a thanksgiving to rival martha stewart's

The day begins with some drama.

Alexander and I take the Jitney out to the Hamptons where we will be celebrating Thanksgiving. We arrive early. The bus drops us off in Bridgehampton. While we are waiting to be picked up, I remember that Alexander walked on the bus with a small suitcase and off the bus without it.

I won't describe the scene that follows, but eventually everything gets resolved. 

Most years we celebrate Thanksgiving on the Cape. But Adam, my nephew, is hosting this year in his new Hampton house. 19 family members come. We wish there could have been 20, but Sally, my niece, is living in Barcelona this year.

Alexander arrived late last night from Philadelphia.

me and alexander

Jean (with Jim and Jack) and my mom come down from Boston.

And the all-black outfits are purely a coincidence.

phyllis, jean, valerie and me

My mom is happiest being with her kids and grandkids.

michael, jack, jason, phyllis, adam, and alexander

And of course seeing her only great-grandchild, Chloe.

Chloe with her uncle Adam

Aside from the spectacular house and great company, the women are impressed that this year it won't be just the men who will get to relax. My family is generally pretty liberal when it comes to issues of gender — except for the kitchen. But one great hired chef and his three assistants solve the problem. They insure that the meal is cooked to perfection, served impeccably, and then cleaned up.

And the food, oh the food....

There is nothing ordinary about the appetizers. Rack of lamb. Mini burgers. Shrimp. Rolled asparagus with cheese. And tuna tartare tacos. It would have been fine (and completely satisfying) to go straight from the hors d'hoeuvres to dessert.

But we don't.

Along with the Thanksgiving staples of turkey, stuffing (2 kinds), mashed potatoes, yams (2 kinds), and green beans, there is a caesar salad, an excellent octopus carpaccio, and mini grilled cheese sandwiches.

Adam announces that the kid table will be in the kitchen area, and defines kids as 35 and under.

jared, jessica, dan, michael, adam, alexander, jack, amanda, chloe

The grown-ups, I guess, are the over 50's.







Desserts are of course plentiful (pies, cakes, ice-cream, cookies, chocolate moose and glazed bananas). 

And as we do every year, we celebrate the birthdays of Alexander (recently turned 24), Adam (about to be 36), and Sally (via Skype, who will soon be 24) with a Carvel (has to be Carvel) ice-cream cake.

Chloe, too, recently turned one, so we now allow her to be part of the birthday celebration.



The ever-thoughtful host deserves a big thank-you. Adam provides the perfect atmosphere of comfort, food, and relaxation. No details are ignored. Right down to the turkey socks he provides to everyone present.

I hope this is a start of a new family tradition — not the socks so much (though they are very nice), but the memorable Thanksgiving in the Hamptons. Thank you Adam.

unexpected benefit

I pay my bills on time.

In high school and college, I don't think I ever submitted a paper late.

And I don't let gift cards or airline miles expire.

Similar to clutter, I find it unsettling to miss a deadline.

So I am very conscious when I take a book from the library of returning (or renewing it) on time. It's not the twenty-five cent per day fine that motivates me. It's more the idea that I don't want to be late. (Maybe that I inherited from my mom, though arriving at places hours early I view differently).

My library book The Fall Guy by James Lasdun (I don't recommend it —too wordy, unlikeable characters, and not enough action) was due a couple of days ago. I had tried to renew it but there were too many holds on it.

I finish the book and go to return it today. I should owe fifty-cents.

The line is longer than it should be, as there is only one person at the check-out desk.

Person number one is having a lengthy conversation about her account. I have no idea what the possible conversation could be but it's taking forever and the line is growing.

Person number two is waiting for the five DVD's he has on hold. The library person has to leave the desk and go retrieve them.

Person number three is returning a BIG RED BAG (yes, that's what it says on the bag) full of books. At least ten.

And finally it's my turn. 

I hand over my book.

"That'll be thirty cents."

"How can it be thirty cents?" I ask.  "Shouldn't my fine be a multiple of 25?"

"The senior rate is fifteen cents a day." 

"Oh. Okay. Thanks," I say and leave.

I tell M the story and she says, "Wow, that's terrible. He looked at you and assumed you were a senior."

I had thought (rather hoped) my birth date was attached to my library account and any fines are automatically calculated.

But just to be sure...

I call the library and ask.

Yes, I am right.

Thank you city of New York for another senior benefit.

posing with a fashion icon

Tonight I attend an exciting BAFTA event. Nocturnal Animals with a  Q&A to follow.

I get to the theater early, and I can see from Arwen's face there is a problem. Arwen manages the volunteers who check in, and is sensational.

Apparently there's been a mix up and instead of having a 270-seat theater, we have one seating 190. And we are sold out. We are at a big multiplex but there are no other available theaters. We can bring in a few extra seats, but we are still going to be short by more than a few.

Fortunately Arwen works out a satisfying solution.

The movie is sleek, meticulously and gorgeously painted, and in the end a complicated, arresting film.

I meet Tom Ford and Amy Adams. One of the benefits of my job as screening committee chair for BAFTA NY.

It's hard not to be in awe of Tom Ford. He comes from Texas. Goes on to become Creative Director of Gucci at age 33. Brings an almost-bankrupt fashion company to a value of $10 billion in ten years. Then launches his own self-named brand.  Simultaneously becomes a writer/director for an award winning film, A Single Man. And now creates a stunning new movie. He is surprisingly friendly and approachable.

While I don't get a photo with any of the stars tonight, I am lucky to get one in my day-job with another fashion icon — 

 Okay, Tom Ford would have been better, but the Saks teddy bear is awfully cute.

meeting Hollywood royalty

I leave home early to get to the theater 45 minutes before the screening begins.

I don't see any people I recognize so I ask the manager where the BAFTA check-in table will be. He points to an area that is being set up. I wait. Then a poster is planted for Fantastic Beasts. I'm here for Rules Don't Apply.  The manager checks.  "Sorry, we don't have any screenings for Rules Don't Apply." 

I'm supposed to be at the theater across the street. Now I'm not so early, and already there's a long line of people waiting for check-in to open.

The mics aren't working well so we scramble around for good ones. We find one. We'd have liked two, but one will do.

My friends arrive on the late side and two of them can't be found on the registration list. 

The theater is filled. Every. Single. Seat. Taken.  We bring in extra seats and everyone who came gets in.

Then there's the mix up of can-we-or-can't-we take photos. After some back and forth we get it all sorted out.

The star arrives. He is friendly, gracious, and totally accommodating.

In the end, it all works out and I get to meet a true Hollywood legend.

sweat

My social life follows the 80/20 rule. 

80% of my socializing happens between mid-October and mid-December. That's when I see the most theater, go to the most movies, and attend the most dinners and events. It at least feels that way.

Since November started, I've already been to one new play (Plenty), three screenings, and a dinner. Next week I have four screenings planned. And tonight I see a new play called Sweat. Once January starts, I'll have nothing to do.

I meet Susan and Jill at The Public. We had considered dinner first, but eventually decide to skip it. 

We are all of equal mind when it comes to theater. No dressing up. Little make-up (the norm for the three of us). Show up in seats 15 minutes before curtain.

Tonight there are a few hiccups. Our seats aren't together. Susan gets stuck in traffic and arrives late. And Jill has trouble finding a nearby parking space for her bike, and also comes late. There's not a lot of socializing before the play begins.

Oh, and then there's the issue of the women in front of me. If the Public were Southwest Airlines, they 'd probably have charged her double considering her hair takes up two seats.

Still, the strong acting and powerful story make for a night of riveting theater. But the theme — the devastating affect of economic downturns  — is just a little too relatable.

birthday boy

The world has been turned upside down.

The truly astonishing results of the election have left many angered, saddened, and scared.  How could this have happened? It is still difficult to comprehend.

The words President Trump don't feel real. It's hard to imagine a time when they will. President Trump. I still can't believe it's true. And the protests on Fifth Avenue and in other big cities attest to the fact that many still can't accept Trump as our new leader.

But today my son turns 24.  I'd rather focus on that. Happy birthday baby boy. I'm so lucky to be your mom.

election 2016

I go to my local elementary school to vote.

It's around 11, and the line is too long.

I come back around noon and the line has shortened.

The country may be technically advanced but the voting process sure isn't.

One place to get my ballot.



Another place to complete my ballot.

And a third place to have my ballot scanned.

Still, I'm in and out in fifteen minutes. Maybe less.

I am allowed to vote for whomever I want, and have confidence that the system is not rigged.

It is one of the many things that make this country great.

And now, the long wait!

mixed-up

Re-set my watch before going to bed last time. 

My phone and cable box will automatically adjust for delight savings.

This morning I get up early, still bolstered by yesterday's stellar day.

Take a shower. 

Wash my hair. 

And leave the house by 8:30.

It's Marathon Sunday, but the race hasn't started. 

No traffic. 

Empty subways. 

I'm at work by 8:50.

I walk in. 

The store is quiet. 

Hardly anyone here. 

Odd.

I go up to the cafeteria and it's closed. 

It opens at nine. 

It's five after. 

Not a soul in sight.

Then I remember.

It's Sunday. Store opens at 11. Damn. I'm two hours early.

I go over to Starbucks and finish my good-enough book, Missing Justice by Alafair Burke.

I return to Saks. 

Open two registers and attend a meeting, and still have time left over.

I stroll over to the shoe department to look at the gorgeous Lanvin flats with a bow that my customer bought yesterday. 

Take off my (not-stylish-but-very-comfortable-Mephisto) booties and then notice they are similar... 

but not quite the same.

Should have slept in.

back in love

It's been a long, frustrating, and unsatisfying journey with Apple.

I follow the thoughtful recommendations I've been given. 

First I tweet to the five people that follow me. Not a big chance of this going viral.

Then I re-email Tim Cook's office with the subject line reading: Do not forward to Britani Woods. The very next day I get a voice mail. 

"Hi Lyn. This is Britani Woods from Apple's executive offices. I am calling to acknowledge your email to Tim Cook yesterday..."

I try again, with the subject line this time being, Can I please speak to someone other than Britani Woods?????

This time Britani responds with an email saying that unless I have new information, future correspondence will not be responded to.  And then she insultingly adds, "Sorry for the inconvenience and frustration." Hmmm. I wonder if Tim Cook is really Britani Woods.

Finally, since nothing else has worked,  I go to the Grand Central Apple store to plead my case. I ask for the Manager. An unhelpful Oskar greets me. I explain my problem.

"You can schedule an appointment with our Genius Bar, and bring the computer in. We'll run some diagnostics on it."  

"What if you don't find anything wrong? It's a sporadic problem. Then what?"

"I can't answer that question until you bring it in."

What a waste of time.

I come home, dry my tears, and get up to a new day.

I bring my sad story this time to the Apple Store on Madison.  "Hi, can I speak to THE manager please?"

"We have several, but I'll get you one of them." 

"No, I want to speak to the main one — the one who runs the store." 

"I'm sorry, he's out sick today. Oh wait, David, can you help this woman? David's one of four  managers here."

I am already sure that this David -guy, pleasant as he seems, is not going to be able to help me.

I explain in about three minutes my frustration and my desire to return my computer and get credit towards a new one.

"Let's look up your order number," David suggests.

We do.

"Okay. No problem. Just bring the computer in and we'll give you a credit."

No, bring it in so we can test it. 

No, let me review your case file. 

No, let's migrate your data piece by piece over several months and see if maybe that solves your problem.

No, I'll have to speak to my manager who's not in today.

No, you bought the computer online so you'll have to deal with the online people.

No nothing.

Just a simple, "Bring it in and we'll take it back."

I am going to wait a few weeks for the new Macbook Pros to come in. But I take David's information, write him a confirming email, and even ask if I can hug him before leaving the store.

He lets me.

And once more, I am in love.

I just hope that David is real and I didn't just imagine him.

dead words

At what point do words become extinct?

I ask someone at work for an elastic and they look at me blankly. "What's an elastic?" they want to know.  I had no idea the word had been retired in favor of rubber band.

And then there's the word pocketbook.  Now that's a word that never really described the item it was meant to describe. But still, growing up, we all had pocketbooks.

My mom still goes to the beauty pahlah. But now we know it as a salon.

And now a new one.

I go to Staples to buy a refill for my Filofax (I still redundantly use a Filofax along with my digital Calendar). I see Day Timer and At-A-Glance fillers, but no Filofax.  And so I ask.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where the Filofax refills are?"

"The what?"

"Filofax refills?"

The young sales guy yells to his peer, "Hey Joe, ever hear of Filofax?"

"Nope."

"Sorry ma'am, we don't carry that brand."

So I started thinking ahead, wondering what words are in today's vernacular that could be gone forever tomorrow, and all I can think of — actually hope for — are two words, Donald Trump.