A friend's Dad passed away last week. He was 98 years old. When I visited Jim about a week or so before that, I was in the company of an older gentleman with a twinkle in now cloudy blue eyes. That foggy twinkle revealed to me a rascal, as Tiff says. He was a young widower, a flirt with appreciation for the ladies, literature, the arts, finance, hard work. Now feeble, stooped, slow but grasping at the wit, the humor he once knew. Eyes faded, hearing challenged, he gracefully slipped into life everlasting. My daughter was the last living individual he saw, who's arms he felt as he met his wife who had been waiting for him for years.
At the funeral parlor, on a Friday evening, I viewed a slide show. There before me, I saw a young handsome man, a beautiful bride, attractive children in various stages of growth, maturity. I saw homes, land, celebrations, joy, life in its fullest prime. Exactly when did he age? Where is the boundary between vitality from one day to fragility on the next?
At the cemetery, after a service on the following morning, my mind swirled with questions and thoughts that I set aside as we continued through the funeral (which my Grandmother always said is for the living...the deceased, by then, was doing just fine) I had hustled the trio into their suits, ties, and a pretty dress. The four of us stood, listened, fidgeted, embraced other mourners, prayed.
And so, he rests, celebrates his life, relaxes in the joy of everlasting life. I can resume my questions and thoughts...
I see myself in the mirror. I see myself everyday. Often, many, many times in a day (I'm like that, you know). When did I acquire "age"? Where is the defining line between the child that I saw every day and the woman (with three grandchildren) that I see every day? Exactly when did that first grey hair appear on you, on your Mom? Just when did that hairline recede on your Dad? Do my parents see the young GI returning from WWII and the young NYU student with perfect skin, a twenty inch waist and long brunette hair today at 86 and 84 years old? Where is the boundary between the two year old who called me "Warrie" and the woman who calls her older sister (me) with stories of my nephew and his fraternity brothers and my niece's latest hair craze? Where is the baby, that I saw every day, changed every day, who now phones me with a laundry list of, "Mom, when do we want to schedule our Spring book event?" Did I blink to long? Where is the little girl with whom I would spend countless hours in ballet studios, nearly every day of her childhood, who now commands my new skin care, anti-aging regime?
Where is the definition between the free spirit with hair down to her a-a-a to the grandmother, who receives calls and directives from grandchildren who squeal with delight when Meme (may-may) arrives? When did the participants at the tea table change from afternoon tea with Nana, to a tea party with Tess? I swear, she was there a minute ago. I swear, I was Tess a minute ago. Where? When?
I watched myself in the mirror before dates, getting my hair and make-up "just right" while battling hic-cups. I see that same face...or so I think. I battle those same hic-cups (not as frequently) before "an occasion of state" or at least I think they are the same!
We see ourselves every day. We see each other (family, friends) every day. Exactly how, when did we evolve into the older, busier versions of the blissful children that we were? Was there a Disney time-lapse episode going on that I missed? That you missed?
When did the stroller turn into a tricycle, to a bicycle, to a racing bicycle, to a Harley or a Convertible? When did I turn from the "Mistress of the Kitchen" to a collaborator and second in command with our Four Generation Cookbook as my son takes lead? When did I evolve into the "Meme" from the driver for a prima ballerina and solver of assorted social, beauty, domestic issues and a confidant?
If I hadn't a wrinkle, exactly what is the anniversary of the first one? If I had low lights, highlights, exactly when did it become mandatory to "touch up" roots? How did pound by pound we gain or lose weight? What day do some move from thin to fat? Exactly where does weight go when we go from heavy to slight? I have been known to lament about gaining "The Ohio Ten". I lost it (in Reunion Book), but where did it go?
We see US and each other every day. We laugh, cry, play, pray together everyday. Exactly when, how before our eyes slipped in between blinks, did we become what we are right now, tomorrow, next year?
I want to find that boundary, that definitive line that marks change. Steve always maintained that I do not take to change very well. Actually, I don't take to change AT ALL. Are our lives a slide show to ignite wonder, to retrace our steps from there to here?
Two things that we can bear in mind, inspired from two books that I read when I was younger:
1. If you realize that there is no perfect Utopia, accept it, "work with it". Then you are always bound to have A FAIRLY GOOD TIME.
2. SPEND ALL OF YOUR KISSES here and now...you can't take them with you, when you go!
As Jim's son said, "We're not coming back, are we?"
Laura Macy Author & Actress
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Sunday, December 23, 2012
THE PERPETUAL MERRY CHRISTMAS STOCKING
There was once a rather creative, clever lady who made Christmas stockings. The stockings were felt applique completely embroidered, beaded, sequined. Each stocking was personalized in gold. They were absolutely beautiful. She made these incredible stockings for her family, for friends' children when they married and their children. Her closest friends and their children, grandchildren ALL had them. One day, her daughter (who had one of the original creations, of course) married. The lady made the most beautiful "Father Christmas" creation! Her new son-in-law and his family were extremely impressed to be sure! For six years, his stocking glowed as it hung next to her daughter's. With the addition of three stockings (children) the mantle in their home glistened with the twinkling of the sequins and beads on their stockings. After six years, the young parents divorced. Mom and the children took the family's Christmas stockings during the move.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was a rather affluent Doctor who had heard about the beautiful handiwork of the family's Christmas stockings. For his son, the lady made an adorable stocking. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the original four letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's six letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his family, patients and friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! Unfortunate circumstances took the Doctor from the little family.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was the financial adviser to the doctor. On their first Christmas, he had mentioned that he had heard, but not seen, stories about the beautiful Christmas stockings that the family had. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the second six letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's four letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his clients, friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! The lady's daughter and granddaughter winked and giggled.
Many families have treasured heirlooms, traditions that dance through the years, especially during the Christmas season! We have priceless trinkets, ornaments. We share precious memories, Stocking is worth a mention, a smile, a knowing nod and binds this family. Possibly the third marriage is the charm. However, the lady never leaves home without her seam ripper. The creativity and ability to manipulate with an unending supply of gold thread, can be manifested in any number of names, with any number of letters. The lady, the daughter, the grandchildren know and share the Secret of The Perpetual Christmas Stocking.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was a rather affluent Doctor who had heard about the beautiful handiwork of the family's Christmas stockings. For his son, the lady made an adorable stocking. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the original four letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's six letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his family, patients and friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! Unfortunate circumstances took the Doctor from the little family.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was the financial adviser to the doctor. On their first Christmas, he had mentioned that he had heard, but not seen, stories about the beautiful Christmas stockings that the family had. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the second six letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's four letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his clients, friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! The lady's daughter and granddaughter winked and giggled.
Many families have treasured heirlooms, traditions that dance through the years, especially during the Christmas season! We have priceless trinkets, ornaments. We share precious memories, Stocking is worth a mention, a smile, a knowing nod and binds this family. Possibly the third marriage is the charm. However, the lady never leaves home without her seam ripper. The creativity and ability to manipulate with an unending supply of gold thread, can be manifested in any number of names, with any number of letters. The lady, the daughter, the grandchildren know and share the Secret of The Perpetual Christmas Stocking.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
FREEZE THAT MOMENT IN TIME
Have you ever been mid-experience and thought, "Wow! I like it here. I feel so good! I don't want this moment to end...ever!" If you are honest with yourself, you might say, "Yeah, I know that feeling! I remember when..." Not to live in the past, of course, recalling contentment, elation, joy of particular "moments in time" can be therapeutic without spending $10,000 an hour for a therapist or the fee to rent a U-Haul for medication when basic discontentment, unhappiness, insecurity, fear set in. We all experience those disappointing feelings. Reaching for that moment in time sooths the burn. Relish that "ahhhhhhhhhhhh" and "yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" to retain the rush when life gets tangled and sticky.
When I was about twelve, or so, I distinctly remember standing at the edge of a swimming pool, built into the vast yard of a relative. Two of three cousins had been in the water with me. The oldest sibling was sitting on a lounge talking with my mother about everything and nothing. It was a beautiful, early summer day. Our families were going to barbecue. Music and laughter surrounded us. I was content, happy and as I looked to the sky, I thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
As an adult, I remember one and only one day that I had nothing that I really HAD to do. Steve and I had just returned from a Honeymoon in Aruba. He was at his New York office while Butterscotch, my cat, and I were home in a beautiful apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. We had breakfast on the terrace on a bright, sunny May morning as we watched the river roll by. Of course, I always read, embroidered, but I didn't HAVE to produce a thing that afternoon. I was content, happy and thought, " This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
One Christmas night, I drove my Grandparents home after a day of family, gifts, feasting. As my Grandmother and I embraced to say goodnight, she filled my senses. I was safe, warm, loved. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I lurked in the hospital one evening. My Grandmother had one too many heart attacks. Where did that moment go between life and death? I wanted her last moment to last forever. I wanted to pull and pull her to stay on my side of that sliver of time. Freeze that moment! Don't move that moment in time from me! Stay Nana, stay! I was distraught, frantic, as she slipped from my grasp. I was upset, alone, sad and thought, "This is the worst day ever! Give me back that moment!"
As Steve and I sat at a Tiki Bar at the Engleside on the beach in Beach Haven on a perfect Saturday afternoon, we watched the ocean roll in and tease us. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I stood with Todd, Tess and Tanner and looked to the sky on Independence Day. As we watched with our arms around each other and oooooed and ahhhhed at the bright splashes in the sky, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
After kissing and hugging my Grandchildren - Todd, Tess, Tanner before they boarded the school bus, watching them wave from the windows. Walking back toward the house with my daughter - she in a robe and cowboy boots and me in my leopard jammies, pink slippers and winter coat, laughing and planning our shared day, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
Think, just think. Have you ever felt the moment so intensely that you want to freeze that moment in time? Sometimes, I want to live in those moments forever - to remain frozen in the peace, in the love of the experience. When I transport my heart to those Moments in Time, I tingle with the joy that I had. I burst with gratitude to God that I had those moments and occasionally demand to know why I couldn't have stayed in their shelter! Therapy isn't in the budget and there is no room in the garage for a massive U-Haul truck of meds. So, I reflect, share.
If you have had those moments, cherish them, although we can never really remain frozen in those Moments of Time!
When I was about twelve, or so, I distinctly remember standing at the edge of a swimming pool, built into the vast yard of a relative. Two of three cousins had been in the water with me. The oldest sibling was sitting on a lounge talking with my mother about everything and nothing. It was a beautiful, early summer day. Our families were going to barbecue. Music and laughter surrounded us. I was content, happy and as I looked to the sky, I thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
As an adult, I remember one and only one day that I had nothing that I really HAD to do. Steve and I had just returned from a Honeymoon in Aruba. He was at his New York office while Butterscotch, my cat, and I were home in a beautiful apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. We had breakfast on the terrace on a bright, sunny May morning as we watched the river roll by. Of course, I always read, embroidered, but I didn't HAVE to produce a thing that afternoon. I was content, happy and thought, " This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
One Christmas night, I drove my Grandparents home after a day of family, gifts, feasting. As my Grandmother and I embraced to say goodnight, she filled my senses. I was safe, warm, loved. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I lurked in the hospital one evening. My Grandmother had one too many heart attacks. Where did that moment go between life and death? I wanted her last moment to last forever. I wanted to pull and pull her to stay on my side of that sliver of time. Freeze that moment! Don't move that moment in time from me! Stay Nana, stay! I was distraught, frantic, as she slipped from my grasp. I was upset, alone, sad and thought, "This is the worst day ever! Give me back that moment!"
As Steve and I sat at a Tiki Bar at the Engleside on the beach in Beach Haven on a perfect Saturday afternoon, we watched the ocean roll in and tease us. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I stood with Todd, Tess and Tanner and looked to the sky on Independence Day. As we watched with our arms around each other and oooooed and ahhhhed at the bright splashes in the sky, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
After kissing and hugging my Grandchildren - Todd, Tess, Tanner before they boarded the school bus, watching them wave from the windows. Walking back toward the house with my daughter - she in a robe and cowboy boots and me in my leopard jammies, pink slippers and winter coat, laughing and planning our shared day, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
Think, just think. Have you ever felt the moment so intensely that you want to freeze that moment in time? Sometimes, I want to live in those moments forever - to remain frozen in the peace, in the love of the experience. When I transport my heart to those Moments in Time, I tingle with the joy that I had. I burst with gratitude to God that I had those moments and occasionally demand to know why I couldn't have stayed in their shelter! Therapy isn't in the budget and there is no room in the garage for a massive U-Haul truck of meds. So, I reflect, share.
If you have had those moments, cherish them, although we can never really remain frozen in those Moments of Time!
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
I'VE GOT THE POWER!!!
!I am a diversified, interesting individual if nothing else. I am creative to the max. I have recently returned from Boot Camp. I know, I know, I hated Physical Educational in school and had 1,000,000 reasons not to go to gym class (unless I was baton twirling during football season, or in the Girls' Athletic Association Show, primarily dancing.) By Boot Camp I mean that I attended the AWAI (American Writers and Artists Institute) four day intensive writing conference. I am a member of the AWAI and while I am distributing my resume, I am a member of the Professional Writers Alliance. In other words, I am a "word smith."
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
FASHIONISTA
I love clothes! I have always been known for vast wardrobes with coordinating accessories. I can be classic, cocktail dressy, special occasion dressy, casual, upscale casual, affluent snob, weekend play, black tie formal, ball formal and even as Darla Darling, The Domestic Diva, I can do all of that in polka dots.
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
Monday, September 24, 2012
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
As an author, trying to promote my book and myself, I am so happy and grateful that You read my Facebook, "Laura Macy, Author" page. I am so excited that you read my Blogs and Tweets! I celebrate all of you, friends and foes who "track" me!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
BABYSITTING A LA ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL
Four weeks ago, my daughter and my three grandchildren moved a considerable distance from me. I had seen the trio and their Mom every day. I followed my daughter to Ohio, at her request, witnessed the birth of all three children, saw them or cared for them every day since the oldest (nine) was born. With the move, I most certainly should have been admitted into a cushy institution to detox and survive the withdrawal disability suffered. The children have spent two of the four weekends with me since they left. They phone once or twice a day to say "Hi!". My distress is easing. Now, I only need a support group and regular "meetings" to keep the caretaker addiction at bay.
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
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