so provactive of our days of growing up with similar hand me downs. I can’t type fast enough, I could plotz.

Earlier in the day we spaetzered around The West Palm Beach Antique Fair. 

You shouldn’t know from the thrill-big, huge. With every piece of schmutz on every amber glass bowl our endorphins rose to sea level. We sifted through the tchatchkes, the thigamabobs and the doodads. If you haven’t left me yet it’s over soon enough. Trust me, oy. We bought a few things, you’ll see below. 

And then we knew we arrived –over the free, fluffy marble cake samples placed in front of us at Flakowitz. Uh, the look on my husband’s face priceless. His favorite and free. Does it get better? Ok, listen up. We had a Flagel and a schmear and we were off. We were on our way to play pickle ball with that new couple we met on line at Costco. I don’t, know, maybe, could be the early bird’s shadow portends to more then 6 weeks in La-la land. I’ll get back to you later. 

The canteen at camp and away we go.. Money is deposited at the start of camp and your account begins. Lifetime memory with a message in a bottle. The sensation of walking over to choose licorice, a new Spaulding or chips is alive and well in the present. Our first bank account, a lesson in finance and counting numbers. 

Fast forward to double digits, counting 7’s and yes that 8 card fit. Reinvent words that compliments these days of wine and roses. Well here we go, Silly Seniors, card room cuties, lucky ladies, the wonder-full years. ” Someday we’ll build a home- On a hilltop high, you and I- Shiny and new, a cottage that two can fill. And we’ll be pleased to be called- “The folks who live on the hill.” Lyrics and music by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein. 

We came down to our winter place in the sun and fell into a “what does today have to offer” routine. We are back in camp. “Forget your troubles, come on get happy. What are you waiting for? The “will I be accepted, included, liked, asked back into the tennis game are recapitulated. We live  the emotions of being a 10 year old when cliques strong first came into play  The cool kids, hippies, artsy intellectuals, goody two shoes, girly girls (hello Elle Woods.) Primordial lessons continue -now carried on through Lena Dunham and her brilliance played out in “Girls” Next week is the beginning of the end of the series I watched with so many mixed emotions. I was thrilled as I followed the story of a young quartet of metropolitan women. I laughed through their hyper-entitled predicaments. Cried at the naivety and pain of broken dates, broken hearts. Lena, look after so many years I presume a first name basis, brought emotionally bone chilling experiences to the front of the screen weekly. 

Fast forward to the winter of our lives and how the fine line between comedy and drama is permeable. So for today, I choose the comedy part of the deal. I will walk the beach, pick up the new seashell that nearly pierced the bottom of my foot and save it for the shell framed mirror I will make with our granddaughter on our visit home. Can you say Golden?

For Florida winters – a.k.a Black Beauty’s – nyc gal washed to shore. Last seen floating on her own body weight. Dinner overdose – Stomach contents revealed flat breads, conglomeration of happy hour pigs in blanket, breaded mushroom caps and fro yo- Her husband’s statement revealed she never heard the expression fro-yo before wintering in Florida. 

When the weight of my tool belt is weighing me down I “buckle.” Well not this time Mr. You are Not My President. We watched Ashton Kutcher open the Sag Award Show with well deserved political rhetoric, for one and all. The  award show was laced with cringing words of anger and sadness. Uncle Sam represented a manifestation of patriotic emotion. We will stand with him. “Your way” ok you nasty, hostility filled, sitting on a pile of crap, dysfunctional despot we don’t believe in you. Agree to disagree, ya think? I believe I got my point across, I can go on. Move over cause we will protest our way through the next four years. We know too well bullies in back alleys don’t let go easily. One more punch, one more try. If you’re bated you throw a harder hit and scream to get your point of view across. We will let you believe you’re winning and when your not looking and through elongated opposition something, just one thing, will trip you up and then, just then we will take our bloody weapons, walk away with beaded, sweaty brows and go home where we “all” belong. Run on sentence, my specialty. We are the land of the free because of the brave. Yes, you won this election you won’t steal our hearts. 

The 8 ball- eight card fit- eight hands playing at the table – 8 is enough- Dinner at 8- 18 is chai – 18th Bettie Ann’s b-day. Eight heart stealing Gomberg kids. 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!

Sitting at the corner of acceptance and denial. “He who is without sin cast the first stone.” Whoever doesn’t have clay feet walk across the burning stones and prove it. Two steps…

Source: Pinky Swear

Sitting at the corner of acceptance and denial. “He who is without sin cast the first stone.” Whoever doesn’t have clay feet walk across the burning stones and prove it.

Two steps forward -“G-d grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.”

We sat around the pool and watched as the kids frolicked and then emerged after a very long time with prune like fingers. There were a group of kids that intermixed with another group of… so do you want to play? Can you come outside and hit the ball? We watched as one of the young girls seemed to be the organizer, making sure no one was left out. “An old soul is not an old soul by virtue of age, but for their patience, self-measure and happy tears for no apparent reason.” TUT– 

Are you going out for cheerleading? What sorority did you pledge? Do you want to come to my dinner party? We need a fourth for canasta are you free on Tuesday? Schoolmates, summer camp friends, seasonal club friends, and the precious bff’s. 

Three’s a crowd. Special time- one on one. Table for two. Two couples easier than three over vodka and French fries. Intimate dinner party versus a room filled with blank, interchangeable faces. Special grandchild time- hey how bout the Museum of Natural History? The craft store, let’s do it. You want a 10 color manicure- consider it done. A pile of mail and you open the big invitation envelope with tracing paper in between, first. Being included, not being left out, being desired, loved and cherished. When the two of us, alone know the words to our song. Love those special friends. 

Please come back, that was really fun. Mi casa es su casa. “All we want to do is have some fun. Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Blvd.” Thanks Sheryl Crow. We needed that.

Hello Muddah,

hello Fadduh, Here I am at Camp Flor-ah-da

It’s not so entertaining

and 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, I hate Camp Flor-ah-da

Don’t leave me, at the casino -someone next to me forgot their beano

Take me home please and I promise -I will not make noise or mess the house with dappers (bingo)

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

Wait a minute, it stopped raining

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

Went to see Bye Bye Birdie and guess what I ran into Aunt Gertie

So for right now, hold it a minute -Cause I think I might get right in it.

I will write you some time later – if I don’t run into an alli-gator!!

Dear cancer- one day recently you stepped your way into our family. It was hard, it was strong and oh so deliberate. You flirted with us for years via one of your carriers a.k.a. BRCA 1- well now you went just too far. Re- think this deal. Take a second, third and fourth look over your shoulder and get ready for the fight of your life. Yes, we are scared, certainly we worry that your force and your power as we have heard is something to reckon with big time. You reared your disgusting head a little too close to our home. In fact you came in when we weren’t looking and you tried to steal our joy and rob us of our well being. We’ll get a grip, hold on tight because this time you reached the wrong family and by far the strongest one of all. Our force, our strength our guiding light takes no punch lightly. Get prepared to go back where you came from lesser than and shred to pieces. 

Yes, we went through angry, sad, denial and a hundred million more conflicting emotions. One thing you should know, in fact- the #strongertogether Bettie Ann spoke of when you were listening from the door you broke into means just that. The fight has begun. Our dear, wonderful Ali will stand up in front and because of your reputation as a dirty fighter take the long, hard, grueling punch, but not for long. We hear you aren’t shy. Well you haven’t seen the likes of this lady you sunk your dirty claws into. All the while we are right here collectively. We will stare you down, spit in your eye and stab you in your heart. The only propping up she will need is when you think you are winning. Wrong home, wrong person. When your punch is the hardest you can give we will get her back up and reposition her for combat. Also bitch while you do a 180 when you’ve had your way with her and turn away from our house- drop dead as you leave. Take a hike out of this universe and never pick on someone that believes in magic. You lost this time bud.

“Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if they’re cloudy or bright, but I only have eyes for you.”- Meryl. Haters gonna hate, but they couldn’t possible debate her take on The Mistake, a.k.a. President. Disable App? If only.  Ok Borowitz take over from here.