tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68764897279779290422024-02-20T08:25:28.426-05:00Midlife PassionsWelcome to Midlife Passions where we'll talk about topics we're passionate about--subjects that deal with our time and our place in a changing world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-79142636094099992312014-01-21T00:57:00.001-05:002014-01-27T21:31:22.385-05:00Once Upon a Time There was Loehmann’s<div class="p1">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zY2a-D9OsaXiMzCj4J3pxdG47hllvXxqH8Zvfi0H7f6bo9lxexEyqGDstTEGtsDAXqbg8QzPBMUbql3dQQQTvWUfAnFH5uIuWz5bUQuVYwqO4T8OVumZg0oTadBlEGRhAq8KI4WWuQg/s1600/Toby%2520and%2520JB%2520wedding.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zY2a-D9OsaXiMzCj4J3pxdG47hllvXxqH8Zvfi0H7f6bo9lxexEyqGDstTEGtsDAXqbg8QzPBMUbql3dQQQTvWUfAnFH5uIuWz5bUQuVYwqO4T8OVumZg0oTadBlEGRhAq8KI4WWuQg/s1600/Toby%2520and%2520JB%2520wedding.jpeg" height="320" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Getting married in my Loehmann's dress.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When I was a little girl, I was transported by my fairy godmother, (okay, by my real mother) to a magic kingdom where the chairs were gilded, the chandeliers were crystal and an enthroned empress with silver hair presided over landscape of satin and silk in every color of the rainbow. From her perch at the top of a sweep of stairs, the imperial sovereign—in a long black dress and ankle boots (it was rumored she kept cash in her bloomers)—was serenaded by a chorus of ooh, aahs and “Would you believe this price? An Oleg Cassini. Such a steal.” Sweeter music was never heard than those arias of joy, of thrilled discovery, sung soprano by customers on the sales floor of Loehmann's, the fashion emporium of my Brooklyn childhood.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Loehmann’s flagship store stood on the corner of Bedford Avenue and Sterling Place, a mecca that drew true believers in high fashion at discount prices from all five boroughs, Long Island, Westchester County and, likely, the ends of the earth. It was ruled by a former department store buyer, Frieda Loehmann who was probably a very sweet lady. But with cheeks rouged scarlet, in her mourning get-up, with a boney finger waggling at shoppers who were sloppy at re-hanging, she made for a formidable figure. A little scary. (Okay, a lot.) And then there was a place called The Back Room. How’s that for nightmare material? In fact, The Back Room was the repository of the store's most exquisite merchandise, couture clothes at everywoman prices.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Loehmann’s—which didn’t carry menswear—was no place for the hairy gender. Yes, they were allowed in, but then immediately sequestered. Husbands mostly, having driven their wives to the store, they took their rightful places in chairs clustered at the door or on the landings where they dutifully read their newspapers and tried mightily not to look at the aisles where bizarre rituals were taking place. Here, between rows of racked garments, women of all ages, sizes and shapes did quick asexual stripteases. Back then, Loehmann's provided no dressing rooms. Perhaps their absence had to do with the Judeo-Christian ethic—waste not (on curtained, mirrored cubicles), want not (room for more racks). So, right there in the aisles, in full view of each other and anyone who dared peek above the pages of his <i>New York Post</i>, women stripped down to their slips (full and half), or panties and bra or (oy!) girdles, before stepping into whatever dress or skirt looked promising. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> At age five, I sat cross-legged on the floor coloring in the book my mother brought along to occupy me, only occasionally glancing up at the show above. At eleven, when I was becoming a stranger to my own body, I found the process fascinating as I wondered which permutation of infinite variety of female I’d soon grow into. By thirteen, after a Loehmann's location, one with dressing rooms, opened on nearby Flatbush Avenue, I was beyond observing, eager to get started riffling through racks for myself. Not so fast, my mother declared. First, a few lessons. And so I was instructed in the art of good tailoring, taught to look for covered buttons, smoothly stitched seams, well placed darts. And drilled in the science of the discount. Twenty percent off? Feh! Seventy? Sold! Thus schooled, was I allowed to shop. And oh, did I shop.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At Loehmann’s I found the dress I wore on my prom date with my first boyfriend. Kelly green peu de soie, full skirt, spaghetti straps. Also, the Malcolm Starr one-shouldered floor length I slithered into for my Cousin Eddie’s wedding, and the chiffon and lace mini I danced in at my Cousin Steven’s reception. Loehmann’s produced the quintessential black dress—an Albert Nippon design—for the dream job I snagged when I returned to Manhattan after college. It was my go-to garb when I hit the town as a restaurant and theater reviewer for a New York entertainment magazine. Enshrined in my memory, it remains the most flattering piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. I met Robert Kennedy in that dress and fruged in it with Mayor John Lindsey. I was wearing it at the Rainbow Room where I’d been assigned to review the supper club’s act. Later, on the dance floor, spinning away from my date, I tripped and was caught before hitting bottom by two strong arms, attached to… a smiling Rock Hudson. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Stunning, faithful, always appropriate, it was perfection I couldn’t bear to part with, even as<i> it</i> came apart. I had it dressmaker-repaired twice. Finally my boss said, “Listen, kid, I’m giving you a raise if you promise to spend some of it on a new dress. Enough already with the Albert Nippon.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I bought my wedding dress at Loehmann’s. Not the one for my first, an elopement. For that whirlwind ceremony, I dug out of my closet a pretty, but not well made, not Loehmann's, frock. But my second, country club, wedding demanded a show stopper. After coming up empty at Baltimore’s high-end boutiques, I landed at... where else? Loehmann’s, with my daughter. Only eight years old, Amanda had an eye for quality and style. She was a natural and she spotted a white satin sheath with a triangular rhinestone-studded accent. Simple but striking. It was a dazzler. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My most recent Loehmann’s experiences took place in a store ten minutes from my Maryland home. But they didn’t begin to approach the old heart-stopping excitement of the Brooklyn phenomenon. Good, but not fabulous stuff in The Back Room. No super bargains in the rest of the store that stood in the suburban shadow of its former glory. And then, a month ago, the news came flying in from my school friends, women long out of childhood and Flatbush, but only a phone call, an email, a Facebook posting away. “OMG, Loehmann’s has filed for bankruptcy. For the third time, but now it’s for real. Stores are closing; they’re definitely going out of business.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What a shock, what a shame, what a loss, we all lamented. The end of an era. Well, maybe for them, but not quite for me. Because in my closet still hangs a rose colored swirl of a cocktail dress I bought at Loehmann’s two decades ago. Timeless. I wore it to a wedding last year. Empress Loehmann would have approved. The label? Designer, of course. And I just checked the smooth seams and the covered buttons. Unlike its source, it’s going to last forever.</span></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Do you have Loehmann's memories to share? Or, like my black go-everywhere dress, favorite garments you want to celebrate? We'd love to hear from you.</span></em></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-78229020405776020552013-12-27T09:02:00.000-05:002014-01-15T00:29:31.472-05:00The Christmas Letter<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK-BQxY3-EEcNrOqb55uTx2RPqyDSBW3H-uoKllFXgNoDaapXBeJF4hkG1jv9cFksFvhWLYSiTjPBWPaVFQbMmenojXizukGe4tHPkOpz3crzmNNhMJzQcmhpv5IIacNjgi-3GHsx9gMg/s1600/ellie+in+Christmas+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK-BQxY3-EEcNrOqb55uTx2RPqyDSBW3H-uoKllFXgNoDaapXBeJF4hkG1jv9cFksFvhWLYSiTjPBWPaVFQbMmenojXizukGe4tHPkOpz3crzmNNhMJzQcmhpv5IIacNjgi-3GHsx9gMg/s320/ellie+in+Christmas+hat.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear friends,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We just received your Christmas letter<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and are delighted to know that everyone <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is even better
than last year,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that your children are all at Harvard or Yale, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that you went to Bermuda or Barbados<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>vacation<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that the wives are all in law school, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the husbands were promoted<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and the cat is doing TV commercials.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Things here are about the same:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">chicken pox, high heating bills, and the <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lawn
furniture is rusting.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom is still trying to potty-train the youngest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dad gave up running because of shin splints.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How come adolescence is such a sullen time?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And when did grandma learn to post on YouTube?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life is as usual<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">except it is not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly there is a blaze of bright<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that is December sunset against snow,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and suddenly I know what I must write,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">which is also true and, more important, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>also right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are even better than last year,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">what with Mom taking zumba<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and Junior’s basketball scholarship<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and how the baby dances in front of the fire,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the heat curling copper ringlets on her neck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We traded that wreck of a car for a new red <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">dazzler<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and one middle-aged man <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">has met his dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life is a circle, but not at Christmas<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At Christmas, it is a perfect sphere, unseamed<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>like a silver ball<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">reflecting only joy in miraculous shimmer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Best regards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-16681069566639083052013-10-14T22:08:00.000-04:002014-01-15T00:30:31.607-05:00The Lost Ring<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">From the time of her marriage, my mother wore two thin gold circlets that served as her wedding band. After she died, my dad wore those rings on his pinky— and he was not a man for jewelry; about unostentatious as a New Yorker could get—but this was in memory of Mom. Before her passing, Dad had worn the ring given him by his parents at his Bar Mitzvah. That’s the ritual in the Jewish tradition that marks the entrance of a boy to manhood and welcomes him to participate fully in its observances. The ring had his initials WD for William Devens engraved in the gold and it originally held a small diamond that disappeared at some point, never to be replaced.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I inherited these bits of jewelry along with some other pieces, and they are—aside from my engagement ring, which is another bittersweet story—the most precious items I own. I wear the three together most days, fragments of memory wrought in gold, and think of them as talismans. I won’t fly, attend major meetings, or go to important doctors' appointments without them. I rub their surface for a blessing and am comforted by their warm glimmer in the flickering light of my parents’ memorial candles. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have slender fingers, and the two thin bands are slightly big on me but, with the ring measured for a thirteen-year-old boy sliding on last, everything seemed secure. And then a few weeks ago I glanced down at my hand and realized that, although my mom’s two bands were intact, the bar mitzvah ring, last on, was gone.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I swear I turned over every pillow, crawled under every piece of furniture, scoured every room for the lost ring. I checked the car. Traced my steps for the two previous days and made calls. All in vain. So I turned to St. Anthony, “finder of lost things.” Since an Italian friend introduced me to the good saint decades back, he’d always come through for me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Hey, Tony,” I prayed in my best Little Italy accent, “Help me, old pal. Don’t fail me now.“ But <i>nanda, rien, gornisht, </i>nothing. I was devastated. It was as if I’d lost the tangible presence of my parents. And after it occurred to me that the ring had probably slid off my finger at my condo building’s trash chute, had gone down with the plastic bags and was buried in some county dump, my heart broke a little more .</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Back story over. Fast forward to yesterday morning. A friend is celebrating her birthday next week. Now, all the closets in my apartment are walk-ins, an estrogen-driven dream. The one in the second bedroom has sufficient space, to hold—besides off-season clothing—files of birthday and other greeting cards, gift wrap organized in boxes, and ribbons and tissue paper neatly stored in a large bag. (This gift stuff obsession is also a woman thing. Men do<i> not</i> get it.) It was when I went to that bag to pull some tissue paper for my friend’s present that I saw something glitter at the bottom. And of course, there it was, the bar mitzvah ring. A tiny, shining miracle on an otherwise ordinary October day—as if any day in our short lives can be counted as ordinary.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Have you ever recovered something long after you’d given up hope of finding it? Or maybe you discovered a lost object in an unexpected place. We’ve just made it much easier for you to tell us about it. Just look below my text and you’ll see the comment box. That’s it. You found it! I’d love you to try it out so that everyone can enjoy your lost-and-found stories.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Toby Devens</span></i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-87737635996677482122013-09-03T17:48:00.000-04:002013-09-03T17:48:13.586-04:00Midlife Love <div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My new novel <i>Happy Any Day Now</i> deals with a lead character approaching her fiftieth birthday who gets caught up in—among family twists and career turns—the complexities of middle aged love. And in Judith Soo Jin Raphael’s case, that’s a problem X 2.</span></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnWOGtr6706kq5Lb5KiRQcbNfgXukSNbaVBmpfkvByywAT2QYymHyAJHoM2h_6FtjEwVG_vg_vtuShVSb0plo_l7uvpwASo9YIHg0DV7gAuCnL174D7WTVnIAkt8sL3njX6wO1Iuc7KM/s1600/yona-portrait2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnWOGtr6706kq5Lb5KiRQcbNfgXukSNbaVBmpfkvByywAT2QYymHyAJHoM2h_6FtjEwVG_vg_vtuShVSb0plo_l7uvpwASo9YIHg0DV7gAuCnL174D7WTVnIAkt8sL3njX6wO1Iuc7KM/s200/yona-portrait2.jpg" width="133" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Guest blogger Yona Zeldis<br /> McDonough</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1"><i>My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet)</i>—my preceding novel—showcases a trio of bright and sassy women who find themselves single and ready for adventures in their fifties. But I’m far from the only author exploring the interesting topic of love seasoned by experience, sometimes soured by heartache, but always leavened with hope. <b>Yona Zeldis McDonough</b> is a talented practitioner of telling tales (30 or so years) out of school. She’s my guest blogger this week and she’s going to chat about her most recent novel, <i>Two of a Kind</i> (out today!) and the promise and perils of that midlife miracle called “love.” —</span><span class="s2">Toby </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Here’s Yona:</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6U4uL22YbUTpkdBiosmWr-Jvjhko38gH_lrKZnVUDolLuQjAfn78df9QGERlYGIPRSWMAc04erMqxhETfOQqZ-i0AiqzK_3GeuRLH-3CvL4xPHFG_f8fpaaa66dHYxykT5Zr8eiKpmA/s1600/two_of_a_kindcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6U4uL22YbUTpkdBiosmWr-Jvjhko38gH_lrKZnVUDolLuQjAfn78df9QGERlYGIPRSWMAc04erMqxhETfOQqZ-i0AiqzK_3GeuRLH-3CvL4xPHFG_f8fpaaa66dHYxykT5Zr8eiKpmA/s320/two_of_a_kindcover.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Yona's latest novel <i>Two of a Kind </i>is </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">out today.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Young lovers approach each other with open and unencumbered arms; there are no strings, no baggage, no complicated back stories with which to contend. But middle-aged lovers approach each other with a truckload of emotional freight. If young love is a tabula rasa, then middle-aged love is a blackboard covered entirely in chalk. And it was middle-aged love that I set out to explore in my new novel,<i> Two of a Kind.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My two protagonists, Dr. Andy Stern and interior designer Christina Connelly, are in their forties when they meet at a wedding. They take an instant and immediate dislike to one another: she thinks he’s boorish and brash; he finds her frosty and aloof. But because he needs his apartment redone and has heard rave reviews of her work, and she needs the money, these two mismatched individuals find themselves getting to know each other better—and then falling in love. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It turns out that falling in love is the easy part; it’s<i> staying</i> in love that’s tough. There are differences in religion (he’s Jewish, she’s a lapsed Catholic) and differences in style (he’s loud, bossy and opinionated; she’s reserved and reflective). They each have experienced the death of a spouse—hers in a fire, his from ovarian cancer—and continue to compare each other to the partners they loved and lost. They have kids who have to be incorporated into whatever unit they try to build for themselves, and those kids certainly aren’t making things any easier. And Andy has the archetypal Jewish mother whose reaction to this union is less than ecstatic. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But Andy and Christina persevere and it is the unfolding of their relationship, the push and pull of intimacy and fear, attraction and avoidance that became my focus in this novel. I had never charted a middle-aged relationship with all its fits and starts before, and I found I liked the process, perhaps because it dovetailed with the middle-age moment in my own life. While I am happily married and relieved that I don’t have to deal with the dating scene, I could really imagine the difficulties that would face me if I did. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe because I am middle-aged, I sympathized and empathized with my characters, both their desire for connection but also their fear of being wounded. And the events that help them overcome the fear were as surprising to me as they were to them. It was wonderful to find out that even middle-aged lovers—and writers—are still capable of being surprised now and then. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Read more about Yona and her new book at: <a href="http://www.yonazeldismcdonough.com/">http://www.yonazeldismcdonough.com/</a></span></i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-47502394396797278612013-07-15T10:38:00.000-04:002013-07-15T10:38:11.426-04:00A Book on the Brink...and Other Updates
<o:p> </o:p><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*A major giveaway of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</i>
is up and running on the review site Goodreads. Click on over to <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/58758-happy-any-day-now" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Goodreads </span></a>and enter to win one of
twenty-five copies of the book. It's a great place to
check out reader comments about all the latest releases. And you can post reviews
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your </i>favorites.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNFWf_92ZOo1dbs99FfPTuElqgE9wGIBJ9ju7XiXXTOC23UAx7GfRjq7_fayHYCbetVbuQ5wWQyVt_n5vMq0q4vqKhEBNr-I6U1Wcl4fQnEtEanRC3gXqKBRa4wTpEsudYgy2TE5M7XGy/s1600/Donna+Postel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNFWf_92ZOo1dbs99FfPTuElqgE9wGIBJ9ju7XiXXTOC23UAx7GfRjq7_fayHYCbetVbuQ5wWQyVt_n5vMq0q4vqKhEBNr-I6U1Wcl4fQnEtEanRC3gXqKBRa4wTpEsudYgy2TE5M7XGy/s200/Donna+Postel.jpg" width="178" /></a><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*On another front, I’m thrilled
to let you know that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</i> will be out as an audio book, produced by Tantor Media and
narrated by Donna Postel. Y</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ou’ll probably recognize Donna’s engagingly
warm voice from the thousands of commercials she’s done and the many audio
books she’s recorded. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In a recent email to me, she wrote: “</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I finished
recording today, which is normally a cause for celebration, but I just didn't
want this one to end!” I can hardly wait to hear the story read aloud by
this wonderful voice-over actress. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*Also, a reminder that as
we head to the August 6<sup>th </sup>pub date, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now </i>is
currently available for pre-order at online booksellers (there are hotlinks to
a slew of them on my website 's <a href="http://www.tobydevens.com/" target="_blank">homepage)</a> and in traditional
“brick and mortar” bookstores. Readers can choose from a smorgasbord of formats: trade
paperback for those of us who still like to turn pages, electronically for
e-readers such as Kindle and Nook, plus the aforementioned audio book, and in
MP3 for download. Whatever the device, there should be version designed for it.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*My heartfelt thanks to <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Romantic Times </span></em>for<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></em>awarding <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</i>
four stars in its "mainstream fiction" category. <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RT</span></em>'s advance review says,
“This humorous tale of love and life...will have you laughing one minute and
tearing up the next.” And no, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HADN</i> is not
a romance novel, but love always plays an important role in my characters’ lives,
and with two flawed but fascinating men vying for her attention,
Judith Soo Jin Raphael gets caught up in a sizzling triangle
that rewrites her past and threatens her future. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*Sometimes you need to take a break from writing and move to something that's also creatively satisfying, but high in calories. My most recent bout of cooking fever
was inspired by two books. Last January, I fell in love with and blogged about Erica Bauermeister's <em>The School of Essential Ingredients </em><a href="http://midlifepassions.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html" target="_blank"><em>http://midlifepassions.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html</em></a><em> </em>Now, its luscious sequel, <em>The Lost Art of</em> <em>Mixing</em>, propelled me back into the kitchen, and Nancy Baggett's <em>All-American Dessert</em></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<em>Book</em> provided the recipe for a summer fruit cobbler (visit Nancy's blog <a href="http://www.kitchenlane.com/"><span style="color: blue;"></span></a><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.kitchenlane.com/)that">http://www.kitchenlane.com/</a></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null">)that</a> was a sweet hit at a dinner party this weekend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*Finally, I love talking
about <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Happy Any Day Now</span></em>--the
book's characters, plot and themes, how I came to write the
story (a grandmother I never met and a cousin I hardly knew were
major inspirations), and the joy and pain associated
with creating a novel. My calendar is starting to fill, so if you're
interested in having me speak to your organization, book club or
group, drop me a line at <a href="mailto:midlifepassions@gmail.com"><span style="color: blue;">midlifepassions</span></a><a href="mailto:midlifepassions@gmail.com"><span style="color: blue;">@gmail.com</span></a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And I always enjoy hearing <em>from
you</em> and <em>about you</em> on this blog. </span><br />
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<u></u>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-20678138733463620152013-06-10T13:38:00.000-04:002013-06-10T19:03:16.198-04:00The Two Minute Audition<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Tuesday, I was in New York City for an audition before the Jewish Book Council's Author Network. The JBC is a godsend of an organization for authors who want to get the word out about their books. Here's what the network does. From their website: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="PT-BR" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"The JBC Network is designed to benefit communities that offer Jewish book programs and the authors of Jewish-interest books. The JBC Network—with over 100 member organizations across North America, including JCCs, synagogues, Hillels, Jewish Federations, and cultural centers—gives approximately 200 authors a platform for sharing their books each year. The program connects authors with their readers and promotes Jewish culture through Jewish book events."</span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="PT-BR" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i> </div>
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<span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was one of sixty writers as I presented my new book, <em>Happy Any Day Now</em>, to an audience of movers and shakers from Jewish communities across the continent. If we did well and matched their needs, we'd be invited to speak to their groups back home.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, all of you who know me either personally or electronically (sounds like Elsa Lanchester in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bride of Frankenstein</i>, no?) are aware that I love to talk about my books. As I create them, I fall in love with my characters and their stories. My theory is that passion in all its forms is contagious. Therefore, if I'm crazy about my lead character, Judith Soo Jin Raphael, you'll be panting to meet her and hear about how this half Korean, half Jewish, poor, fatherless kid with her nose pressed against the window plays out her desire to become a real American, a happy insider. If I get her hilarious and wise Korean immigrant mother down right, if I draw an irresistible picture of her rascal of a father returning after an absence of decades, if I capture her Australian boyfriend and his rival, Judith's former lover, who's haunted her memory for decades and materializes just in time for her fiftieth birthday, if I make everything come alive, you'll be equally captivated. I can talk about my book for an easy twenty minutes, an easier forty, thrilled to introduce you to my latest literary cast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFJ-WqPIXFYCeCITfELYEM9FkPPQUKwxfLIK7G_34YAKmG8VejIyuO3yrIWNg0KrKpaUgU5xv2MGWA7yJIIvebv87IouiwMEvvg4H-xlebGc4KU_gbOY4MGEDfB5JMvFM-w5jmD6Lta_P/s1600/Medal+Public+Speaking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFJ-WqPIXFYCeCITfELYEM9FkPPQUKwxfLIK7G_34YAKmG8VejIyuO3yrIWNg0KrKpaUgU5xv2MGWA7yJIIvebv87IouiwMEvvg4H-xlebGc4KU_gbOY4MGEDfB5JMvFM-w5jmD6Lta_P/s1600/Medal+Public+Speaking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFJ-WqPIXFYCeCITfELYEM9FkPPQUKwxfLIK7G_34YAKmG8VejIyuO3yrIWNg0KrKpaUgU5xv2MGWA7yJIIvebv87IouiwMEvvg4H-xlebGc4KU_gbOY4MGEDfB5JMvFM-w5jmD6Lta_P/s1600/Medal+Public+Speaking.jpg" /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the name of full disclosure, I should tell you that in junior high school I was awarded first place in a public speaking contest for my rendition of Lewis Carroll's poem, "Father William." To this day, I have friends who might not remember what they ate for breakfast, but still vividly recall my stroking an imaginary beard as I intoned, “’In my youth,’ said the sage...”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worse still: in high school I was voted a Senior Celeb. Not "Class Cutie" or "Girl Most Likely to Succeed," but "Class Orator." The only thing that saved me from terminal geekiness was that I was also an Erasmus Hall Booster, the equivalent of cheerleader, probably because my voice had been groomed to booming by my reading bible verses aloud on stage every Friday at chapel (my public school had been founded by the Dutch Reformed Church and did its own thing). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I have a history of actually relishing "public speaking." Which, according to an old, perhaps apocryphal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">National Enquirer</i> survey, topped "death" as its readers' most feared experience. All this to make clear that the thought of getting up before a hundred or more people to talk about my book didn't faze me. I looked forward to it. Except—here's the kicker—the JBC gives you only two minutes for your "elevator pitch." One hundred and twenty seconds. It takes me longer than two minutes to clear my throat and that's the time I had to present a book over which I’d labored for years.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And yet...two minutes is actually a genius idea because, like writing poetry, a constraint of time or space forces you to reduce an idea to its essence. And, more practically, it's the only way the JBC can get through 200 authors in three days. To its credit, the organization provided each of us a coach, who guided us through the process of getting our talks in shape. Joyce was remarkable. She made suggestions. She timed me. She helped me edit. She cheered me on. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="PT-BR" style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so, last Tuesday, in a large, well appointed room, I heard about books that featured a Jewish Superman, gay marriage, Hollywood in the thirties, a novel about Anne Frank's sister, a hard boiled LA mystery, some memoirs, coffee table tomes, and how-to's. Jewish and non-Jewish authors, young and old, strode to the mike and delivered the goods while a gracious woman held up posters that let them know how much of their precious two minutes they had left. Then it was my turn. As I absorbed the real meaning of Einstein's theory of relativity in terms of two minutes—hand on hot stove, long; lover's embrace, short—I gave it my all. Was it my finest hour? Well, of course not. My finest two minutes? Only time, that thief, will tell. But it was a challenge and an adventure. And, wow, was it fun!</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-86707783454478145722013-03-16T11:49:00.001-04:002013-03-16T22:56:02.057-04:00The Next Big Thing! An Interview About My Next Book<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">The Next Big Thing</span></em><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
</b>is an author
interview series currently generating lots of buzz for its inside look into how
writers, working in a variety of genres, create their best work. <span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">My
special thanks to <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><strong>Becki Melchione</strong> who</span>, <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">along with</span><strong>
</strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><strong>Lauren Eisenberg Davis,</strong> invited me
to participate and provided the questions</span><strong>.</strong> You
can see Becki’s interview about her book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Practice
Radical Hope: Motherhood After Cancer </i>at: </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://www.beckimelchione.com/blog" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">www.beckimelchione.com/blog</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now, although I’ve never been taller than 5‘ 3” in my
life,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it’s my turn to be The Next Big
Thing!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6af-2D_kJ3E_DCMvY2Y4F9eIApdfZZidtXIYkTrLAFYma8tBJRm-DRAwWyESUi4MWVdkIDmdMZdAd23gBkLQgCJbWhir9YCM4w8d6Mg8fifZhh4BWrv2Bt2Z-uDMa5_aLS7E3ht9v_adL/s1600/at+B+and+N+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6af-2D_kJ3E_DCMvY2Y4F9eIApdfZZidtXIYkTrLAFYma8tBJRm-DRAwWyESUi4MWVdkIDmdMZdAd23gBkLQgCJbWhir9YCM4w8d6Mg8fifZhh4BWrv2Bt2Z-uDMa5_aLS7E3ht9v_adL/s320/at+B+and+N+two.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seeing Midlife Crisis on the bookstore shelf</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> for the first time was a major thrill!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1. What is
the working title of your book?</span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My new novel is called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy
Any Day Now. </i><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2. What genre
does your book fall under?</span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s considered mainstream women’s fiction, but I think men
will also enjoy it. My first novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet), </i>was primarily marketed to women. But I got
some wonderful,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>surprising fan mail from
men sent to my website www.tobydevens.com. Apparently, a number of XYers thought
the story—and the characters—delivered some deep insights into female behavior.
I’m amazed and also amused that many men really do think woman are a mystery
and that guys need an operating manual to figure out how we work.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">. <strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">What </span>is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?</strong></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Half-Jewish, half-Korean cellist deals with the return of
two men—one father, one boyfriend—who deserted her when she was younger and, as
a result of their reappearance, develops a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>case of
stage fright that threatens her career and her happiness. Whew! One very long,
pretty convoluted<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sentence that hardly
tells it all. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Where did the idea come from for the book?<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While doing some genealogical research, I unearthed the ship’s
manifest for my maternal grandmother who emigrated from Austria around the turn
of the century. That started me thinking about the immigrant experience which
is universal. And so Grace, a Korean war-bride, and the mother of my
protagonist was born. Judith came next, and soon we had a quorum of characters
in search of a plot.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One strong thread of that plot came from a different direction.
Having people from high school and college find me on Facebook and other
sources online, sparked the theme of loss and return. What happens when important
figures from your past suddenly barge into your present to make mischief? I had
fun exploring that theme and constructing the narrative around it.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s as close as I can get to the source of the book’s origin.
I try not to over-analyze the creative process. It’s like sleight-of-hand. You
don’t want to look too closely. My theory is: don’t mess with the magic.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5. Which actors would you choose to
play your characters in a movie rendition?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s
difficult<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to cast Judith and Grace because
there are few Asian-American actors in the spotlight. Shame. But Lucy Liu
would be perfect for Judith Soo Jin Raphael. Kathy Bates has Grace’s build and
sly sense of humor. I think Daniel Crag<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>would be spot-on as Geoff,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judith’s
big, bluff Australian boyfriend. And for Charlie, the judge who resurfaces to
shake-up her life, Bradley Cooper, but aged by ten years with some laugh lines and
a little gray in the hair. He’s got to lose the beard, though—Charles Evans
Pruitt would only wear a beard if he broke the hand that held his razor.
Cooper’s got the elegance, the intelligence, and Charlie’s electric blue eyes
that Judith finds so hypnotic. Also, as her father, that rascal Irwin—Richard
Drayfuss.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6. Will your book be self-published
or represented by an agency?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
have had an agent for my past two books—a wonderful one, Elaine English. She
handles only women’s fiction and is currently not taking on new clients. She’s been more
than an agent really; she she’s been a mentor and a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Happy Any Day</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now</i> and the book to follow will be
published by Penguin/New American Library. Pub date for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now</i> is
scheduled for this coming August. It can be pre-ordered on Amazon right now. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">’m
already working on the next novel<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a
stand-alone with a whole new cast, fresh settings, and different challenges. It’s
been fun writing so far.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript for
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</i>?<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Almost
a year. But that was the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> first</i> draft.
There were four or five more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept coming
up with ways to sharpen a plot point, add nuance to a character, prune
extraneous material. I know writers who disparage the editing process. But
that’s where the story really comes to life, in the editing. It’s the polishing
that makes it shine. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
can’t distance myself far enough to make that kind of judgment. The story is
still too fresh and the characters too present. Ask me again in five years when
I hope to have a grander perspective. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Who or what inspired you to write this
book?<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>always inspired
to write by the woman—and men—who face challenges in their lives with grace and
humor. My books have serious themes, but I’ve been told they’re LOL funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want my readers to laugh a lot and tear up
occasionally and come away feeling they’ve had a good, satisfying read. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a more personal level, when things get tough in my life,
especially in the writing aspect, I look to my daughter—my greatest
accomplishment—whose confidence in me never falters. “Just a speed bump” she
tells me, when I hit one with teeth-rattling force. Kids and grandkids<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>are inspiring. You want to make them proud,
and you want to serve as an example that creative expression is an essential part
of a rich life.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10. What
else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day
Now</i> deals with a character who’s bright, energetic, sexy, witty,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>open to new adventures—and she’s on the cusp of
fifty. Midlife and beyond can be (not to sound treacly) the beginning of your
most happy, productive, fulfilling days. I count myself as a living example of
that little bonus. After all, it's the skills I've honed and the history I've amassed that help me write books people want to read. I figure that <em>more</em> than compensates for a blaze of candles on the birthday cake.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coming Up On<strong> Next Big Thing!</strong> <em>Alan
Zendell writes that he has been a physicist, engineer, and software developer.
Later in life, he turned to writing fiction. His name is attached to three
novels, a number of short stories, and an epic novel which is currently being
serialized. His first love is science fiction, but he has a soft spot for
romance and marriage which manages to peek out of everything he writes. Alan
will discuss his well-reviewed novel, The
Portal, next Friday at </em></span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4656741.Alan_Zendell/blog" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3681c1; font-family: Calibri;">http://www.goodreads.com/<wbr></wbr>author/show/4656741.Alan_<wbr></wbr>Zendell/blog</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the meantime, I'd love to hear questions or comments about my Next Big Thing! interview.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-85669679232416412592013-03-07T22:02:00.000-05:002013-10-09T17:19:29.635-04:00What’s IN, What’s OUT—for Midlifers<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>I
was browsing the Harper’s Bazaar website for a costume detail I needed for my
novel under construction. Suddenly, up popped the magazine’s list of what’s hot
and what’s definitely <span style="color: black;">passé</span> for this spring.
It occurred to me that it was time to inaugurate this blog’s annual thumbs up/thumbs
down feature. It focuses on our generation and isn’t restricted to fashion,
though it kicks off that way. So...here are some of my personal cheers and boos
with an invitation to contribute your own.<span style="color: black;"> </span></em></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Shoes with seven inch heels. Decades
back, when (in Bass Weejuns or Doc Martens) I took to the barricades for women’s
rights, I couldn't have imagined we’d ever again be hobbled by something we chose to
wear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the 21<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> century, females are tottering back to repressive attire in what one online store markets as “slut stilettos.” Incredible. Women
of all ages unite! We've come too far to give up our soles (and our souls)</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; tab-stops: 49.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: High heels, if you elect to
wear them. But of respectable, and not dangerous, heights. My podatrist recommends high-ish heels for her patients with plantar fasciitis. Good for the arches. And I appreciate the extra height
and the shapely way my legs look in heels. But never, ever, the ankle-breakers.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> <span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots
of Jewelry Worn Simultaneously. At a reunion I recently attended, one woman had
decked herself out like a Christmas tree. She wore a thick gold
necklace, fussy earrings, a large pin, and multi bracelets and rings. What was
she thinking? Maybe she wanted to flaunt her
grown-up success to the junior high classmates who tormented her decades before,
but bling overkill does not equal revenge. Or elegance.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Statement Jewelry: One interesting or
beautiful piece (plus earrings and watch, if desired) does the trick. Too much suggests
you’re trying to distract from body parts that are not what they once were. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">3. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Phoning your kids more than once a day.
Enough already. Your children (grandchildren are another story) should no longer
be the primary focus of your life. They’re grownups with lives of their own. Give
the young’uns breathing space. Play with friends your own age who will not
inherit. They’ll actually tell you when you’re boring them to bits.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Texting
and Facebook. The kids are great about calling, so I show my gratitude by trying not to over-phone. Instead, I text with my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>daughter and daughters-in-law. In quick
exchanges, I establish that they’re wonderful (with or without communication) and
they conclude I’m thriving. When I worry about them getting home safely through
a snowstorm or just want to check out their adventures, I go to their Facebook
pages. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t even need to know I’ve
dropped by. Very CIA.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">. <span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Reading a so-so book to the very end. Certainly,
give it a chance. Some authors clear their throats, as my writer friends say, taking
a while to set up the story. Feel free to skim. If, however, by chapter three,
the book hasn’t hooked you, fuhggedboudit. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Book clubs. You’re corralled into reading
books wouldn’t normally choose. My
couples book club has done <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Art of
Fielding</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Geography of Bliss</i>,
Steve Jobs’ bio, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Unbroken.</i> We’re all
over the map. New experiences create new brain cells. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s so much fun to trade critiques. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
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<br /></div>
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Emails that contain poetic treacle
celebrating the winter of our lives. These depressing odes began pouring in on my fortieth birthday. Oh, puh-leeze. Every morning, I
wake up healthy is a renewed spring. The trick to growing older is to make each day a
year.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Emails that direct you to YouTube for doo-wop
renditions by The Platters, or Yo-Yo Ma playing the prelude from <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1. Messages from long
lost cousins. Tips about new uses for vinegar. Supposedly, you can make your nail polish application last longer if you first wipe your nails with a cotton ball soaked in distilled white vingar. Now <em>that</em> was a helpful email.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">6. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: High impact aerobics. Until two years ago, I
was taking classes with women barely out of puberty. I am very competitive; I
kept up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Problem was, my knee didn’t.
I limped into the orthopedist who said, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve got what I call scaloppini cartilage.
Pounded very thin. My dear, you have zumbaed your last zumba.” </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Aqua Zumba. You dance in a heated pool. No
pressure on the knee and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the water’s resistance
makes for a super cardio workout. So, not quite finished yet, Doc.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">7. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Procrastinating. As businessman Victor Kiam
said, “Procrastination is opportunity’s assassin.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We postpone because we’re afraid of failure.
Which brings me to my favorite quote of Kiam’s: “Even if you fall on your face,
you’re still moving forward.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brilliant.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Getting it done. I recently heard a rabbi
say to his congregation, “God can get it perfect. You’re not God. All you have
to do is get it done.” My new credo? Do it. Then edit.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">8. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Twenty-and early-thirty-something actors. So confident.
So boring. So predictable with their smooth skin and oddly named children. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Acting in the extreme. I give you Maggie
Smith and Quvenzhané Wallis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terrence
Stamp and Suraj Sharma, the boy from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Life
of Pi</i>. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">9. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">OUT</span></b>: Canasta, Rummykub, and Mexican Train.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>: Words with Friends, Kindle Scrabble, Angry
Birds, Plants vs. Zombies.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">10:<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;"> OUT</span></b>: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long-winded
Blog entries.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00b050;">IN</span></b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your own Ins and Outs. Looking forward to your sharing them.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span></div>
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-66352235464259616502013-02-13T13:27:00.000-05:002013-02-13T16:43:53.040-05:00Valentine’s Day—Bah! Humbug! or Bravo!<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">OK, Cupid! (No,
I don’t mean the dating website that caters mostly to singles still paying off
their college loans.) I’m giving two thumbs up to the Roman god of love, aka
Eros to the ancient Greeks, aka the Hallmarkian creation of angelic romantic bliss
that hovers in the air throughout the year and lands with a melodic flutter of
wings (or a resounding thud) on February 14. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Valentine’s
Day is kind of like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates. You never know what
you’re going to get until you sink your teeth into it. In the way that New
Year’s Eve is the ultimate dating night of the year—candellight, wine and a midnight kiss with your sweetie—Valentine’s Day is the <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">measure of how well you did selecting that sweetie.</span> At the end of the day, did you revel in a rich, delicious
truffle, or did you crack a tooth on an unexpected nut?</span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmyVnB5X92vEm7_AQ0W-jRQCaTQkOPrH08a2-sUQCZsgYhWjR8uDm8IltxEY5ph9sBuFnSOAdUX7P_mL3QwihzB6nad47NYVZniM0fjxBkkHc7hyphenhyphenH7vtNzCFJ4hSe0ja_B0yLjYw2h4dN/s1600/marbled4-83cropsquare72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmyVnB5X92vEm7_AQ0W-jRQCaTQkOPrH08a2-sUQCZsgYhWjR8uDm8IltxEY5ph9sBuFnSOAdUX7P_mL3QwihzB6nad47NYVZniM0fjxBkkHc7hyphenhyphenH7vtNzCFJ4hSe0ja_B0yLjYw2h4dN/s1600/marbled4-83cropsquare72.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Have something sweet on Valentine's Day. The recipe for <br />
these cookies is on Nancy Baggett's delicious website<br />
<a href="http://www.kitchenlane.com/">http://www.kitchenlane.com/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Valentine’s
Day horror stories rival the spookiest Halloween tales. Here’s a Whitman’s sampler.
Consider my friend whose supposedly exclusive boyfriend got his cards mixed in
his envelopes. Madame X received Madame Y’s card. “Darling Arianna,” my friend
Lauren read, and on to a flowery, very amorous poem above the sign-off that
began, “Ever yours.” Which, as a result of this farce, boyfriend no longer is,
at least for Lauren.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friend #2 ‘s
beloved broke up with her on Valentine’s Day. Imagine, 364 perfectly reasonable
days to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>deliver the message, and he
picks that one. To this moment, my friend defends the indefensible. Of course, he should have dropped the bomb sooner, or later. But work got in his way, or travel,
or whatever was more important, which was—she sighs—probably everything. Because
he wasn’t a bad fellow. Really. It’s just that his timing was lousy. And with a
push-off like that, tantamount to getting shoved down a luge run on the
Matterhorn, she had no choice but to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have all my friends
been stabbed in the aorta by cupid's arrow? Indeed not. Decades ago, I attended
a Valentine’s Day wedding that was done up in pink and cream, lace and satin. It
featured bridesmaids dressed in flamingo peu de soie, matchbooks (this is how
far back we’re going) imprinted with entwined hearts above the bride and
groom’s first names, and a towering wedding cake frosted in pink and decorated
with rosettes and hearts. True to their theme, the couple honeymooned in the Poconos
where they revolved on a heart shaped bed that played “You Light Up my Life.” Chrissie
and Jeff, now grandparents of infant twins, have been lighting up one another’s
lives for thirty-five years. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I personally
know of two engagements sealed on the red letter day, one starring a heart shaped lollapalooza
of a diamond. Which reminds me that in certain regions, every kiss does<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> not</i> begin with Kay. More likely, it
begins with Katz. In New York, where I grew up, diamonds are purchased not at
chain stores, but in Manhattan’s jewelry district where “this flawless pear
shape just arrived from my cousin in South Africa,” or “this three carat marquise
was cut personally by my uncle in Antwerp.” As I write this, I’m glancing at my
own ring with its twist of two solitaires, one of which is the diamond my
father gave to my mother upon their engagement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents'
story is one of those eternal ones, with an ending worthy of Dickens. My dad
was a true romantic who found the love of his life in my mom. At seventy-five,
he’d proclaim to all within earshot, “Look at that woman’s complexion. Still perfect.
Isn’t she beautiful?” Valentine’s Day was his time to shine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, he didn’t believe in gilding the lily. No
fancy innovations, just “Tradition!” Unfailingly, he presented my mom with a
dozen roses, though she wound up with eleven because he always pulled a single bloom
to hand to me. And under his arm, two boxes of candy, Barton’s or Barricini’s, the
prime purveyors in Brooklyn back then. A giant red satin heart crammed with assorted
soft centers and chews for my mom. A smaller pink heart for me. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, when William
Devens died on Valentine’s Day, I felt there was something fitting about his
date of departure. Not morbid. Bittersweet. A reminder from him about how much he
adored my mother and treasured his daughter. I always remember that, but on
Valentine’s day, especially.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In midlife,
I find I am less like Scrooge (Bah! Humbug!) and more like Marley's ghost, floating
on memories of good Valentine’s days past, schlepping the chains of not so
wonderful ones. My history is mixed, but bottom line, I’m all for romance and for
the day dedicated to celebrating it. So bring on the flowers. Bring on the
candy. Hold the diamonds (my insurance premiums are high enough). And hold on
to this thought: If you have true love, cherish it. If you’ve <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever </i>had it, be grateful. If you’re
looking forward, well... you never know. Happy Valentine’s Day and may Cupid
bless us, everyone. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Toby Devens</span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Share the love by
posting comments about Valentine’s Day, love found, lost and misplaced, the best
and worst of it. One response will receive an inscribed copy of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet)</b>, a story of love, laughter, revenge and redemption. Winner of our
last contest is Binnie Syril Braunstein for her chicken soup recipe. A copy of
my new novel <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</b>
(Penguin/NAL) will be on its way to Binnie at pub date in August.<o:p></o:p></i></span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-39132204220614655612013-01-29T11:12:00.000-05:002013-01-29T14:02:25.576-05:00To Cook or Not to Cook?~That Is the Midlife Question<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtagSX-N-O9LRIi89LEH2CWXK8fVPJUxgpVEo011nwZ-FaYBvGIb3PNDUxPHEemc5_qUdhtMvePvqeIz1Noe5howM5J7Q0NHzAcZPWn-9eS-xngOUvbCFD6EKfHgsvMrFhwIk4SMBi1o3R/s1600/school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtagSX-N-O9LRIi89LEH2CWXK8fVPJUxgpVEo011nwZ-FaYBvGIb3PNDUxPHEemc5_qUdhtMvePvqeIz1Noe5howM5J7Q0NHzAcZPWn-9eS-xngOUvbCFD6EKfHgsvMrFhwIk4SMBi1o3R/s320/school.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week, inspired
by the reading (re-reading for the pure pleasure of absorbing her
mouthwatering writing) of Erica Bauemeister’s marvelous novel of food and love,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The School of Essential Ingredients</i>,
I did something I hadn’t done in a long time—I cooked. I didn’t just throw
something together to satisfy a generic appetite with generic calories, but—taking
in the aroma of oregano, the silky feel of flour on my fingertips , the sound of
whisk against china as I whipped eggs to a froth—I mindfully, happily, actually
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cooked</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within a
single few days, I simmered white chili and stir-fried beef with bok choy. For brunch, I made my daughter-in-law’s crème brulee French toast casserole, a puff of souffléd
challa over a foundation of caramelized syrup. Exquisite, my guests said. I
brewed minestrone. Made butterscotch pudding from scratch. The kitchen gods (sculpted
in stone and enthroned atop my fridge) smiled down on me. It had been a while.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I used to
cook and be cooked for all the time. Ask any woman—having a man cook for you is
a delicious turn-on. I have been wooed with soup, seduced by a stew, soothed with
risotto. And I’ve cooked to express all kinds of love: baked a child’s birthday
cake, simmered a family pot of chicken soup for cold nights. Also, for husbands
and other close friends, made a simple
sauce of fresh tomatoes, garlic and basil that spoke of summer in winter and
asked for a warm embrace in a warm bed. And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in
</i>summer, fixed crab cakes, seasoned
with Old Bay—a sexy blend of spices. Crab, some say, is an aphrodisiac. Agreed. Cooking
at its best is an expression of something higher, more abstract than zucchini.
Call it love. Call it art. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Among many of my
midlife friends, it’s become a lost art. “I no longer cook,” says a married one.
“I heat and I arrange.” She buys ready-to-serve dishes from Wegmans or pre-marinated
meats from Trader Joes and saves homemade for when the kids are in from college.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A divorced friend shrugs. “My mother
told me that the fastest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Wrong. The
girlfriend followed a different map and snagged the guy. So cooking leaves a
bitter taste in my mouth. ” She dines out often, or scrambles eggs or micros
Lean Cuisines. I understand. I’m guilty myself. Still, reading Erica Bauermeister's
book made me realize how much we-who-no-longer-cook are missing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eight times year
I’m reminded of how food and its preparation connect us. Both the gourmet group
and a couples book club I belong to have dinner as the evening’s fulcrum. And
the spouses cook these dinners together, work side by side, chopping, sautéing,
roasting, baking homemade bread. Toba may do the gazpacho and Andy his
incomparable salad, but they’re hip-to-hip in the kitchen. Lenne glazes the cornish
hens while Hal mashes the potatoes. PJ and Hamp work in tandem. These couples
may be past the baby-making stage, but they’re still creating something lovely
together, a feast at least, and taking pleasure in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know of a
woman who brags that she hasn’t cooked dinner for her family in decades, except
on holidays. Today this social worker has retired to halftime practice and
usually dines early, on whatever, and alone. Her husband, a workaholic, logs in
around nine having grabbed a slice of pizza at the commuter train station or yogurt
from the fridge. Which he eats in solitary silence. How sad, I think. How symptomatic
of a marriage gone as stale as a week-old bagel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cooking is
love in the active sense. For lovers, it’s a dance together. For family, it’s glue
made of sugar and butter and cinnamon. For friends it's a gift. Of course I have
more half-baked theories. But right now there’s a meatloaf in the oven I need
to check. It’s my mother’s recipe, with a sauce of tomatoes, mushrooms, peppers
and onions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will taste of love and
memory, of laughter and lost times. And it
won’t need ketchup.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Toby Devens<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We would love to read your comments on the joys of
cooking—or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>cooking—at midife. And please share your favorite recipes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One will win for its author an inscribed copy
of my next novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Any Day Now</i>,
coming out this summer.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-90645707608277902272013-01-08T16:39:00.001-05:002013-01-08T16:40:54.475-05:00Hillary's Hair: Why Do We Care?<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTx1SBI49_HiMmDW3EgXhbIywM9XistbHpNKx2U_F6wvHKw0n0YC-vgQ4M" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="middle" alt="" border="0" class="th " src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTx1SBI49_HiMmDW3EgXhbIywM9XistbHpNKx2U_F6wvHKw0n0YC-vgQ4M" style="margin-top: 0px;" title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hillary_Clinton_official_Secretary_of_State_portrait_crop.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She’s baaaaack. After the flu and the concussion and the
blood clot. After Fox News accused her of malingering to avoid testifying about
Benghazi, and the world elected her its most admired woman, trumping even
Michelle Obama, Hillary survives. She showed up at the office yesterday, looking
healthy and rested. She smiled dazzlingly and her eyes twinkled. She wore a
very unstatespersonlike hot pink jacket and— <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can feel myself hurtling down the slippery slope here, so stop me
before I reach bottom—</i>her hair looked fabulous. Like I care. Really, I
swear on Martha Washington’s grave, I don’t. But in the interest of giving the
public what it obviously so desperately craves, this entry will consider what is
most fascinating about Hillary: her hair. The multi-purpose, wash-and-wear, devil-make-care,
flip-and-flare, imprisoned-in-a-rubber-band snare, too short, too long, Hillary
hair. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the party I attended on New Year’s Eve, a man I’d known
and respected for years, a major Hillary fan BTW, said, apropos of absolutely
nothing, “So what’s with Hillary’s hair?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A collective gasp whooshed around the living room. At that
moment, the ball in Times Square quivered in its perch. Horns fell silent. Ryan
Seacrest, believe it or not, fell silent. Mack, a pseudonym I’ll use for our questioner
so he won’t be forced to enter the witness protection program, repeated,
because those around him seemed too stunned to answer, “I mean, what’s with the
hair?”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I cleared my throat to tell him what. In spades. But his
wife beat me to it. She rolled her eyes, reached over and applied a very expert
Three Stooges noogie to his balding pate before proceeding to explain in a barely
controlled vibrato, “The woman has flown almost a million miles in the last four
years. Do you know what an airplane's re-circulated air does to hair? Turns it
to straw.”</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I chimed in, “When I shampooed in the hard Los Angeles water
last month, I had to use half a bottle of L’Oreal’s Total Repair to untangle my
curls. The tap water even in the five star hotels in Sudan (do they have
five star hotels in Sudan?) doesn’t approach the quality of camel pee. That’s
what the Secretary of State of the foremost (maybe still) western power sluices
through her hair.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Hey, Mack, you seem to have hit a nerve,” a male voice
contributed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It had come to this. Men commenting on Hillary’s hair. Okay,
Rush Limbaugh gagging over an unfortunate upsweep do of Hillary’s and posting a
Bride of Frankenstein doctored photo on his website. Rush, I can understand. But
normal men?</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Women I forgive. Our hair, and other women’s hair, is an
obsession of my gender. Not because we don’t possess the intellect for more
lofty obsessions, but because we’ve been conditioned (forgive the pun) since
childhood to be ruled by our hair. Take me, for example. This is my second post
about hair and my blog has only been up since July. I am mortified. I am repentant.
I am writing this.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Why doesn’t anyone talk about <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Boehner’s hair? Looks like a wig to me. And
do you remember Tom Delay’s shiny black plastic toupee. Did you ever hear
comments about that?” This was called in by a woman on the far side of the
room.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From another:“Carl Levin’s comb-over starts an inch above
his left ear.” The Democrat senator from Michigan has to be in terror of a high
wind. “Does<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> that </i>make the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i>? What about men and
appearance?” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“They say Chris Christie’s fat,” a male voice countered.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“And they, whoever they are besides dietitians, find it
endearing. Half grizzly bear, half Teddy and he takes no crap from no quarter.
The man swings weight, among other anatomical features, and he’s admired for
it.” I sighed. “The Huffington Post ran a slide show of photos spanning the
Hillary hair years between college and now. Bangs and no bangs. Headbands. Sexy
wavy. Short and sassy. Long and exhausted. She’s probably been through hundreds
of hairstyles since Wellesley.” I paused for effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you really think that’s accidental?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All heads turned. A conspiracy theory starring Hillary
Clinton? Irresistible. Someone muted the televised cacophony from Times Square.
“This is a very smart, very shrewd woman,“ I continued. “She’s sending us a
message.”</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A message? “ was the chorused question.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“ A message that she’s flexible. She’s adaptable. She
embraces change. She welcomes diversity. She’s way beyond superficial concerns.
She chooses to sacrifice form for function. She’s willing to put her scalp on
the line for these United Sates of America.“ I caught a pre- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">coup de gras</i> breath. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Which makes her perfect presidential
material. Watch out for 2016.” </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The conservatives hanging around the bar groaned in unison and
many hands simultaneously reached for the bottle of Gray Goose.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet now, just as we have her back, Hillary’s leaving us. In two
weeks she’ll be departing the State Department. How she will wear her hair as
she ends this chapter in her career is unknown. Maybe she’ll do a Sinead O’Connor.
Maybe a perky pageboy, like Mary Tyler Moore's as she edged to the door at WJM-Minneapolis
in the final episode. At which point, those who think Hillary was the best secretary of state since John Quincy Adams will no doubt be tearing their own hair. And those
who think she’s the devil incarnate will be praying it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>her final episode. My fellow Americans, don’t count on it.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the meantime, in her most recent stepping stone role she
will be replaced by John Kerry. John Kerry! Now what’s with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>hair?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-13932151932566989592012-12-24T18:51:00.000-05:002012-12-25T22:04:46.438-05:00Love for Christmas: A Gift Idea for the Rich at Heart<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The following story
was published in my college newspaper when I was a senior. It was submitted
(without my knowledge) by my journalism professor to a contest sponsored by the
St. Louis Post-Dispatch newspaper. Surprise of surprises, it won first prize in
the feature division. Two prizes really: a handsome letter opener (long gone,
lost in a move probably) and $50 (even longer gone). The sentiments seem
timeless to me, so decades later I’m posting it in an edited
version. Happy holidays, everyone! Keep the spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember the Christmas I grew up. I was eight years old,
but I think I realized even then that I was a wiser child on Christmas night
than I had been on Christmas eve. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My father, an apron manufacturer, had discovered that people
weren’t buying many aprons and that his business was failing. That year, my parents pawned my mother’s engagement ring to pay the bills, and later they
quarreled bitterly over my father’s refusal to take his wife’s wedding band to
satisfy another persistent collector. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I heard that argument from my bed, a battle conducted in
fierce whispers to ensure my innocence, although they thought I was asleep. I
saw their shadows as I listened, sensing, in a child’s way, more than I knew. Finally,
when I heard the first bubble of a sob break from my mother’s throat, I
realized I had invaded sacred adult territory and buried my head under my
pillow in retreat. My father won that skirmish and my mother kept her wedding
band, the symbol of a bond that really needed no symbols. They clung to each
other that year of extremes and together they protected their daughter from the
knowledge that we had become very poor.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFeya7Wc6x-VdPx5lejc7BV_yI1PzU_WX2i7ghR7m9OnVWnKv4mwkA1ELIOkePHKOM60NOldh4JEr0YUsdSK4-fJq56i4l4EY1kFGZPFA-toYAYZ-sfNTAqL3cK-hwvHM9pm9KNMhVNKce/s1600/Toby+at+8+dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFeya7Wc6x-VdPx5lejc7BV_yI1PzU_WX2i7ghR7m9OnVWnKv4mwkA1ELIOkePHKOM60NOldh4JEr0YUsdSK4-fJq56i4l4EY1kFGZPFA-toYAYZ-sfNTAqL3cK-hwvHM9pm9KNMhVNKce/s320/Toby+at+8+dancing.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before the dancing lessons stopped</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Poverty was a new and shocking experience for our family. We
lived in a building with a doorman, had a car in Brooklyn where not everyone
owned one, employed a cleaning lady once a week. And there was money for dancing
lessons for me. By the time I turned eight , though, luxuries
had been eliminated and even the basics were slashed to appease the appetite of a
factory on its way down.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until then, holidays had been sacred. Lots of presents,
chocolate coins at Hanukkah, stockings filled with candy at Christmas. In those
good years, I had a favorite gift, one I had received on my fifth Christmas, a
baby doll that looked so much like an infant in its white lace-trimmed gown
that it had made me gasp at first sight. As an older toy, it disappeared into a
back closet, an arm missing, its gown ripped and soiled. Soon it was forgotten.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I expected gifts that bad year, I suppose, as children
expect the inevitable happinesses. I didn’t know that my parents had spent
hours wondering how they were going to produce anything resembling a present on
Christmas morning. I was also unaware of the powers of a mother and father determined
not to disappoint their child, and the ingenuity bred of poverty.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t remember that particular Christmas dawn as any different from
the previous years. It was probably cold and half-dark outside, but I do
remember the candy-stuffed stocking hanging from the mantel of the electric
fireplace and, on the hearth, one box wrapped in colored paper. The little girl
who stood gazing at that package I recall now with a strange clarity. She was
dressed in a pink flannel nightgown with pale green rosettes and her hair hung
past her shoulders in curls that bounced when she tossed her head as she often
did when she didn’t get her way. She was an only child, slightly selfish and a bit
wild, but that day she was subdued, unusually quiet for Christmas morning. It
was almost as if the sight of the lone present had inspired a precocious
caution and she took a long time unwrapping it. Her parents, my parents, stood
watching . And when I had dug through the paper and opened the box, I hope they
weren’t, but I suspect they were a little afraid.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I lifted out the grimacing infant doll I had
received new three Christmases before. Her arm was sewn back in place, her face
was freshly washed, new eyes and a mouth had been painted on, and she wore a
chintz nightgown made from a remnant of an apron nobody would buy. So much work
and invention had gone into that present and, as young as I was, I realized
what I had received. If its cost in dollars and cents had been minimal, it
showed a huge expense of love, and I have never forgotten it.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Later, when I was older and given to adolescent reflection,
I believed that gift to be a symbol of renewal. But now that I am still older
and reverting to a simpler way of thinking, I appreciate it as a gesture of the
deepest love and the most profound expression of giving. And that after all, is
the true spirit of Christmas.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">###</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And now for a less exalted
gift: winner of the random drawing announced in my last post is Jennifer
Miller. Email me at midlifepassions@gmail.com, Jennifer, and I’ll send off an
inscribed copy of my novel, My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet). I look forward to
more comments from you and from all.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Toby Devens<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-46097608927454700492012-12-05T12:08:00.000-05:002012-12-05T16:53:16.313-05:00"We Got Your Back"~ Time Travelers Hit New York City <span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll take Manhattan,
well, any time, but last week when I visited, it flaunted its fabulous holiday best.
Fifth Avenue bustled with shoppers, department store windows were dressed to
dazzle, street vendors did a brisk business in scarves and knit caps. It hadn’t
been a happy autumn in New York, but the power was back on, the streets were
clean and dry, and everyone–cab drivers chatting, doormen smiling–was in the
holiday spirit. </span></span><br />
<br />
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Order black-and-whites at Zabar's</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <a href="http://www.zabars.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">http://www.zabars.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Or
bake your own: search</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Black-and-White-Cookies-106171" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">http://www.epicurious.com</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">New Yorkers used
to have a reputation for being slow to warm up and fast to get in your face. An
unfair rep, which the world didn’t amend until 9/11 and then Sandy proved it
absolutely wrong. New Yorkers are as caring as anyone on the planet. Which brings me to a case in point. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We'd named ourselves The
Time Travelers, a group of ten friends, male and female, from the old
neighborhood in Brooklyn, classmates scattered by time and circumstance then
rediscovered at high school reunions or on Facebook. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last May, we'd
gathered in the leafy shadows of Prospect Park to kick off two days of
memories, laughter and noshing (akin
to snacking but with more gusto and usually mustard). At some time during that weekend,
we learned that one of us was waging war with a nasty, aggressive cancer. We told
her, as we’d told each other in the school yard years before, “We got your
back, kiddo.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over the following months, we heard about her extensive
surgery and grueling rounds of chemo which she handled with amazing grace. Radiation
was next. We’d kept in touch by phone and email but now, dammit, we weren’t
going to let her go through more of this without us there to hold her hand, hug her
gently, help her deal. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week, with
her radiation about to begin, Time Travelers arrived from four different states
by train bus and plane. One of us carried a special gift: a photo taken of our
group at the May reunion surrounded by a paper mat that had made its way around
the country by post, picking up autographs at each stop. And hours before our
friend was scheduled to head up to radiation oncology, a contingent of us sat
with her and her husband in the cafeteria at Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center to
witness her unwrap the gift. Her beautiful smile bloomed as she read our notes
of hope and friendship. Our eyes filled. We nibbled New York’s famous black-and-white
cookies as we cheered her on. And when we kissed goodbye and promised to stay in
touch, we meant it. If New Yorkers say, “We got your back, kiddo,” you can
lay money on it—they got your back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my way to
Penn Station for the trip home, I was greeted by a young man who wouldn’t
let me walk past his stand of knit hats and chenille gloves. “Hey, for that smile,
lady, I take two dollars off.” How could I pass up such a bargain? I bought a
pair of gloves, a little gift for myself for the holidays. But the friends that
gathered for a Time Traveler in trouble, and even more, what <em>she</em> gave back to
<em>us</em>—an example of bravery under fire, determination and, on most days, serene optimism—now<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> that’s </i>a gift the size of a New
Yorker’s heart.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Contest Alert!</strong> </span></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Share your story of a gift that changed your
life or touched your heart and you could win an inscribed copy of my novel, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet). <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-73402681953683226072012-11-13T14:44:00.000-05:002012-11-13T14:44:27.294-05:00Blue Star Mothers: When Your Child is at War<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9FJvknaZp5AzHgeh-qy55qxb0Q4b9_S6WE9MDgooVLcfGipPuSgYEhTxcR4YpzjlgugPdA7g1ZRV2KGxu0tsoQJ4hZgj3cSo4b0M0mReadnWeapZNePH6smURdWd_riaM9IyIPEvGNon/s1600/coousin+cecil-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9FJvknaZp5AzHgeh-qy55qxb0Q4b9_S6WE9MDgooVLcfGipPuSgYEhTxcR4YpzjlgugPdA7g1ZRV2KGxu0tsoQJ4hZgj3cSo4b0M0mReadnWeapZNePH6smURdWd_riaM9IyIPEvGNon/s320/coousin+cecil-blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousin Cecil, at a Battle of the Bulge Reunion</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was decades after World War II that I finally asked my great-aunt
Ruth about the stickers affixed to her apartment door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then, the two ovals, white with a red
border, were <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tattered at the edges, but the
blue star in their center looked new. I figured she still dusted the decals occasionally.
</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’re from the
War,” she told me. World War II, I should have known—as if Korea hadn’t occurred and the conflict
in Viet Nam wasn’t raging. “I was a Blue Star Mother.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She explained to me
that women with sons in the military could proudly display a blue star on their
windows and doors. And there were pins to wear, as well. Gold stars were
reserved for grieving parents who had lost a child in the war. “You never
wanted to be a gold star mother.“ She shuddered. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her older son Walter, a Marine, had been in the bloody
water off the coast of Normandy and landed in France on D-Day. Amazingly, he was
also present at the landing in Iwo Jima. His younger brother, Irwin,
had served bravely in Italy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time
of the war, my great-aunt was in midlife... and widowed. She had loving family
nearby and good friends for support. Bottom line, though, she shouldered her
burden by herself. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Another cousin, Cecil, fought in the Battle
of the Bulge and spent time in a German prison camp. Now in his eighties, he's active
in groups that include buddies from the war and honor those currently in harm’s
way. He doesn’t talk much about what he personally endured. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the former servicemen in my family don’t
revisit that time, even with those closest to them. But the wives of some report
nightmares persist, even 60 years later. And Walter’s daughter says it was
only shortly before his death that he started to “talk of those days and refer
to the other men.”</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our family escaped the Korean conflict personally unscathed. But Viet
Nam hit us hard. One cousin was injured and lost hearing as a result.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
A second</span>, who came home safely, developed a
rare, lethal form of cancer not long after. Oncologists attributed it to exposure to Agent Orange
that saturated his area of operation. He died in his
early thirties, leaving a young son behind.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, our young men and women go to war. Still, mothers and fathers—at
midlife or beyond, when the burdens of parenting should be
lifting—are living with the most visceral fear: that
of a parent for a child in danger. And after the homecomings, if a son or daughter is dealing with physical,
mental or emotional fallout from combat, those moms and dads stand with wives, husbands
and children to help in the mending process.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this week, as we honor those who
serve our country in the military, let us also remember the spouses who keep families intact
back home and the parents who wait, pray and help pick up the pieces afterwards.
Blue stars go out to all of you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-67985120143846543162012-10-31T18:22:00.000-04:002012-10-31T18:52:22.843-04:00Mentoring~Pay It Forward<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A while back, I received an email from a young woman writer. I’d
never met Tammy, although her parents and I were acquainted. In her note, Tammy
mentioned that she’d finished her first novel. “My mom told me that you’ve been
published...and I was wondering if you have any advice you’d like to share?” Of
course.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tammy sent excerpts of her book, unique and riveting. She
was talented. Back and forth, we emailed about editing, publishers and agents. I
encouraged her in the face of the inevitable rejections, reminded her of the
current tumultuous state of the publishing industry and, when she secured an
agent, cyber celebrated with her.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not long after, I received the email I’d been hoping for. Tammy
announced, “My book sold!—for many writers, the three happiest words in the
English language. (The most jaded among us say, even happier than “I love you.”)</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reading Tammy’s thank you, I thought, Hurray! another writer
launched. Not by me certainly, but with a little nudge from me. I’ve been nudging
quite a bit over the last decade. The way I see it, mentoring upcoming talent
is not only a pleasure and a privilege, it’s a responsibility. Years ago, I got
nudged myself and I’m determined to translate my gratitude into something
useful.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was in college, three professors took a special interest
in me. Harry Lee, a novelist of grand repute in the 1950’s, no longer writing
by the time I sat breathlessly absorbing his knowledge of the craft; Shirley
Yarnall, my creative writing teacher with two novels and an off-Broadway play
under her belt; and Jeanne Roberts, a world renowned Shakespeare scholar who
guided the freshman literary magazine. These generous souls didn’t confine
their teaching to the classroom. Lee gathered students around him at the local
pub where he talked about writing over beer and Cokes. Shirley had English majors sitting
at her feet in her living room as she discussed how they could improve their work.
In her eighties, Jeanne showed up at one of my book signings so I was able to
tell her tearfully how grateful I was for her always challenging me to meet her
high standards. Throughout my career, others—mostly in midlife and beyond—mentored
me. And now I figure it’s my turn. Many of my friends think the same way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nancy Baggett (right) recently held a launch party for her marvelous new book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Simply Sensational Cookies.</i>Well, not just for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her </i>book. She made sure to share the spotlight with Jeanne Sauvage and Jeanne’s debut book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gluten-Free Baking for the Holidays</i>. The women met online when Jeanne adapted one of Nancy’s recipes to a gluten-free version. They met in person at a meeting for culinary professionals and stayed in touch. Later, Jeanne asked Nancy to write the forward for her book. Nancy says, “After testing several recipes, which I thought were fabulous, I agreed.”At the launch party, the beaming first-time author (left) thanked Nancy for her contribution and her friendship. For more on Nancy's book and some great dessert recipes, go to <a href="http://www.kitchenlane.com/">www.kitchenlane.com</a> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Richard, a physician, teaches radiology to young doctors
heading into his specialty. “I love these kids. Yes, they’re adult men and
women, but they’re kids to me—like family. I’ve had a wonderful career. Now it’s
payback time.” He not only instructs his students in the medical discipline, he
takes an interest in their lives and their futures as he helps propel them
toward success.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alan coaches math to middle schoolers. He gets paid a
pittance in dollars for his work. But the rewards are inestimable, he tells me,
glowing at the high marks his students receive after he’s gotten them up to,
then past, grade.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toba volunteers to work one-on-one with underachieving high
school students—some of them potential drop-outs—encouraging and helping them
find within themselves the ability to succeed academically.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my version of the aphorism, there’s a time to sow, a time
to reap, and a time to mentor. So play it forward. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pay it</i> forward. Try mentoring if you want to leave the world a
better place than you found it. And there’s a splendid personal bonus attached:
as you show newbies the way, you renew your joy in the work you’ve always
loved.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-27259437998384937922012-10-24T16:13:00.000-04:002012-10-24T23:01:14.733-04:00October<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #984806; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My first book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mercy, Lord! My
Husband’s in the Kitchen</i>* was written at the height of the woman’s movement
as is evident from its subtitle</span></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #984806; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And
Other Equal Opportunity Conversations with God. </i>Yet you’ll see in the
excerpted poem below that the narrator is grateful to the Lord, a specifically
masculine term for the Almighty which was standard language then. In the text
of many newer prayer books, such gender-specific terms have been replaced with
neutral ones: God or Eternal One for Lord, Sovereign for King.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #984806; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Times have certainly changed. The toddler mentioned
in “October” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">is a woman now with </span>her own daughter, a
little girl who will grow up with far more opportunities than were open to her
grandmother or even to her mom. I cheer for that change, even as I feel
nostalgia for some of what once was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #984806; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Midlife and, for me, autumn are times for reflection. “October”
evokes a young family on a crisp fall day set in a moment long past, but —in the
turning of the leaves, the slant of burnished sunlight, the yielding but
unending cycle of seasons— also something miraculously eternal. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #984806; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> ~*~</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank You for yesterday, Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the
crisp October morning with air so still it left leaves undisturbed on the trees
and, consequently, for the elegant angle of rake against carport, my favorite
fall composition.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank You
for breakfast eggs that didn’t split their yolks before reaching my husband’s plate,
for apple cider that surprised the palate and inspired meditation on the wondrous
ways You work through nature, and for the State Energy Commission that refused a
nine percent rate hike to the gas and electric company. We may just be able to
heat this barn of a kitchen through winter without sacrificing our daughter’s
college education.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank You
for that child’s two-hour nap as the shadows lengthened, for my own hour of
sleep and the splendid way I was awaked. For my husband’s surge of autumn
energy which moved him to clean closets, repair faucets, and brew vegetable
soup among other excellent activities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank You for
the cat’s nuzzling as the wind stirred toward evening and for her gift which,
though I would not have chosen it for myself preferring roses laid at my feet
to supine small animals of indeterminate origin, was, nonetheless, well meant
and offered lovingly.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank You
for yesterday, Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For all the glorious
moments, and for the final toddler tantrum before bedtime because letting go
of beauty is harder than leaving disappointment behind. Thank You for the flaw
in this otherwise perfect day which reminds me that perfection is illusion and
happiness condition, swift as season’s shifting but as sure in its repeating.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Toby Devens<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7-nhXlHOLy9ZgYhhZIU6dn-0DNd0eJq4qMsHjEElL3PB4g2thvGTDZQxCz5fYGYROflxk5mXZ_qS6qDUl7uun3O8w-iZ8F6U9RaGjmrbLULAsDq9nBNZ8bHjn3Tl6Oy_cHBADLhOVyGJ/s1600/mercy,+lord++cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7-nhXlHOLy9ZgYhhZIU6dn-0DNd0eJq4qMsHjEElL3PB4g2thvGTDZQxCz5fYGYROflxk5mXZ_qS6qDUl7uun3O8w-iZ8F6U9RaGjmrbLULAsDq9nBNZ8bHjn3Tl6Oy_cHBADLhOVyGJ/s1600/mercy,+lord++cover.jpg" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-54863141538043192942012-10-17T09:08:00.000-04:002012-10-17T15:50:45.937-04:00Taking Back the Power (Steering): My Driving Phobia II<span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some time ago, I
wrote that I’d finally decided to deal with my highway driving phobia, a post
that prompted comments not only on the blog, but generated a flurry of
correspondence to its email address: </span><a href="mailto:midlifepassions@gmail.com" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">midlifepassions@gmail.com</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJ4FR7Pi0f72xZsXFkUj0SgKDsgChiFV-Vnxbr75iXNmsxNpZ2U1BovxOINEvylAzHqUd0OZcWpZBwdjgW85Rk5tci0oRtf5kWpx_JA2uAlDhFa68n3wmEsG_74U7wejD3_odzBmJLgTp/s1600/Jan's+version+NCJW+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJ4FR7Pi0f72xZsXFkUj0SgKDsgChiFV-Vnxbr75iXNmsxNpZ2U1BovxOINEvylAzHqUd0OZcWpZBwdjgW85Rk5tci0oRtf5kWpx_JA2uAlDhFa68n3wmEsG_74U7wejD3_odzBmJLgTp/s320/Jan's+version+NCJW+cropped.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking to National Council of Jewish Women</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I've spoken to a
number of groups lately about my books and blog, and this topic, more than any
other I mention, evokes an intense reaction. Invariably a hum of sympathy,
along with perhaps recognition and self-identification, buzzes through the audience.
And later, fellow sufferers approach to clasp my hands and tell me their own
harrowing stories. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Because my father
used to remind me that “Knowledge is power,” I decided to explore the subject
further, even as I worked through the problem on wheels. And here’s what I
discovered.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">There are two
versions of fear involved in every phobia: 1) a fear of the activity,
circumstances or object and 2) a fear of the panic attack associated with it.
Now, a panic attack is not your normal garden variety anxiety. A medical text’s
list of possible symptoms includes: shaking, sweating, nausea, blurred vision,
dry mouth, chilled extremities, and the belief that you are either going crazy
or about to die. Scary stuff. </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">So scary that if
something sets off a panic attack at the moment you’re driving at high speeds,
the natural response is to avoid repeating that action. From then on, you’re
not only fearing and avoiding highway driving, you’re taking measures to duck
the panic attack associated with it. Or to paraphrase FDR, “The major thing a
phobic has to fear is fear itself.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">But what triggered
my first panic attack on the beltway? After all, I’d been driving it for years
without a problem. Well, maybe it was my accident at Exit 20, the one that
medics were afraid broke my neck (it turned out to be only a bad bruise, thank heaven). You’ve
probably heard another version of this simple cause and effect response: a
child bitten by a dog may be frightened of even the sweetest, most docile pups
forever after.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Not every trigger
is that specific, however. If Grandma was spooked by escalators and Uncle Joe
was terrified of spiders, you may have inherited a predisposition to panic
attacks. In many cases, this biochemical landmine remains dormant for your
entire life. In others, it explodes. Stress of any kind—divorce, death of a
spouse, job loss, financial problems; even good stress like planning a wedding
or welcoming a new baby—can set it off. Where you are or what you’re doing at
that moment may become associated with that unrelated, stress-induced panic attack
and presto! you’ve got yourself a first class phobia.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As you avoid those
awful feelings by taking back roads at ambling speed, your world shrinks and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">shrinks
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">and
</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">shrinks</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">
until you—and only you, not your spouse or your kids or your friends—decide
it’s time to take back your power. “How many therapists does it take to change
a light bulb? Only one, but the light bulb has to want to change.” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The treatment for
phobias is called “counter conditioning” because you’re reversing what you have
conditioned yourself to believe. “Beltways are dangerous, they can kill you if
you make a mistake, and they cause panic attacks which are worse than death”
was my self-taught lesson. So every week, an experienced (and courageous)
therapist accompanies me as I take steps toward my goal of driving wherever at
whatever is the legal speed limit. We started with baby steps, a few miles down
a four-lane highway, and repeated that until it felt comfortable. And now,
after months of practice under increasingly challenging circumstances, while
Dr. Calm sits with perfect confidence beside me, I’m zooming down the beltway
at 55. True, not yet entirely on my own. And, yes, with an occasional surge of
fear. But I’m on my way. At last. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">We welcome your
comments about how you deal with your fears. And they don’t have to be
full-fledged phobias...even small fears take courage to face and overcome.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-2307373561343948512012-10-01T11:29:00.001-04:002012-10-01T14:26:01.101-04:00No More Pets for Me. Sigh.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFvZJ1-219xz9rZoEOq2JzmPbht1tnWWFcOLhlis4F3xKck7bJtg1SW5AGdoCaAwLBKVdbXRIuWjb3UhOwWl0eATnx5dZBqz8T7N-S0Q1EQSUWJfJ648tGNdIZbBHfPysOVw2lb4EnkGu/s1600/Carrie+Blog+Photo+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFvZJ1-219xz9rZoEOq2JzmPbht1tnWWFcOLhlis4F3xKck7bJtg1SW5AGdoCaAwLBKVdbXRIuWjb3UhOwWl0eATnx5dZBqz8T7N-S0Q1EQSUWJfJ648tGNdIZbBHfPysOVw2lb4EnkGu/s320/Carrie+Blog+Photo+cropped.jpg" width="298" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
have no pets currently residing in my house. And now I'm going to declare
something that probably will offend you. I say this without shame. Alright, maybe with a little shame
because it sounds heartless and selfish and there are so many shelter animals
needing homes, but at midlife (this is not a decision made lightly) I don't want to live with a pet and probably never
will again. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Please understand--I love animals.
Well, not rats or those huge scary water bugs that skitter across floors in tropical
hotels. I adore, from drive-by distance, the lambs that gambol on a
farm near my home and the horses that roam the pasture down the road. Most of
all, I love dogs and cats. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No only child wanted a dog more than I
did. I lived in a New York City apartment building where pets were allowed but
most families didn't have them. Space was limited. In some cases, funds were
short. It was an era when mothers had just begun to work outside the home and parents'
time and attention were at a premium. I remember there being only one dog
in our building--Watson, a Cocker Spaniel who lived with an unmarried physician.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pled for a dog. My father had grown up with a Chow Chow named Ming; my mom with Ginger, a Fox Terrier. So they were sympathetic...but unyielding. I had to settle for the typical Brooklyn apartment default pet, a turtle purchased at a
Ringling Brothers Circus souvenir concession. Myrtle sported a clown decal on
her shell and probably salmonella beneath it. When she died, there
was a succession of goldfish including Caesar, Cleopatra, and Nero I, II and
II. My mother used a kitchen strainer to scoop the final Nero from his floating
funeral at the top of the fishbowl. My father said a prayer over the tiny tarnished
body nestled in a square of toilet paper. Then we gave Nero III a burial at
sea. Flush!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've had two cats in my immediate world. First, Tabu
who slipped through an open brownstone window to adopt my husband and me. Tabu
combined a gentle soul with the wary alertness of a vagrant who'd seen action
on city streets. We had a decade with her and after she died we adopted Carrie,
formerly a mouser on a farm in rural Maryland. My son Gary promptly named her "Psycho
Cat" for the way she arched her back, electrified her coat and hissed
menacingly each time he reached to pet her. My daughter Amanda, in pre-school, named Carrie for her best friend. Carrie
seemed kind of a kitty version of me. Red highlights glinted her fur. Her bones
were tiny. She never weighed more than 4 1/2 pounds. And her personality was an
unpredictable amalgam of purring warmth and feisty, spitting spirit. Amanda was in graduate school when Carrie, tamed by a gentling dementia, died
at age 24. She was the oldest cat our vet had ever treated. Post mortem, the
medical staff pressed her paw into plaster to make a remembrance paperweight
that I keep near my laptop where I spend a lot of time.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I'm not without a history of close
personal relationships with animals. But now I'm convinced my pet-in-residence days have passed.
Not only because their inevitable loss is another reason to grieve, but because
their presence is inconvenient. And
before you convict me of incredible self-absorption, I mean inconvenient for
them as well. Also unfair. My kids are grown and out of the house. I miss them
but cherish my freedom. I come home late some nights. I'm away many hours some
days. Dogs need romping, Frisbee-throwing time. Cats, despite their reputation
for independence, are made quietly content by human companionship. And I've
lived with litter boxes in guest bathrooms long enough. Bonus: now I can plan more
travel. I know folks who kennel their animals and take off for Africa for a three-week
safari. I repeat: Unfair! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've been told by a physician friend that the
presence of a pet lowers human blood pressure, reduces stress and adds to longevity.
I've noticed, however, that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> doesn't
share his premises with a pet for all those therapeutic benefits. Truth is,
I'm not without pet company. I'm close to a number of dogs. Lefty is elegant
and exuberant in turn, a real charmer. I love him and live with him during vacations spent with his parents. My pal Allan Zendell chronicled his
connection with Haley, a fabulous Golden Retriever, in his book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Boy and His Dog--An Unfinished Love Story</i>. Two adorable
Havanese pups make visits with Cousin Erica even more fun. My daughter's family
includes Chaucer and Avery, a pair of aging toms. And Louie, an affectionate tabby,
rules my son and daughter-in-law's house. But when time spent with these
wonderful creatures is over, I go home to a pet-hair free, dander free (and one
set of grandkids is allergic), muddy-paw-print free, slobber and bark free life.
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know you're going to skewer me for
this post. In spite of which, I welcome your responses. Really. Please be aware
however that all threatening comments will immediately be forwarded to the FBI--
copy to the ASPCA (sigh).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-33469115788682614992012-09-18T16:08:00.000-04:002012-09-18T18:00:52.891-04:00The Dating Pool: Part Three ~ A Success Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6VgPC3wWwfBvLUv4gv6VyXb7Ugy2OHMQaTZQvNbHuWffiU2CHM9K5WLa3l356z2kL8Tz-1nIJAkfgwYa1dJm-Ouv6crphkZcHVD8_ovTn_1Jz4o6YcAw_RyOBX0OOJ-e5Mm7FAiA2_VK/s1600/bigstock-Feet-Pool-424447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6VgPC3wWwfBvLUv4gv6VyXb7Ugy2OHMQaTZQvNbHuWffiU2CHM9K5WLa3l356z2kL8Tz-1nIJAkfgwYa1dJm-Ouv6crphkZcHVD8_ovTn_1Jz4o6YcAw_RyOBX0OOJ-e5Mm7FAiA2_VK/s320/bigstock-Feet-Pool-424447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Medical Alert: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are reports of an illness circulating called
"dating site fatigue." It's especially toxic in single women
forty-five and over. Symptoms: ennui, mild depression, low grade romantic
fever, and a reflex spasm in the typing fingers that sends nasty responses to
every man on every site who calls himself "Captain," or "Sailor
Boy" or expresses a need for a "first mate." Why are so many
boat-crazed men trawling for women online anyway? No matter, if you've absolutely
had it with too many "hot4U"s who are not right 4U and despair of
drowning in the dating pool, have I got a cure for you! Here's
a heartwarming success story from our guest blogger who hung in there and made it work in
spite of the odds, the circumstances and, mostly, in spite of herself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hello,
everyone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'm
"Deb," the woman Toby mentioned<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>in a previous post who was swimming in the really deep end of the dating
pool thirteen years ago. That's when Matchmaker.com led me to my soulmate--and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, potential partners really are "out there." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dating for
over a decade after my divorce, I'd tried everything (or so I thought): church,
alumni groups, personal ads (remember them?), blind dates, intros by friends,
volunteer work, and flirtatious encounters in the light bulb aisle at Home
Depot (but no light bulbs came on; not even any sparks). <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'd pretty
much accepted that if it happened, it would happen, and if it didn't, it
wouldn't, and I'd be just fine either way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What other choice did I have?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I'd tell the men I dated that my elderly father lived with me and
we were a package deal--take us or leave us, that my teenagers were in the
middle of adolescent angst and associated<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>crises, and that my dog<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was
having extensive, expensive dental issues("You mean the German Shepherd
that wouldn't let me in your house?"--YES, that one)my dates often left
visible skid marks taking off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like they
didn't have any "challenges?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, one
day, while reading a weekly newspaper published by my faith tradition, I saw
this: "Christians seeking other Christians---try------.com"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the heck, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the site delivered what it promised,
the men were all over the country (together with some not yet "over” their
marriages), and my budget simply didn't allow for a "quick bite to
eat" with an interesting orthodontist in Ohio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BUT... on that site, other links popped
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I clicked on Matchmaker.com, and it
was really at the deep end of the pool in 1999--not mainstream at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jumped in, and it changed my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fearing my
friends and family would think I'd lost my mind, I told nobody of my online
adventure. I could hardly believe it myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I screened many postings, and answered only five.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of those five, one stood out, and was the
only one I met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He not only stood out,
but a year later stood with me at the altar. But, as he tells it, it almost
didn't happen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After three
months of emailing, sending romantic<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>cards, and pen-palling, he asked a really crazy question: "Do you
think we could talk on the phone sometime, or maybe even meet?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OMG, I thought, the moment of truth!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I really do this? I wasn't so
sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why ruin a perfectly fine online
romance?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was
patient, however, and assured me that (in addition to the many things that we
seemed to have in common) he had a high level security clearance, and that if
we met in a public place like a restaurant, I could protect myself by having a
cell phone handy, a knife and fork for defense, and I could disguise myself
before entering to "check him out."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If I didn't like what I saw, or simply changed my mind, I could leave
and he'd<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>understand completely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did make me laugh (very important), but was
this man for REAL???</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, he was.
Real and wonderful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Given the
lives we were leading at the time, there would have been NO way we would have
met without either of us taking that leap of faith into the "deep end of
the dating pool," and trusting our online "Yente."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">OK, so it
wasn't reminiscent of "Fiddler on the Roof," but it worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is a "good man."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"A fine man."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man I never
thought I'd meet let alone marry, but did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am blessed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Matchmaker,
matchmaker made me an electronic match.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try risking
that dive into the deep end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is
short, and love is grand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Deb</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Thanks, Deb. </em></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Readers, we'd love to hear <u>your </u>stories of dating adventures, misadventures or strategies for making the most of dating sites. Just post a comment or send an email to </em><a href="mailto:midlifepassions@gmail.com"><em>midlifepassions@gmail.com</em></a><em>. We derive knowledge (and courage) from experience--our own and what we learn from someone else's life lessons. So let's share our strengths!</em></span></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toby Devens</span></em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-40769414566210518652012-09-10T18:52:00.000-04:002012-09-11T15:13:21.222-04:00Girls Gone Wild on the Beach ~ In Slenderizing Swimsuits <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8U3_mWnnaS4bVgxP4x0S3eI-67_f5CxYjfG6A5Ji2K-arOpoIW40gYpzNZJdiqcBiu153jH6zM5Q_rmfO9930t6QA2vPV8Ocr7-NjqTBkqepB3ZmM86YA7POA4kXj8A900-w1w4BaQg6/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8U3_mWnnaS4bVgxP4x0S3eI-67_f5CxYjfG6A5Ji2K-arOpoIW40gYpzNZJdiqcBiu153jH6zM5Q_rmfO9930t6QA2vPV8Ocr7-NjqTBkqepB3ZmM86YA7POA4kXj8A900-w1w4BaQg6/s1600/photo.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Toby and Toba On the Beach</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">For
girls (better yet, young women), going wild on the beach means sand, sun, surf,
spirits and... men. For those of us past our string bikini prime, the recipe
for a wild vacation is more like sand, sunscreen, self-indulgence, and... no men. Oh,
there's nothing wrong with the hairy gender. It's one of my two favorites. But
honestly, aside from their obvious talents--such as screwing an umbrella into
the sand hard and deep enough so it doesn't topple over in a strong wind, men
are as superfluous on a summer holiday as earmuffs. Okay, not entirely true. But a women-only vacation is a treat occasionally.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">
So last week, I--officially single--and my friend Toba (yes I know it's
matchy-matchy, Toby and Toba) whose first-rate husband was visiting grandkids cross country, took off for
the Delaware/Maryland shore. For this last gasp of summer vacation, our baggage
included an iPad, Kindle, laptops, more shoes than clothes ...but no neon green noodles and floaties for kids now grown, and a not a single bottle of aftershave. Refreshing.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">We
didn't stop at the fashion outlets clustered along the route. We may buy
stylish, but we no longer buy trendy, so what we've got lasts. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">We
picked up fresh corn and tomatoes at the Little Red Wagon farm store on the approach
to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, a span whose height and leap-into-the-abyss
design is a magnet for bridge phobia. Through clenched teeth, we sang our way
across: "Everybody's gone surfin', surfin' U.S.A."<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Arriving
mid-morning, we hustled into swimsuits. No men. So no fear of judgment by those
who'd seen us in bikinis in our twenties or could compare us to decades of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Playboy</i> centerfolds. Neither of us asked,
"Does my ass look good?" I did wear a miracle suit constructed with the genius
of Leonardo. Its powerful fabric and brilliant architecture flatten the tummy and
somehow iron muffin tops sleek. Toba wore a tank twosome that allows women not
to have to peel an entire clingy one-piece from a moist, sandy body when nature
calls. Whoever came up with that cleverness deserves to share the Nobel Prize
with the inventor of Spandex. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">On
the beach, we didn't discuss the coming election, the state of the union, the prospects
of the Redskins, or the stock market. We could have. We know that kind of stuff.
But unlike folks of the XY variety, we XXs can leave the world behind while
gazing at a horizon of sky caressing sea. Nor did we ogle men in Speedos which
we both think are ridiculous to the point of giggles. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">That
first night, dinner was just sweet corn and luscious Maryland tomatoes. For dessert,
we made tracks to Dumser's, a local ice cream stand and ordered
kiddy cones based on Toba's brilliant logic that two kiddy cones equal one
small cone which allowed us to double up our daily quotient of ice cream.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thus
began our almost week away. Daytime, I researched my next book by scouting
beach houses and shops in Bethany Beach and Rehoboth--possible settings. I
interviewed locals for background. Toba did her own work with diligent focus. We
spent a few morning hours on the beach and sunsets sipping wine on the balcony above it.
Dinner was always just a haphazard prelude to Dumser's soft-serve. Or gelato on the
boardwalk. Or both. Toba spoke multiple times to her husband whom she missed, but not
overmuch. I got a message from someone who missed me. He was looking
forward to my returning home. Home? Looking forward? Not overmuch. We would be there all too soon.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">On
the way back, with our stress level dialed down to zero, the Bay Bridge
seemed less ominous. Once over, we stopped at a family-run store where the ice
cream was made from milk produced by cows grazing on the dairy farm behind us.
The young woman behind the counter convinced us to order the small size instead
of kiddy cones. "I can make them with two flavors," she tempted. They
came out with double scoops of bittersweet chocolate and cappuccino chip. She smiled
at our guilty delight, a fresh faced beauty, heading back to college and into
the world with options and opportunities spread before her like endless grains
of sand on beach.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Uddg2nPBo5KLc0W1baI0ljiWuk2PGXeiKoBtrmeUOVlBFhFwGEWNJTmdOo1j5qUm6A41exzX4mifWE0AfZ54HanWumpU0O4UyyR_Y9zzAcnRD1OnQIBGXOvZNyn_ETLDBg-nv3tUzvr7/s1600/blog-beach-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Uddg2nPBo5KLc0W1baI0ljiWuk2PGXeiKoBtrmeUOVlBFhFwGEWNJTmdOo1j5qUm6A41exzX4mifWE0AfZ54HanWumpU0O4UyyR_Y9zzAcnRD1OnQIBGXOvZNyn_ETLDBg-nv3tUzvr7/s320/blog-beach-1.jpg" width="174" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Did
we envy her? After a vacation impossible at any other time in our lives, not a
bit. Not a bit even the size of a cappuccino chip. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><em>Toby Devens</em></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;"><em></em></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;"><em>How about you? What was the best vacation of your life? Have you ever gone on holiday with just the gals? Recommend it? </em></span></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Toby in a Two-piece at 21</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></h2>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-4940974951951523982012-08-31T00:07:00.000-04:002012-09-02T20:54:04.913-04:00One Woman Faces Down One Big Storm: Happy Ending<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>We left Michele heading into dangerous Florida streets flooded by Isaac. Her final emails celebrate survival and gratitude as she and her neighbors clean up after the storm.</em></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaml0Y9vaH3NomkNN-baLRzMQYee0wLTDXY3eSoKj061RjyXKQKv0c7CwUwHbURgTiYVVyMsgW6zsKx1xwPYSbXRUVibqHRx-Sdh8tBMOJ4-pvs04k57p5hBCGyfY8D7uZEod1jjIwfLZl/s1600/michele+blog+photo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaml0Y9vaH3NomkNN-baLRzMQYee0wLTDXY3eSoKj061RjyXKQKv0c7CwUwHbURgTiYVVyMsgW6zsKx1xwPYSbXRUVibqHRx-Sdh8tBMOJ4-pvs04k57p5hBCGyfY8D7uZEod1jjIwfLZl/s320/michele+blog+photo.png" width="320" /></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monday Afternoon:</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Going
downtown to Ft. Lauderdale to call for my friend post-op, I could drive only in
the middle lane as the inner and outer lanes were flooded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spots, the visibility was nada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived at the doctor’s office shaking.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
trip home took half the time, no problems, roads clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looked like it was clearing up. Dropped my
girlfriend off at her home and took my dogs out in my soggy side yard. Then,
before we could get inside, the skies opened up once again and we got caught.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Call
just came from Management:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
experiencing flooding and DO NOT WALK THROUGH FLOODED AREAS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There may be glass, bacteria and SNAKES.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Immediately
finished the much needed chocolate before hubby comes home. Fortunately, this
was a tropical disturbance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able
to laugh my way through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, a
real hurricane is devastating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
experienced a few of those – waiting on line and searching for water, gas and
food, no electricity for days, terrible heat,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>fallen trees, getting a new roof and even then we were lucky here – very
lucky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday Afternoon:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Been
very busy trying to get house back in order--downed tree cut and already taken
away (again with son’s help), plants and yard things out of house, creepy
crawlies still living here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Management
has cleaned up our property outside but there’s still a lot to be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are repairmen<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>all over the place. One hears the sounds of
mowing, sees roofs awaiting to be replaced, and yet we were so fortunate. Monday, we
received a foot of rain, fast and furious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
feel very guilty about my light-hearted approach to the storm when I see the
damage it has done to the Gulf Coast and all those poor people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly, when it gets really serious, so do I.
Thanks for caring, everyone out there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here
comes the sun!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Michele</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Hurricanes, blackouts, earthquakes, tornadoes, and derechos (lines of heavy winds and fierce thunderstorms that swept through the Mid-Atlantic states recently),we seem to be experiencing a period of unusually intense weather. Do you have a disaster plan in place for "just in case?" Besides the standard flashlights and bottled water, what items do you think are essential to keep at the ready? How does your disaster plan help protect you and your family? And don't forget the pets.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Calibri;">~ Toby Devens</span></em></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-20462114221517852442012-08-27T21:28:00.000-04:002012-08-28T15:55:38.388-04:00One Woman Faces Down One Big Storm: Michele vs. Isaac<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Michele
and I have been friends since childhood. A pretty, quick-witted girl grew into a
strong, bright and beautiful woman. Her town in Florida has been hit hard by
previous hurricanes and this time was slated to be slammed by Isaac. Her emails
began arriving Saturday night, with periodic updates since. Tinged with defiant
humor at first, they turned scary today. I'll post later to let you know when she
and her neighbors are out of danger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saturday
Night: <o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So far, I'm having a lovely hurricane.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday, my husband and his friend flew off to follow the Miami
Marlins for a triple header in Los Angeles. The boys are having a blast. I'm
here alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday afternoon, our air conditioning started leaking. Repairman
said we needed two new a/c systems--$9,000 and I shouldn’t use the a/c in the
meantime! Temperature is in the 90’s, humidity over 1000%. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And today, Isaac decided to hit the Keys.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I cannot close my shutters which we installed after Hurricane
Andrew. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son is coming tomorrow A.M. (if this hurricane doesn’t strike
by then) to close them. He’s as handy as I am with anything mechanical. And I
have two left hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've gotten drenched 3 times walking the dogs. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was almost run off the road by cars on my way to purchase water
& dog food. Water in FL is more valuable than gasoline and practically sold
out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But other than that, I’m having a lovely hurricane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've already eaten 1/2 jar of choc. covered toffee (delish and
purchased in Costco if anyone is interested) </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">AND...</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7 choc. chip cookies I baked with 7 more to go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did I say having a wonderful time? Well let me clarify then that I
hope your day is better!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve got to laugh --crying will give me wrinkles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, where did I put the damn potato chips I bought for a special
occasion.... </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Michele<o:p></o:p></em></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunday
Morning:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Heard from a friend in New York complaining about the humidity there.
Spoiled brats!!!!!!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went to bed at midnight. Was awakened by American Airlines
cancelling husband's flight out of L.A for Monday morning. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I'd better bake a
new batch of cookies before we lose electricity. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right now, high winds and flooding are predicted for this area.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, let’s not forget the people who took the brunt of this---especially
Haiti--thousands had to be evacuated. Please think about making donations to relief
charities for Haiti.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love, <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Michele <o:p></o:p></em></span></span><br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunday
Afternoon:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My darling children came over early this morning and battened down
the hatches. I thought all one had to do was simply close those darn shutters.
Not quite. You need a PhD in engineering to figure them out. Thanks again my
sweet children.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My house is now the host for a number of frogs, chameleons and
other creepy crawlers but at least they're safe from the outside elements. </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My pool has become a pond and there is so much water around the
house that if need be, I'll be able to sail away.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Husband and friend are now due to arrive home at 4:00 tomorrow.
Poor guys – they’re missing all the fun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And oh yeah, Stein Mart is having the sale of all sales today
without me. They'll probably go out of business in November because I wasn't
there today.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wind is picking up and we're under tornado watch as well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Damn, have no more choc. chips, so can't bake more cookies. Am
hunting for something high in sugar and fat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love, </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Michele<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monday
Morning:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
there’s a hurricane, I always get-in-touch via e-mail with Floridians (some are
home alone) with copies to friends elsewhere who may be worried. My idea is to keep
our minds occupied and our spirits high.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
don’t drink or do drugs but did share my chocolate/marshmallow/Craisins/Chinese
noodles-in-lieu-of-peanuts recipe and gave out my secret of where I got the
choc. toffees. You’d be surprised at how easily we surrender our deepest
secrets under the threat of tornadoes and hurricanes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seriously, I try to make a joke of it and
after a while, we're all laughing. I suppose that's the way I face the
possibility of annihilation by a falling tree or the roof going airborne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s still raining, pool is overflowing and
we continue to be under tornado watch. But so far at least, we've been very fortunate.
A lot of us have been through hurricanes before--horrendous. This was merely a tropical
storm and I'm hoping it will fizzle out here. Many were not so lucky. Others are
in its path. I'm thinking of them as I'm grateful for our escaping the worst
wrath of Isaac. They need our thoughts and prayers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Michele<o:p></o:p></em></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monday Afternoon:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
thought we'd faced the worst of the storm and laughed at its puniness. Well
Isaac had the last laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'm trying
to get out of the house to pick up my friend who just had surgery and Isaac’s laugh
is reverberating all over the County. The walls are shaking with thunder and
the rain is coming down in torrents. I keep checking my roof to see if it’s
still holding. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On one hand, I know I have to leave, but on the
other hand--when I hear the thunder and the power of the rain--it’s scary.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all thought it would be over this morning
and life would go on as usual. But it is lingering as if to have the last word.
I’m sure the streets are flooded as my pool is past the overflow mark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But...will
this be my last missive?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love,
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Michele<o:p></o:p></em></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-1848232862795875862012-08-21T18:16:00.000-04:002012-08-22T18:07:45.066-04:00The Dating Pool: Part Two, Swimming at the Deep End<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><em>After I posted last week, I received questions
regarding whether I</em> <em>had<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ever made use of the suggestions on that
list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Full disclosure: only one. I met
my (now late) husband Jerry through mutual friends who were sure we'd hit it
off. Obviously, they were right.<o:p></o:p></em></span><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Most of those items listed and the ones
below resulted from your emails or blog comments. So although I can't rely on
a huge body of personal experience, I've got great connections who are willing to
share. Thanks everyone. Here are six more.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">1. <strong>Class
Reunions.</strong> From Phyllis: "My
suggestion for meeting men is 'Go to your class reunion.' You might see your
first crush there...and he might still see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>
as a 16 year old cutie. Having said that, I do know several people who reunited
at their reunions and others who were so sad that the cutest guy in the class
is now bald, overweight and really boring."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeJMk736_lI2kbqBnhDg5iw47buYVYiBt-GmVF925pgoZDbXzbCF_9OMnb0R1mbTJ0iFuFqoQTKvO4YXzpse-1q6zT87zK6yea5ivYQUr7HLGvfr7EbXPTccbN6GWaZaIxOJDo3bjVtfH/s1600/Desi+spring+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeJMk736_lI2kbqBnhDg5iw47buYVYiBt-GmVF925pgoZDbXzbCF_9OMnb0R1mbTJ0iFuFqoQTKvO4YXzpse-1q6zT87zK6yea5ivYQUr7HLGvfr7EbXPTccbN6GWaZaIxOJDo3bjVtfH/s200/Desi+spring+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campus Erasmus Hall High School,<br />
Spring Reunion. <em>Photo courtesy Les Baum</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The opposite situation is
the nerd who turned into Prince Charming in the intervening years, remembers you
as the girl he adored from afar and is thrilled to reconnect. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Searching for
Mr. Right among the alums should never be the primary reason to attend a reunion,
but strange and wonderful things can happen when the band launches into the slow-dance
songs of our era.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Caveat: be sure your
partner is available. For all you know, the wife could be home babysitting the
grandkids.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>2.</strong> <strong>Online
Dating Sites</strong>. Yes, I know, you'd never descend to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that,</i> but this is the twenty-first century and it's beyond
acceptable, it's a rite of passage for singles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My podiatrist is on JDate. My tax preparer (male) is on Match.com. And a
lawyer friend met a great guy on Ourtime.com<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My favorite
response is from Deb. "An online dating site (Matchmaker.com) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is how I met my current husband, 13 years ago,
when the online dating forum was not as mainstream and socially acceptable as
it is now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a real leap of faith
(and some other things!), but it paid off for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would never have found him otherwise, and I
know that---and thank God for him each and every day."<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Lovely. And
encouraging. Sure there are horror stories, but usually even bad dates make for
great anecdotes. Caveat: take his posted
info with not a grain but a shaker of salt. As one woman wrote, "Mentally add
ten pounds to his weight, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>three years to
his profile photo, and deduct two inches from his stated height." We'll
devote an entire column to online dating soon, but why not begin your research
now? You can browse for free on many sites.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>3.</strong> <strong>Facebook
and other Social Networking Sites. </strong>'Fess up. Who hasn't looked up an old
boyfriend on FB? Then sighed and moved on. Because he's married. Or he lives
cross country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or you remember why you
broke up in the first place--that hyena laugh and the way he held his fork like
a shovel. When old flames reappear, embers are stirred, and you can get warmed
or you can get burned. You may have background in common, but foreground?...not
so much. Proceed slowly. No flights to Bermuda for a first time meet after a few postings. Common sense above all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>4. Conferences.</strong>
You attended them for work and it was all business. Now, they can be
sources of something more. You're into genealogy? I know of a professor from
D.C. who'd been on <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dating sites for
months but found his perfect match at a conference in Oregon where he and a
likeminded woman were both shaking their family trees. Turned out she lived only
a few miles from him back East. Common interests make for great conversation
which makes for connections which may lead to, well, dancing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>5.</strong> <strong>Hardware Stores</strong> and other emporiums like bicycle shops and boat dealerships attract men in their most helpful mode. See comments on last week's posting.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>6.</strong> <strong>Fly
fishing.</strong> A new one for me. But my brilliant, beautiful cousin submitted: "Try
fly fishing. Every fishing lodge is all men, all wealthy, educated and mostly
single." Also golfing brings out fit, active dudes. Sports attract men. So If you have an interest, take a class, or hit
the links or the courts, you may realize a bonus.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Speaking of
bonuses, that adds up to one more than the originally promised ten. Nor is the list complete.
If you continue sending in suggestions,
I'll keep posting them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">And, most important--as
I was reminded by a thoughtful reader--sometimes the best way to look for your
match, is not to look at all. If you're occupied <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with activities you enjoy, and focus on being
your best and happiest self, love may just find <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you.</i> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-91230732936478310352012-08-14T17:57:00.001-04:002012-08-21T18:58:25.957-04:00Diving into the Dating Pool: Part One<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_w6up7nWnJoXDvLMmG6fFq6seb1CKhCpIiVqJPG7C56fjXNPA3CsfO0Mfju8mdpasTxxm6ekExZw2wwQ_9D2tpbN-OOVB7eRJ9ZIbvEIF-qUXaXBTvLtKGzUxuVxSLc70qUSzG9wZxdw/s1600/bigstock-Drinking-Wine-2777987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_w6up7nWnJoXDvLMmG6fFq6seb1CKhCpIiVqJPG7C56fjXNPA3CsfO0Mfju8mdpasTxxm6ekExZw2wwQ_9D2tpbN-OOVB7eRJ9ZIbvEIF-qUXaXBTvLtKGzUxuVxSLc70qUSzG9wZxdw/s320/bigstock-Drinking-Wine-2777987.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">"It used
to be so easy to meet them, but now..." my friend said at a singles (all women)
cook-out last week. Over burgers and the last of the summer wine, we were talking
about men. Lack of good ones. "I've given up. So many of us, so few of
them." She shrugged. "Besides, who wants to cook dinner every night
or pick up tossed socks...and where do you meet them anyway?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Not where you
used to. When we were young, it was raining men. In class, at dances, the boy next door. They
worked with us on the college newspaper and later on the job. They were driven
to mate by testosterone and mothers who wanted grandchildren <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stat.</i> Back then, you had your choice: younger,
older, same (choices <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">males of every age </i>have).
But for midlifers, men are no longer low fruit on the dating tree. Sometimes
you need to stretch to pluck them. Sometimes you need a ladder.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">"I'll date if something wonderful comes
along," a twice divorced woman declared." Trust me, " another
answered, "at this age nothing, wonderful or not, just comes along unless
you're extraordinarily lucky. But there <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i>
ways and means." And so the talk turned practical and produced a list of ten
suggestions (in no particular order) for where to meet men at midlife, a
precious list which--in the public interest--I'm passing on to you.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">1. Fix-ups.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> The good news: they're your friend's brother-in-law
or her husband's golf buddy so they're vetted. The bad news: ditto. Therefore,
if on the first date he kvetches about hip pain or uses a toothpick or brags
about his collection of Russian semi-automatics, it's going to be tough to tell
the fixer-upper that this "wonderful man who's just perfect for you,"
well, just isn't. Solution: do a little pre-meet triaging. View his photo. Chat
him up via phone. Check him out on the Net. I saved a BFF from disaster by
Googling the guy who'd been referred by her cousin. I found him. On
<a href="http://www.dontdatehimgirl.com/">www.dontdatehimgirl.com</a> which is real website and he was a real loser.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">2.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Classes/interest groups.</b>
The trick is to enroll in activities that attract males. This means No to
"Crafting with Lace and Sequins" <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and Yes to "Elementary Auto Mechanics."
No to Zumba dancing, Yes to Civil War reenactment. But do you really want to brush up
on rebuilding a Corvette engine or dress up as Mary Todd Lincoln? Compromise.
Take a writing course. Nonfiction. "Writing the Memoir" workshops are
overpopulated by men who believe they've lead fascinating lives. It's a male
ego thing. At least they're literate and you'll have background. Photography
classes are largely XY. Also history of WWII, "A Guide to Fantasy
Football," and cooking classes, especially barbecuing and,
oddly, Asian wok cuisine. Men go for
fire.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">3. Fund Raisers</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">. This is advanced technique. Single
men, especially older widowed ones, attend fundraisers alone because they want a
party for their money and it's not the right venue for their thirty-something
sometimes-girlfriend (the one they can't introduce to their kids). Benefits: You'll
know these guys are not down to their last dime, they're altruistic, and you
share an interest in the orphaned alligators of the Everglades. Caution: Beware of black tie affairs.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King Kong</i> would look stunning in a
dinner jacket. Don't get carried away by appearance. Tip: if you don't own real
pearls, wear good fake ones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">4. Political campaigns</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">. Lick stamps, make calls, compare bumper
stickers. It's an election year for heaven's sake! Debating political issues
makes men hot. Take care not to hook up with someone to the right of Limbaugh
or the left of Lenin. Fanatics of any stripe are--according to the group's informal
survey--lousy in bed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">5. Ballroom dancing.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> There are classes solely for singles.
Benefits: You're learning something together. You're in his arms. If he has rhythm
vertically, he just may have it horizontally. Caution: oh, the hell with
caution, you're tangoing!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Now you have
the first five and we haven't even gotten into the perils and pleasures of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Online Dating</b>. Tune in next time for
more of the list in: <strong>The Dating Pool: Part Two -Swimming at
the Deep End </strong></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Add to the where-to-meet list? Share your
most horrendous/hilarious dating stories? We're all breathlessly waiting to hear
from you.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6876489727977929042.post-90449486961645692972012-08-07T12:15:00.000-04:002012-08-07T12:26:23.338-04:00Gravity Wins<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gravity wins, hands down</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">also boobs down,</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">jowls down, </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">eyelids in perpetual droop.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here's the latest scoop:</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">what doesn't go down and out</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(knee caps, belly buttons, derri<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span>res)
</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">goes down and in</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(wrinkles at the mouth, crinkles
near the eye,</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">thigh flesh that sags first, then</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">makes little pockets</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">each big enough to fit a jelly
bean in).</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are tricks to shoring up
this sliding off:</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">aerobics, diet, avocado facials,</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">toxins injected into the skin,
Pilates, swimming laps,</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oil of Olay.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it's all a sleight of hand, a
grand illusion--</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">in the sun, you're fifty-one</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">in the unforgiving bedside light</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">when the flying buttress bra is
on the floor</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">or the froth of lace and chiffon
gown is hanging on the door</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">you are what you've become</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And if you're lucky and he's
nearsighted or he loves you</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">it doesn't matter. Much.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Marriage is better that way</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've heard a husband say,</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">"For me, I'll always see the
woman I first saw thirty years before."</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For those of us without that
all-redeeming memory</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">just do the best you can</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">work on the inside</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">which time improves</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">and as for the outside</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">be grateful you were never
absolutely gorgeous</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">or you'd be really devastated
now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Copyright </span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;">2012 Toby Devens</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>I mentioned this poem in my last post
about the Olympics and got some requests on the blog and via my email at
readers@tobydevens.com to post it. Love to hear your comments!<o:p></o:p></em></span></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11715223968136858921noreply@blogger.com10