A -my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al, we come from Alabama and we sell Apples. As I open the cupboard on memories, bouncing a Spaulding as we sang the A my name is Alice rhyme, lifting our leg over the ball with each bounce was an all time great walk around the corner and under a tree. A veritable, primordial work out and creative singing lesson all in one. My sister Bettie Ann and I grew up together and hung with the girls on the block. We stopped playing and walked home for our tuna sandwich or the treat of salami on rye, only made better with the delicious taste of mustard. After lunch we would walk around the corner to the all purpose grocery store. I can vividly see the barrel of pickles prominently sitting next to the left of the front door. We would use part of our allowance to buy candy. Our first go to was a stripped pixy stick, a straw filled with lik-m-aid. For those in the know it’s a tasty sugary retrospective in time. The original version of Fun Dip. We would then mosey over to the red licorice and marshmallow peeps. At Halloween the chicks turned into orange faced pumpkins. Fast forward 55 years. It’s 6:00 A.M. Time to put up the coffee, my turn to “make the donuts.” I woke up salivating for a piece of my past, inside that grocery store. My sister Bettie Ann and I would bring our bag of goodies up to the counter. The man would take the pencil he harbored behind his ear and tally up our treats. 

With our visual bounty in hand we would skip our way home and unveil the contents, perhaps trade a piece or two. 

Our afternoon was often consumed through adventures with Dick and Jane, The Bobbsey Twins or figuring out if Nancy Drew was ever going to hook up with one of the Hardy Boys. As we felt the heat of the oven cooking sweet potatoes we knew they would soon be sitting next to the lamb chops and canned peas for our dinner. A welcomed pre- dinner activity was watching Patty Duke and her identical cousin navigate their way through high school. We often tried to distinguish the subtleties in their looks. Hmmm! I long for those days of innocence when the doctor appointments took place as we sat upon the kitchen table. The local store that sold glass bottles of milk and farmer cheese made no room on the shelf for ammunition. 

Everybody in Grovers Corners looked into the grocery store and the drugstore once a day in –Our Town by Thornton Wilder. It is with older eyes and a wiser heart that I live my life. So, for today I will reach for the red licorice after a very sour pickle and make it a good Monday. 

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.

No “Pulse” Nightclub- Orlando, Florida – Today Las VegasJUNE 13, 2016 ~ AROSEBYANYOTHERNAME2016

“That certain night , the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dining at the Ritz- “And a Nightingale Sang in Barclay Square.” Words by Eric Maschwitz, music by Manning Sherwin. The song was written in 1939 in a French fishing village Le Lavandou right before the outbreak of the Second World War. Fast forward— On a steamy week-end eve you get dressed, put on your lipstick, turn off your music and walk out the door. You look forward to debriefing the week with a friend and meeting some new friends. You’re all set to chill in a high energy, safe haven club, on your local Barclay Square- the nightingales were singing. Dry martinis, familiar faces and music you listen to at home and know every word to. A perfect design for a five-star time. One would think. And then the World According to Garp doesn’t happen. No Lin Manuel, THESE senseless acts of tragedy are what is “promised.” Our promised land nearly 70 years after World War Two- on the the doorstep of World War Three. “Praising Isis, Gunman attacks Gay Nightclub, leaving 50 dead in worst shooting on U.S.Soil”– the headline in today’s New York Times. Yes, on U.S. soil, the same dirt that has a potential presidential candidate who made this horrifically designed tragedy about him. We scream in horror, we cry in disbelief as one more lunatic walks into one more gun shop and puts down one more stolen credit card. We then pay dearly for the laws that govern the strongest nation on earth. We pray for the insane and fund them in jail after they take away our freedom of choice, as to which place to dance the night away–that takes our Life away. In concentration camp like fashion we become prisoners of the loose cannon, suicide bombers who live to die. The adage of ” do guns kill people or do people kill people” is one big oxymoron. One avenue for slaughter is people buying guns. How long is congress on sabbatical from revising laws on buying over the counter rifles in a store that houses beef jerky too? Dear G-d please look in our direction. We need our backs covered and we are willing to double down for this.

The room was comfortably full, not packed. The A/C offered a Brrr so any remnant of heat left over from Indian Summer was left outside our “four walls.”Rabbi Lookstein walked up to the podium with his particular cadence I’ve come to know through the years. I was appropriately clad in the “right” length skirt. And so the stage was set, the evening began.

I was at KJ Synagogue to hear Dr. Rabbi Ari Berman, President of Yeshiva University speak. The write up about the evening caught my eye and the kids set me up to gain entrance. He spoke on Sin, Self Perception and the Art of Living. 

The timing for me to hear this was propitious. Yes, G-d offers no coincidences. I walked away from the evening a little more fine tuned on some immediate issues that have been dealt to my extended family.

He touched on the distinction between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. He detailed the difference in prayer between looking at and embracing your sins, your misgivings and your wrongdoings. He was light on the emphasis of sins necessarily being terrible shandas worthy of punishments and more on ways we have wronged others. He moved on to the meaning of wearing white on Yom Kippur and praying for the forgiveness of the past year’s behaviors that we feel we can better. He was straightforward, his words flowed with a pleasant melody and his sincerity offered comfort. We, as Jewish people are factually in the minority. 

Our importance and roles in society however, quite the contrary. What was in the minority last night as well, were cells phones beeping, ringing or being accessed. We were there to listen, perhaps learn and be respectful of a very busy man sharing his knowledge and wisdom about keeping the peace pipe moving. L’dor V’dor. 

I left the Rabbi’s sermon feeling comfortable, embraced and that my well being was cared about by a virtual stranger, an ordained man.

In the love your neighbor category and a look after your own way, I question why it is often easier to be more kind to strangers than intimates. As a divine order play out, we are placed in positions, in families and situations that because we are “just humans” will inevitably offer conflict and need for repair. So perhaps just for today, four days short of wearing a white outfit and maybe even sneakers why not look to our left, glance to our right and say we are sorry to an intimate we may have wronged. Perhaps if we begin to own our piece of behavior we can move on in a healthy way to the sounds of cell phones ringing and beeps of texts coming in. Amen!

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 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.

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.

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.” 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 when waiting to speak with a social security representative. My take away from the book was 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 was always the same: it was like a little freeze-frame picture of his own childhood, a safe spot he could always come back to.

Nowadays freeze-framing memories and continuing traditions help keep the balance. 

So with Nora Ephron and Holden Caulfield  in mind, we will say yes to playing “I spy” in a warm waiting room, when a grandchild is there for his speech lesson and complaining about his newly acquired blue braces hurting him. Just for today be a pacer, not a miler and make it a good one!

After finding your grove and qualifying for the one last chance segment of life- sit back, don’t change the station and reap what you’ve sewn. Right before our very eyes and with no more courses in self actualization it’s there guys. The letter of acceptance may have gone into your junk mail as it’s sender was unknown. Accept the things you can not change 12 step fashion and you’ll recognize your name at the top of the program. Barry Manilow sang it – “This one’s for you wherever you are.” “You looking at me?” Remember tomorrow is only a day away according to Annie, but there really is no time like the present. Sign up for more Pilates classes, renew your subscription to Manhattan Theater Club- and kiss the sky because of one more pick-up, one more drop- off grandchild style. Make it a TGIF in style. 

What would you do if you could? As the Jewish New Year 5778-is approaching it offers a time of reflection. With the cooler days sandwiched in between Indian Summer, our tendency is to reframe our inventory. In typical fashion we move the “only if and do more”folder to the forefront. In Benjamin Button fashion if you could put a finishing glaze on your ceramic facade what parts would you smooth out first?  The front runner headline encompasses the concept of “Dreamers.” The we wish your were “fired”guy temporarily at the helm, is once again showcasing his insensitive arrogance and extreme lack of humanity through negating that “Dreams” are free. I know run on counters, I know. Hard to express loathing in a simple sentence. Worthy of a side bar your Honor.

So fast forward to dreams, wishes and make overs. As dreams really can come true I would bid on a breakfast with The Beatles. “The love you take is equal to the love you make.” Seriously one of the all time greatest quotes resonates loud and strong daily.

Ah! To have picked Einsteins brain for even just one hour. “The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.” Imagine it’s possible and it is. Perhaps taken a smokey voice lesson or two from Lauren Bacall. “You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.”

I would have listened more and talked less. Worked on relationships that offered less chemistry and more of a challenge. I see now they offered lessons in disguise in people skills. High on the list would have been to do more ego building activities, honing natural abilities. Perhaps learning sooner, it’s all an inside job. Softer ways and less hard ball goes further, indeed. Really walking  a mile in someone else’s shoes- huge lesson. So let’s add a spoonful of sugar to help swallow our pride and make it a blessed New Year. L’shana tova tikatevu. 

Once there was s girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her far head—when she was good she was very very good and when she was bad —well wait control, alt, delete as far as we were concerned she was never bad- she was our one and only, one of a kind, above all the rest, separate and apart Aunt Da. My cousin’s and I were her little girls. With two daughters and 5 nieces she had 7 little girls all in a row. We were her Madeleines, she our Miss Clavell. As we walked into the room she had her roll call – Judy Toby, Bettie Ann, Elise Meryl, Roberta Mae and Amy Renee. Her world was complete when we showed up. She loved us dearly- we loved her more.A women of few needs who exemplified the definition of a family first kind of gal. She knew us all well and took a silent vow- for better or worse, in sickness and in health till her death does she now part. It’s unfathomable that we will never hear her voice calling our name or feel her arms around our waist. She set up traditions of food and candy and never forgot a birthday card. Her one of a kind giggle surrounded us with an armor like protection. As long as she was around nothing was going to harm us. She loved her babies and regaled us with Beverly and Joyce stories with every visit. Often the same ones but we never told heard we heard that one before. She was thrilled when they married Dennis and Bob and thought of them as sons and loved them. Her indomitable strength beyond all odds makes us question any limitation that might come our way. When her grandchildren Ted, Luke and Daria were born she was over the moon and filled with joy. She beamed with pride at the mention of their names. The boys are so tall, and Daria, her Bev’s little girl – did you see the color of her eyes?-Oh my she would say. She loved it when her little girls had little girls and a boy. Amanda, Rachel, Ali, Jackie , Stacey, Ilana

and Jakey – you always put a smile on her face and added a tune to the songbook in her heart. Her normal was our “are you kidding you accomplished all that and more in your lifetime?” Bella Sophia was one of two cherries on the top of her Sundae. “That’s Jackie’s little girl, she’s so cute, she said to me. Last Sunday Roberta and I visited with her and she got to hear about and see a picture of Sadie Bea with Amanda holding her in the delivery room – she said I love this picture., So Aunt Da I’m not saying good bye – I’ll let your life be an example of how –if we could own one piece of your strength, one glimmer in your eye

and one percent of your sugar filled heart we would just about have it all. We all have been touched by the latest angel sitting prominently in the first row, first seat in the sky! If James Lipton from the actors studio were to ask Aunt Da what she would want to hear G-d say as he welcomed her at the pearly gates, we could imagine it would be “Dorothy go find your table over there where Bubby Chicken has mandel bread and apple cake freshly baked waiting for you – Uncle Morty has 6 heads of lettuce and 12 watermelons that he is surgically cutting up and Sophie has been holding your seat at her maj jongg table – Rest In Peace mamala 

James lost his first tooth- he SHOWED us. Zachary’s third tooth on the bottom is wiggly. Jack is finished with his braces and Liam’s are being adjusted before school next week. An eye for an eye. The kids are loosing their teeth and growing new ones. They’re acquiring knowledge and developing their minds. We are loosing our teeth and buying new ones. Loosing our minds- no comment. 

Grandchildren are young friends who tell it like it is, (out of the mouths of babes) and call you to task. Grandpa Ira, well, just ask them, can do no wrong. He is their Batman, Spider-Man and Governor of Good Will. The kids are the common denominator that serve to stabilize our moods and help us forget about “who the hell we are” when the going gets not so great. We are safe havens, toy boxes and full out luscious,  endless love givers.

We are never too busy and always have enough energy to synergistically create one more memory worthy time of “share” joy. Our hearts have grown softer in 8, yes 8 places. With always room for one more place at the proverbial table, we change the seasons together. We put away the beach chairs and make room for coats in our closets. Their hearts smile a little bit bigger through every hug. Just for today let’s grab those precious moments. We’ll wash the paint off the back of our hands from yesterday’s art project, put away our sandals and turn the beat around in disco like fashion. 

 Hey another day to make chicken nuggets and pasta and keep the secret recipe a secret! Make it a good Tuesday.