We unwrapped our package of tradition and history, threw our plush towel over our beach chairs and positioned the umbrella to shroud us in memory making splendor. My friend Linda and I grabbed some beach time and in old friend fashion played follow the dotes from one story to the next. With the same cadence and style our conversations typically go, we filled in blanks, shared updates on our tangential “so and so’s and left no beach shell uncovered. We offer friendly advice and hope our slant on things is incorporated in decisions that affect a change or two. One of those opaque and miasmic sentences, perhaps, but she’ll get it. Our only pause for air was sharing a turkey wrap, as we marveled at the glorious day we were sharing. This time we had an add on, a treat, a take away. Blended into the cacophony of the sounds of the water hitting the shore and the birds chirping above was a group of children at play. Their mothers and grandma were sitting close by.

Now that camp is over the beach was glittered with sand castles and the smell of coppertone and Bain de soleil. We glanced over to the delightfully noisy fuss of 10 year oldish cousins playing with buckets of water. In an of course moment, two of them were vying for the same bucket. We giggled, shared a grandchild story or five and went back to adding length to our nearly 30 year relationship. 

In a can’t make that one up moment, we sipped our lemonade, ate a pretzel and were startled by the kids grandma screaming “just give him the damn bucket.”

 I quickly knew I was about to magnify the bucket and weave a take away. In the children’s song about the hole in Liza and Henry’s bucket the song describes a deadlock situation. In order to fix the hole Henry would need the straw, to cut the straw he would need an axe, to sharpen the axe he would need to wet the stone, to wet the stone he would need the water in the bucket that had the hole. Phew! 

So just for today (through the red colored lense upon request when I had my cataract fixed) I say “let’s put our right foot in, take our right foot out and shake it all about. Then lets do the hokey pokey, turn ourselves around cause that’s what it’s all about.”Life can be a Beach. One day at a time!

Dear Mr. Berlin – We sat last evening and listened to the lyrics and music you wrote in the beginning of the century. We learned of two of your favorite songs and we agree. The opening song and closing were our timely take always. We stood for the last song, hands over our hearts and sang along. And I quote…
How Deep is the ocean?–
How much do I love you
I’ll tell you no lie
How deep is the ocean
How high is the sky
How many times in a day
Do I think of you
How many roses are
Sprinkled with dew
How far would I travel
Just to be where you are
How far is the journey
From here to a star
And if I ever lost you
How much would I cry
How deep is the ocean
How high is the sky?

G-d Bless America

G-d bless America, land that I love
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with the light from above
From the mountains to the prairies
To the oceans white with foam
G-d bless America, my home sweet home
From the mountains to the prairies
To the oceans white with foam
G-d bless America, my home sweet home
G-d bless America, my home sweet home

So Irving if you could pen us a tune now would you consider writing about how beautiful America was when the political arena was center stage strong and not back alley horrific. 

Assigned Seats!AUGUST 14, 2016 ~ AROSEBYANYOTHERNAME2016

The risk that we would not go through life as sisters, cousins, friends was always there. Small risk as “family” is supposed to be the everything destination. When actions thunder louder than words we pick up our Barbie Dolls and go home. We threw the spaghetti against the wall. Some pieces stuck, as were the odds, the rest fell to the floor. Hold on to the pieces that stuck- make a sauce and spread it over the pieces we can claim as ours.We learn who our friends are quickly through joy and tragedy. We get confused when people behave differently than we have when the tables were turned. Expectations get us into trouble. Reality is a hard pill to swallow. So we lick our hopefully not too deep wounds and find a seat that is always waiting at the right table.
We hold no grudges as it takes away from our pleasure. We learn the hard lesson of lose in places where winning was a close given. Embracing knowledge is no easier through hard lessons learned just more precious. We are apt not to make the same mistake again. Adage strong- “Don’t go to the butcher if you want flowers.”

Have a seat in the waiting room, it’s time to wash the last of the blueberries. Not being one who takes to endings well I’m scrapping the bottom of the barrel for the last few beach passes and squeezing the last of the SPF-45 sun block tube. We ate the best of the peaches and honeydew. Had as much Carvel as our summer, svelte mindset allowed. So we browse through the sweater dept. at Bloomy’s, but put off purchasing a new fall handbag. Really now, we haven’t cleaned the sand out of the straw bag that houses our beach gear. 

The puzzle on the dining room table that sits in a prominent spot is filling in nicely. Love the laser beam focus on the boys faces while assembling the bricks and building the ultimate Batmobile lego. 

We are not yet ready to close shop on Colonel Mustard, or Mrs. Peacock in the library. At least not until the tattoo stamp on our hand wears out from our last trip to Rye Playland. 

Keep on holding on as the Zinnias are in full bloom, the Shishito Peppers are in abundance at the farmers market and we  can simultaneously get a discount on our favorite pair of thongs and replace our worn out white jeans. 

So with Iced coffee, and al fresco dinners in tact we will go into the water, indulge in a couple of extra well done hot dogs and use a second slab of butter on our piece of corn. Just for today let’s leave the new pashmina wrapped, and not open the latest Amazon Prime delivery marked “don’t open till after Labor Day.” Make it a fab Friday. 

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!

Staying connected to our souls as the Saturday mid-summer goal. With adventures displayed daily through the eye of photo shop on Instagram and Facebook, we travel guide through someone else’s life-at the moment. As the carpe diem magnet stares back at us from our refrigerator door we scroll and scroll some more. Daily pictures of growing (up) vegetables on the terrace and strangers newly painted front door become as routine as the morning paper and orange juice. The flowers in Lady X’s garden or the smile  on Mr. B’s grandchildren’s visiting day faces have replaced “All My Children and our voyeuristic interest in Erica’s choice for an eighth husband. So when your grandchild returns from camp, comes over for Legos and Lunch and says -” I love being here so much, it feels like I never left,” you take it as a defining moment to log out of anyone else’s newly painted front door and walk through your own with your head high and your smile big. Run on sentence quota not filled. Grass greener seekers need not apply. Do it up Saturday!

I am Wonder Woman. I wonder how time flies more quickly as an adult. It seems as if watermelon and new white sneaker season lasted ad infinitum. Brand new blue loose leaf folders, colored tabs to divide social studies from algebra and colorful pencil holders already? Do you remember new commercials for Fall tv shows advertised in July? Did Ginsburgs and Wechslers sport alpacas and madras blouses second week in July? Help me out on this one Julia’s . Did the street lights go on so much earlier in the summer then they do now? Father Time slow down dude we need to take a breath. I wonder when self help books turned into “recalibrating the soul” GPS style. If you don’t say that this could happen, if you do this perhaps a better outcome. No one taught us life on lifes terms when they waited to pay for our new dress to wear to Temple for the holidays. We now speed dial our way to becoming more evolved. Hot rock massages, bikram yoga and acupressure lead the way to mojitos, Guacamole toast and red velvet cupcakes. 

I wonder where the days of climbing the monkey bars, wearing very tight white rubber bathing caps to ward off the chlorine effects when we swam and ring dings went? 

If the line was busy you called your friend back to tell her about the new colored bangle bracelet you got and how well dressed your Barbie will be the next time she comes over to play. 

So as the Sunday before August rears it’s head why not “turn the beat around and “stop thinking about tomorrow,”- hey look how far it got us. I think I’ll i tune my way through the half an hour on the treadmill, eat my half of everything bagel with scallion cream cheese and “let the memories live again.” Only this time I’ll sing along as Frankie Valli croons late December back in “63” in my ear. Make it a good one “peeps.” “Oh what a night.”

Unapologetic and ambitious with a rich inner self. The parlance of my inner voice often gets out bid by insecurity, self blame and a low sense of worth. Well you know what-with a mustering up of strength and determination I move to say “look the other way mamala,” kick the crap out of those random flies at Your picnic in life. Let’s do it Monday!

Mah Jongg My Mother’s Game?So many of the old adages are now living at my front door. Cliches that I never got, couldnt internalize or just wasnt ready for have now come into play with regularity. Fortuitously, they serve as the bettor at our Mah-jongg table. More forgiving and grateful, less verbalizing differences seems to be our new posture. We sit down and the magic occurs. First game out we adjust our seat, call on our strategy and throw “the dice.” We leave so much more to chance. No more rebuffing what is, just fact and acceptance feel like the right path to take. We flinch at the first interference in our game of Life–and in turn almost welcome it. A phone call from someone’s kid sharing the joy over their daughter’s ballet recital is typical. An interruption because the deocrator went to the wrong place, perhaps. The bell ringing when the handyman comes to prepare the terrace for planting. We pool our woes and share our joys. Are we lucky or have we turned happenstance into “sheer” delight?

My parents had an activity with their weekly group of couples called “Coffee and…” I am now getting that the “and” was so much more than cheese danish or chocolate babka.

I love our “and.” When I was younger and had a piece of chicken. I would eat the wings last. I savored the best for then. I now sit down to our chicken lunch and go for the wings first. I decided it’s because I cant wait to get back to what we came for. I know that the real reason I enjoy this activity is because it recapitulates my parents activity of continuity. Well here’s to so many more days of Mah Jongg “And.”

I woke up had oatmeal and was 65. The good times like the bouncing dots of a text message being replied to have flown by. Luckily, I have built a lovely little corner for them in the attic of my mind. They are always there to call upon. Reliable, friendly and filled with warmth. Haven’t you read a book twice? You know what’s coming, but for the race of your heart and the a-ha moments that gentle recapitulation offers. The cost of admission worth every penny heads up that I’ve saved to gain entrance. Through very little provocation I tap into them. I share the euphoric recall thru a posted picture that I carry with me in my eyes only. That one moment in time that brought pink to my cheeks, that offered a glow to last a lifetime. Her look, his smile like a first kiss, daring and passionate. A job well done and a memory worth the wait. And then, like the fleeting moment of the Robin Red Breast sitting upon your lawn who just stopped to announce Spring it goes.Luckily a new day to create a new moment. Polaroid that feeling  that lunch with your old friend’s offers. Document the look on a young child’s face when they jump into a cool swimming pool on a hot summer day. Today I will steal a glimpse when my #niecestopieces bites into her “Instant Heart Attack” with turkey sandwich from the Second Avenue Deli.. Don’t worry that picture is all mine! Make a memory today that will last a lifetime.