the face of happy

Alexander accepted a job ... his first real one ... in a nearby major city. He is over-the-moon thrilled.

He'll be starting his career as a commercial real estate analyst at one of the nation's top companies. 

I am proud of him. He's become, since graduating, resourceful, focused, and resilient. He got this job all on his own. 

I am already a little sad. He'll be moving in just two weeks and this time he doesn't have a specific plan on returning. It's a lot more real than college.

I will miss our nightly dinners. I love coming home and having Alexander there to greet me. Well, okay, he never really greets me. At best, he looks up from his computer and mumbles How was your day without looking up. But still. He's there.

But I am more happy than not. Seeing your child experience real joy is of course the best feeling of all.

that thing ya gotta do

I remember my internist saying to me, "If you do it and they find something, they remove it and you're fine. If you don't do it and there's something to be found, you die." And so I do it.

My first was in 2003.

My second was six years later.

And now, my third, is scheduled for tomorrow.

A few days ago I pick up my prescription. It's called, Prepopik.  The pharmacist hands it to me, smiles and says, "Your doctor must really like you." When I ask what he means he explains, "This one's pretty easy."

Day Before

I wake up craving coffee knowing I can't have any (all dairy is out). And no solid foods are allowed, meaning muffins are excluded.  I go to a BAFTA Board meeting and am home by 10, starving.  I head over to buy my nourishment for the day (all water not shown).



It all looks so unappetizing. And, by the way, non-red jello is not so easy to find. 

Evening Before

Last time I remember gagging on lots of horrid-tasting drinks. This time, I only have to down 5 ounces of some tart-tasting (only partially disgusting) powdery stuff mixed with water. At 5:00 I take it, followed over the next few hours by 40 ounces of clear liquid (mostly water).

I eat almost nothing all day —  one fruit bar (lunch) and chicken stock for dinner.  It tastes odd. I later discover there's a difference between chicken stock (made more from bones) and chicken broth (made more from meat).

But overall, the prepping is pretty easy. It's the limited diet that's hard.


Morning Of

At 5:30 I get up and take another 5 ounces of the powdery drink followed by 24 ounces of clear liquid. Not much happens and now I'm worried.

What if I get there and they send me home?  That's my worst nightmare. 

The rules require someone to pick me up when I'm ready to leave the facility, around 1:30.

At 9:30 my phone rings. I need to be out the door in about an hour. "Hi." It's Alexander who's in Philadelphia with some friends. I know before he says a word what he's going to say.

"Look, I'm really really sorry but I can't make it home in time to pick you up. Can you find someone else?"  Grrrrrrrrrr.

I call my good friend Gail, last minute, who lives in the neighborhood of the facility. My only reluctance in calling her is that I know she'll say yes, and go overboard in helping me.

Afternoon Of

I check in. Sign a million forms. Change into a little blue outfit. Get wheeled into the room. Say hi to my doctor. And meet the anesthesiologist. I love going under. I'm out in under five seconds. But then I wake up about five minutes before my doctor's finished. I feel nothing. But still. I'm just glad this isn't open heart surgery.

My doctor tells me every thing is fine.

Gail is waiting for me when I'm ready to leave. She's already called up twice to see if I need any help. I don't.

I come downstairs and she's waiting for me, adorned in subtle purple eye shadow in celebration of Prince, and carrying a bottle of Evian for me. Since Gail lives only a few blocks from the facility, I had made her promise that she'd just walk me out. But of course Gail breaks that promise. "Absolutely not. I am taking you home."  She then insists on taking a cab uptown with me, paying for it, walking me to the door of my apartment (not my apartment building), then taking a cab back home.  Her generosity and kindness overwhelm me.  I am so lucky to have her as my friend.

Late afternoon

Looking forward to a nice dinner. Seeing Alexander who'll now be home around 8. And not having to do this for another ten years.

missing passover

I mostly work Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Generally, that's not a problem. I can do my socializing during the week. But unfortunately, this year the first two nights of Passover fall on a Friday and Saturday.

On Friday, my mom, Jean, Jim and Jack come down to NY for Passover. Night one is being observed at Jill's, Abbey's sister. Everyone is there except Michael who lives in LA, Sally who is teaching in Spain, and me. I'm selling clothes at Saks.

I miss the traditions of the Passover seder. Even if it's the very abbreviated version we do. In fact, my mom later tells me that the Haggadah's are open and closed quickly, and only six-month old Chloe shows any real interest in reading it.

Alexander is relieved that Jack is there to read the four questions. But since Jack doesn't know Hebrew, the task is given to Chloe whom I hear does an outstanding job.

Elijah doesn't show up again — not at Jill's, and not on Saturday at Valerie and Abbey's club, where again, I'm absent.

But perhaps next year, Elijah and I will be present. Or at least one of us will be.

good-night sweet Prince

I am running around the floor at Saks when I notice my colleagues. They're Looking at their phones and saying things like, "I can't believe it." "That's awful." "So tragic."

That's how I learn Prince has died. And I feel (somewhat inexplicably) sad. 

Later in the day a DJ comes in and sets up on our floor; she plays only Prince songs. I am immediately thrown back to the summer of '84. I am living in Boston. Working at Gillette. Becoming best friends with M. And dating David.

David's parents and mine were friends. We grew up in the same town, though David was three years younger. But when we meet that summer, it is like meeting for the first time. In truth, it may have been. I honestly can't remember.  

David is unfiltered. I find that appealing though others may take offense. David is kind, fun, adventurous and generous.  We spend a summer hanging out at his Back Bay apartment, cruising around Falmouth on his boat (his family also has a home on the Cape), eating good dinners at various restaurants on the Cape and in Boston, and listening to Prince.

1984 is the summer Purple Rain hits the theaters. I remember playing the album over and over. Darlin' Nikki becomes my favorite song. There is something raw and sexy in the beat, the lyrics, and in Prince's voice.  I love listening to it, and do, over and over.

Beyond that one summer, I can't say I ever became a big Prince fan, although his 2007 Super Bowl half-time show in the rain is one of the best ever.

Prince was a musical genius. He influenced many. His ideas were not always mainstream, but his music was.

a stranger's embrace

My last manicure/pedicure was sometime in January.  I've been liking my new low-maintenance nails. No risk of chipping. No worries about peeling off labels that might damage my nails. And no 45-minutes spent each week waiting for polish to dry.

But warmer weather is coming, and with it, sandals. And since a manicure is only an incremental $5 with a  pedicure, I might as well get both.

I like my toes painted, though I'm still not sure about my very short finger nails. I'd sort of gotten used to, and actually liked, the natural look.

On my way home, a young woman, big smile on her face, comes toward me, arms outstretched. "How are you?" she asks in a warm, I've-so-missed-you kind of way. She's dressed in workout gear, and seems genuinely happy to see me. 

I have no idea who she is. 

She is about to hug me and I'm smiling, standing there, ready to feel her embrace, with zero clue as to who she is. I do a quick mental search of people I know who live nearby. No one comes to mind. But I smile and play along.

Then she says, "Jane, how've you been? It's been ages!"

I'm filled with a relief. It's not a face I've forgotten; it's one I've never known.

it pays to ask

Seats do make a difference.

I don't like going to theater and having bad seats. When I'm buying tickets, I always look at the seating chart first, and am very deliberate in my seat selection. But when I get tickets from the heavily discounted websites like TDF or Play-by-Play, I get what they give me.

I meet Susan and Jill in NOHO to see the comedian Mike Birbiglia. We get to the theater, pick up our tickets, and are led to our seats — far, far back and as far off-center as one can get. We can actually see backstage more clearly than we can see on-stage.  "I'm going to see if we can get better seats," I volunteer.

I go to the person who looks most like the house manager (HM). I ask if there are better seats than the dreadful ones we have, and even offer to take single seats if that's all that's available. She says, "I'll see what I can do." I am not optimistic.

But  five minutes later I see HM wandering around looking for someone. I say to Susan and Jill, "Hey, maybe she's looking for me." So I leave my seat and say, "Hey, are you looking for me?" She is.

"I have three seats for you," HM says.  Jill is skeptical and whispers, "If they are worse than what we have, I'm coming back to these."

HM tells us our new seats are D104, 105, 106 and points us in the general direction. We get to the seats and open are D102, 103, 104.  These new seats are among the best in the house, though not quite as good as D104, 105, and 106 that are occupied. But then I hear Susan ask the people in "our" seats if they are in the right seats, and actually, they are not; their seats are C104, 105, 106.  They move. We move. And everyone is happy. We end up with three of the best seats in the house.

The show is hilarious. Mike Birbiglia is outstanding. Being with Jill and Susan is so much fun. And, you don't always get what you pay for!

final purge

Today I tackle the front closet.  It's where we keep our off-season coats, as well as Alexander's hanging clothes.  

I alert Alexander a few days ago.  "Hey, I want to go through the front closet and throw out or give away anything you don't want."

"I'm good."

"What does that mean?"

"I like all my clothes."

In other words, go through my closet? Are you kidding? I'd rather be studying for a final!

Today, after Alexander's breakfast/lunch, I say, "Okay, let's do the front closet now." 

He relents.  "Okay, it'll only take me five minutes."

"It's not going to take you five minutes. But it shouldn't take more than an hour."

I go into my room and Alexander stays in the living room to go through his stuff.

Five minutes later he shouts, "Okay, I'm done."

I walk in, and there are two shirts he agrees to part with.

"What about..."

And I start pulling out coats and shirts he barely wears?  He doesn't even look up but still responds, "No, I like that."

I end up discarding about four things. Coats for me are what shoes are to others. You can never have too many. Put on a coat you love and you look great!

As I'm sorting Alexander says, "Ya know, I don't even get this. I went through four years of college and not once cleaned out a closet!

I look at the end result of the spring closet. Only one coat belongs to my son.

it's more than just clothes

Despite winter weather, I decide to finally switch into spring clothing.  That means closet cleaning.

This year I am trying really hard not to be sentimental about my clothes, and if I don't love something, toss or recycle it.

It takes almost all day. I am mostly successful. 

The Michael Kors, Chanel (just one skirt), Jill Sander, Donna Karan and Yves St. Laurent days are gone. I see no more business suits, or even business attire, in my future.  If I ever need a suit to wear, would I even feel good putting one on from ten or more years ago?  I doubt it.  

I take all the plastic off the cleaning bags (something I now plan to do when I get my cleaning back) and discover a perfectly preserved Agnona blouse I haven't worn since 2006.

Back then blouses cost only $5 to clean and my 10021 zip code hadn't yet changed.

I finally part with the gorgeous black velvet dress I bought at a Soho boutique in 1989. I wore it once, to Eric's father's 50th birthday at the Hilton. I was so nervous about meeting him, I drank too much and ended up passed out among the coats for most of the evening. You would think the memory of that night would have caused a departure of the dress much sooner.

Then there's the Donna Karan short black dress I wore to my 25th High School reunion in 1994. It was a fun night, and I was at my thinnest. I doubt the dress will ever fit again, but I kept it for years thinking it might. It's still beautiful, but I finally say good-bye.

Erased from my closet, too, is a black dress I wore for an event honoring my brother-in-law Abbey in November 2007. I wore the dress once, and hope never to be big enough to fit in it again.

At least the dress was pretty.

I toss two custom knee braces I had made in 1998 after I tore my ACL and thought I might ski again. I have no idea how I ended up with two, as I never wore one.

I toss things that still have tags on them. A beautiful too-big-now Michael Kors dress. A silk blouse from Calypso. A brown Donna Karan skirt that was discounted so much I thought I had to have it, even though I never wear brown.  And a Current Elliott black tee bought last year. Since discovering ATM, I've discarded almost all my other tees.

And then I find a few things. 

A new pair of shoes in a bag in a closet Alexander never uses.  I got these for Alexander only a few months ago. I think he totally forgot about them.

An empty plastic bag carelessly thrown into a closet yields a pair of sunglasses I though I'd lost a couple of months ago at Duane Reade.  



It's a nice surprise.  

So is the Loro Piana linen black wrap that I have no recollection of ever buying. I will definitely wear it now that I know I have it.



After I'm done with my two closets, I organize the mess.



I arrange everything into four piles: things I'll send to the Cape and will wear there; things my sister and/or mom might like; three gigantic bags for the Salvation Army; and 14 pieces I will deliver to the exceedingly fussy designer resale shop nearby.

I think I get rid of everything I don't wear.  Except for one piece: a much-loved black Calvin Klein dress I wore in 1993 to another event honoring my brother-in-law.



I wear the same dress again in June 1999 to attend an engagement party for my ex-boyfriend John and his now-wife Lynn.

The dress still looks great and, still fits. If I don't wear it this spring, I'll toss it during my next closet purge.

I think cleaning closets takes so long as each piece has a past, and before saying good-bye, I subconsciously relive its history. It's an exhausting day. But at that end of it, I feel cleansed.

half a play

I go to theater often. Not as much as I used to, but still more than most.

I favor the intimacy of an off-Broadway theater. Prefer a good drama to anything else. And especially love the 90-minute one acts. Big Broadway musicals fall to the bottom of my list. 

But when Susan asks me a couple of weeks ago if I'd like to see She Loves Me, a new production of a 1978 show, I recklessly said yes. The reviews are all raves. Four or five stars from all the major critics.

But as the day grows closer, my interest wanes. The play is two acts, two hours and 30 minutes. Our seats are inexpensive, and likely to be in the mezzanine. It's a sweet and sappy musical of boy-meets-girl and fall in love, eventually.  What was I thinking?

Last night my throat feels scratchy and I have a headache.  Maybe I'll really be sick. I send Susan a text to warn her of the possibility and ask if she wants to find someone else. She says she'll wait and see how I feel in the morning.

I awake feeling fine, despite (or maybe because of) the winter weather.

And I always like seeing Susan.  So I go.

Similar to my other regular theater buddies (Meredith and Jill), Susan doesn't care if I decide to leave at intermission. 

Our seats are dead center, first mezzanine, and actually pretty good.  The play lives up to the reviews. But still, after the 75 minute first act I decide to leave.  Susan stays on and reports back later with a short synopsis, ending with:

And they all lived happily ever after. I enjoyed it . 

I liked getting home by 10:30, versus an hour later — especially in sub-freezing weather.

There's only one musical I really want to see, but I'm not willing to pay $800 a seat.

Does anyone know anyone who can get me two tickets for Hamilton at face value? Those three hours I'd happily sit through.

home alone, and entertained

Until 1972, the Eastern Massachusetts state tournament for high school basketball was called the Tech Tourney.  The tournament was started at MIT and so got its name.

I think it was my junior year. I remember going to Boston Gah-den with friends to watch Brockton compete. We lost the game but still, it was exciting just to be there.

Also in high school, I was a cheerleader (along with most of my friends) for the YMHA basketball team. I'm pretty sure there were no cuts.  Anyone who wanted to cheer could.  

I am not a big follower of the sport. Although in 1991, I went with Eric and a friend of his to a Final Four game at Meadowlands Arena.   Because no drinking is allowed, we went to a  bar across the street early on in the game and never came back.

And that's pretty much been my fan involvement in high school or college basketball.

A few weeks ago I helped Jay Wright's wife find an outfit for a "basketball game." I had no idea at the time that her husband was the Villanova coach. But once I learned he was, I became a semi-fan, rooting for a team I never followed before, and a coach I hadn't heard of.

This morning I make a note to watch Villanova play UNC for the NCAA title tonight. If I were really a fan, I wouldn't need a note.  Still, I forget to turn the TV on until an hour into the game. And even then, I only half watch as I flip through old unread issues of New York Magazine and People.  At half-time, it looks like UNC is outplaying the Wildcats.

But oh man, the second half. Well, really, the last three minutes. And then that buzzer-beater 3-pointer to win the game, 77-74. I want to call someone, I am so excited. But it's late and I can't think of anyone who might be up watching college basketball. I text Alexander who is spending the night at his grandparents but get no response.

So I switch over to Jimmy Fallon.  There, I catch the hilarious lip-sync contest between him and Melissa McCarthy.

https://youtu.be/saOHKFWW3tU

Not a bad evening for being home alone.

spring weather

A few days ago it is in the 70's. 

I move all my winter coats out of my everyday closet.  The heavy shearlings, the wools, and the puffers all re-locate to a new, over-stuffed closet.  I feel lighter just seeing all those big, bulky coats gone.

Today I wake up to the mid-30's. I'm back in a coat I thought would be hibernating for the next six months.

And then, on my way to work, I see this:

Yup, the remains of an overnight snow dusting. I guess it's safe to say that spring has not yet sprung.