much to celebrate this Passover

My son surprises me and does a really nice thing. "If grandma's coming to Passover, then I'll come too. I haven't seen her since Thanksgiving."

My mom was supposed to come down with my sister Jean and her family, but then Jean isn't feeling well so that got cancelled. Late yesterday my mom tells me she's still coming and will stay here for a couple of days.

I love when my mom visits for obvious reasons. Plus, she's a low-maintenance guest, even to the point of saying, "I don't need a new glass every time I drink something. I'll just rinse out this one."

It's hard to believe my mom is 88. She is on a 6am bus from the Cape and arrives by ten, before I've even finished my first cup of coffee.

She's ready hours before Adam is picking us up.

From the neck up.

My son, on the other hand, makes it in from Philly 45-minutes before we are leaving. He walks in attired in jeans.  When questioned, he answers, "This is what I'm wearing."  As it turns out, he is not alone. 

This is a celebratory Passover.

First, we are a close family.  

We miss Jean and Jim and their family, and Jason and Amanda and their growing family, including two-week old Isabela Mila. But still, it's a good-sized group of 16.

We also have Rachel and Adam's upcoming wedding to celebrate. They got engaged recently at the top of Aspen Mountain. We are thrilled for them both, and so happy to be adding the wonderful, and beautiful Rachel to our family.

Michael coming in from Los Angeles and Alexander coming in from Philadelphia is always reason to celebrate.

And of course, the two beautiful matriarchs always add humor and life to any family gathering.

Valerie has a birthday this week.

And we love when Nina and Jay join us. 

It's a great night of shared stories, many laughs, and so much to celebrate. Including the family's second-newest addition, six-month old Pebbles the cavapoo.

out with friends

Finding a night where 6 or 7 people are all available is not easy.

That's why Brooke is not present, and also why we are celebrating my birthday a week or so after the fact. But really, having an excuse to go out with a great group of friends is nice whatever the date and whatever the reason.

This time we go local. I recommend an UES retaurant I've never been to, Quality Eats. As it turns out, it's a nice choice.

Shari, Janice, me, Zelia, Ronda, Pam

While all the food is good, it's an unappetizing-sounding dish that is increditble: the grilled nueske's bacon with peanut butter and jalaeno jelly. I have no idea how so many diverse and unlikely ingredients can taste so good.

Like many of our get-togethers, it is not devoid of some drama. But all is resolved by the end of the night, as it always is.

This small group of friends, originally bound by our same-aged sons, has been together for probably over ten years now. And my guess (and hope) is that we all stay spirited, passionate and vocal in our beliefs and opinions — and that all our many birthdays to come are celebrated together.

misadventure to an outer borough

NYC is comprised of four boroughs plus Manhattan.

Staten Island: I've been there twice. Once for a shiva call and once in 2002 to chaperone a fourth-grade class trip to Historic Richmond Town.

Brooklyn: I've been to Dumbo often to visit Jill, but other than that, rarely.

Bronx: Alexander went to school in Riverdale for 7 years, so I've been to the Bronx often. Plus, the Bronx is home to a great zoo and Yankee stadium.

Queens: Both airports are in Queens as well as the old Arthur Ashe Stadium and a very good Brazilian Steakhouse. Other than that, I never go. But today I do.

Recently I post a couple of Louis Vuitton scarves I rarely wear on Craig's List. I am contacted by a place called Bagriculture. They are interested in buying them outright and can I come in so they can appraise them. The store is located in Forest Hills Queens, so I say no.

But today, I have nothing going on and figure, why not? I pack up my scarves, and add a pair of barely-worn Prada boots that were never comfortable, and two handbags (one an old Celine and another by Prada).

It takes me far longer than it should to get to Forest Hills, as the E train isn't working and I'm detoured way out of my way. But eventually I arrive.

A person named London with two arms sleeved in tattoos helps me.  She looks nothing like a person you'd expect to find selling Chanel. She tells me it'll take about fifteen minutes per item to appraise, so can I come back in an hour.

I stroll the small downtown, stopping to have lunch at a little French patisserie. It'll be nice to have the extra cash, I'm thinking... maybe I'll put it toward my badly needed new phone.

I return to  Bagriculture and London tells me they are taking nothing. "These kind of items don't have a strong re-sale value." 

"Really?!  Then why did you contact me with interest in buying them?"

London has no answer. 

"But we won't charge you because you had to come from so far."

"Charge me? For what?"

"For appraising everything. Normally we charge between $2.99 and $5.99 per item."

I'm home four hours after leaving with nothing to show for my time. 

beginning of the end

"It's the beginning of the end." 

That's what my good friend M says to me when I tell her I'm going to learn Canasta . She probably thinks I'm leaning toward a permanent move to Florida as well — which, quite honestly, looks pretty idyllic from those I know who live there.

A few weeks ago Zelia asks me if I'd be interested in a weekly game of Canasta. I have no idea what is involved in the game, but I love cards and I love her, so meeting weekly sounds great.

There are six of us who are interested — even better.

Pam and I have no idea how to play. Ellen and Meredith know the game. Zelia grew up playing in Brazil. And Shari says she's familiar with the game but doesn't know it well. 

Our first lesson is tonight. Zelia is the teacher; Pam and I the students. Shari was supposed to be a student but she underestimated her knowledge. As it turns out, Shari and Zelia make a great teaching team.

The basic game seems pretty simple. But there's a lot to remember, and a lot to observe. It also feels like learning the various strategies could take a zillion hours to perfect. I love games like this.

So over tea and sweet and salty Kettle popcorn, we spend a couple of hours learning the basics.

Lesson two is sometime next week. 

If this is the beginning of the end, the end doesn't look so bad.

big waste of time

I would have planned my day differently had I known.

A while ago I learn of a program at work that I want to be part of. Brandon (my boss at the time) is supportive, as is his boss. But initially, part-timers are not included.

Basically the program would let any customer who uses a link I send them, to shop at the store, and allows me to get credit for the sale. It's a great way to increase my pay from home. I would sent the link to my client list, as well as everyone I've ever met (you all included) and ask them to forward it to their friends. 

Finally, after a year of waiting, I am approved for this program.

Training is today. In advance, we get an email telling us to download an app or, we can set up our account online. I do the latter. 

Around three, I leave my home. I need to get to midtown by four for a two-hour training session. The subway is delayed, and I wait a long 11 minutes now fearing I'll be late; I'm not.

The class begins and I take out my computer. I've already set up the basics on the link we were provided. Everyone else has either iPhones or company-owned iPads. My very old 5s isn't new enough to have the OS needed. Another good reason to get that new phone.

Everyone's ready.

Training starts.

And I can't access the company's wi-fi.

Class stops while the teacher tries to help me get on the internet. But the password to the store's wi-fi is private, so basically I'm told to leave. "There's no sense in your staying if you can't actively follow along," the teacher tells me. I feel like I'm being dismissed for doing something wrong. In a million years, I wouldn't have assumed that a big company wouldn't allow its employees access to wi-fi!

I leave just about in tears (but not big ones —don't want to ruin my nice long lashes).

dinner with val and abbey

I need to remember not to work on St. Patrick's Day again.

The store is empty of buying customers. Instead, my day is primarily spent directing drunken, green-clad people to the nearest restroom.

I am meeting Valerie (my sister) and Abbey (my brother-in-law) for dinner at Mastro's, a steakhouse in midtown.

By day's end, the little make-up I wear is faded.  I stop by the Chanel counter asking for a touch-up, "Nothing on my eyes, a neutral lipstick, and some blush on my cheeks." Gina, the make-up artist replies, "You are no fun."  I leave with overly red cheeks and too-bright a lipstick. I  feel very not-me.

I meet Val and Abbey after work. We are seated soon after arriving at a nice corner table. There is live music from a small, but talented group.

The servings are huge and the food and drink are amazing — starting with the oversized Cosmopolitan I order. The dry ice is so cold the drink literally smolders. My glass looks like it's about to erupt as steam and bubbles emerge from it. The end result is an ice-cold, flawlessly made and presented Cosmopolitan.

The enormous tuna tartare is also probably the best I've ever had. It is served layered with fresh fish, avocado, and something crunchy on the bottom. 



 I am full after eating it and the dinner hasn't yet been served. 

We get fries and asparagus for the table, and I order the strip steak —charred on the outside and medium rare on the inside. It's perfection, and I still have half for tomorrow night's dinner.

Though I bring my camera, I don't want to embarrass my sister by requesting a group photo. But when dessert arrives, Abbey takes out his phone and snaps a picture.




Both the food and company are great. And those desserts are not all mine.

birth day

I had planned to spend my birthday in Philadelphia with Alexander. But around ten last night our plans change.

I get home late from work and Alexander has a few work deadlines to meet. So it works out better for both of us to re-schedule for Wednesday.

So now I have no plans, and I'm thrilled.

My phone begins ringing at 6:30. My mom is on her way to Florida to celebrate her sister's 90th birthday which is tomorrow.

Shari calls and when I tell her I have no plans she says she's coming over. I immediately tell her NO. She'd be upsetting my plans to stay home and do nothing. We both laugh at the absurdity of my response.

Zelia drops by to pick something up. 

Friends I haven't spoken to in months call.

And I receive emails, texts, cards, and Facebook acknowledgments throughout the day. 

Facebook has gone far in making birthdays more celebratory than depressing. It's a really nice feeling to be wished happy birthday by current and past friends. Current and past work colleagues. Past boyfriends (wish I could add current). Cousins, including one I recently re-connected with. Friends of my sister. Kids of my sister's friends. People I've never met but feel I know (through this blog). High school and college classmates, some of whom I feel closer to now than I did when I was in high school. And of course my family.

I love the surprises a birthday can bring. 



A little after 1 today my nephew Jason and his wife Amanda welcome their new baby girl into the world. Mom and baby are doing great; I see them both late this afternoon.

She is beautiful. 

It's a memorable birth day for everyone.

an early birthday celebration

A few weeks ago Zelia, Meredith and I get tickets to see a new play at Lincoln Center called Admissions.

I have been friends with each for a long time, but they just recently met through me. I enjoy sharing friends, and take particular pleasure when my friends like each other. You'd think that would always be the case, but, well.... it's not.

Meredith calls me recently and says, "Zelia and I would like to take you out for your birthday before theater." I am deeply touched for a couple of reasons. One, that my friends have decided to celebrate my birthday (which isn't until the 16th), and two, that they have coordinated between themselves to make it happen.

We meet at Cafe Fiorello's, self described as "an institution across the street from Lincoln Center." Given how busy it is at 6pm, you'd think it were a new restaurant, just opened to rave reviews.

We get a booth, and it's as if the three of us have been friends forever. Our conversation quickly moves deeper than the safe, non-intimate stories of politics, NYC-living, and other entertaining topics. By the end of an excellent and indulgent dinner (that would be the large serving of chocolate mousse and homemade whipped cream that I eat 90% of), we are making plans to meet regularly to play Canasta (which I still have to learn).

My face looks fat and round — it's the angle, not the mousse. 




The play, Admissions, is a smart, provocative and brave play. It addresses uncomfortable issues about race, quotas, and admission to top schools. We are all engrossed throughout the 100 minute one-act. 

I come home feeling lucky to have close friends that I truly love — and lucky that my son is done applying to schools.

eye job

My friend Robyn surprises me at Christmas. For no reason, she buys me a gift of eyelashes — the kind that are individually attached and stay on for a month or so.

I'd never thought of getting them before, but when she gets them for me, I immediately think of the benefits. The main one being, one less thing to do when getting ready to go out.

But there are downsides:

• Lying still for over an hour, unable to read, while the lashes are individually attached to each eye.

• And what if I really like them?  This could become one more beauty service I need to do regularly (along with hair coloring, manicures, haircuts, and waxing).

It's a dreary day, kind of a snow/rain mix. I'd rather not go out, but I've already re-scheduled twice before and can't do it again.

Red and White Spa is in midtown. I arrive early and they take me right a way.

I am introduced to Tatiana, a sweet girl who will be the one attaching 90 individual eyelashes to each eye. Before we begin, she asks me two questions:

Do I want natural looking or glamorous? Natural.

Do I want a rounded shape,  cat-eye, or a combination of the two? Rounded.

And that's it. 

I lie down on a table, close my eyes, and listen to some sleep-inducing music. Soon I am in a semi-conscious state, totally losing track of time.

 "Do you want to see?" Tatiana asks.  

She holds up a mirror and I feel like I've had a surgical brow lift without the surgery. I can see my eyes. I am thrilled with the result.

The only instructions are not to get my lashes wet for the next 24-hours, including no crying. That should be easy (I hope).  The hard part will be not sleeping on my stomach.

But for long lashes with zero effort it will certainly be worth trying!

rule followers

I have never been good at following rules I consider arbitrary.

For example, at work, we are not allowed to keep our coats on the floor. I think it's a security issue (and maybe a space issue). But to check our coats, we have to go down to the basement before checking in, and then again when we go home. It's a big inconvenience and takes up valuable time. Especially at the end of the day when I just want to get home. So I try to wear a lightweight, easily foldable coat that will fit into my clear plastic bag (which, by the way, is the only bag associates are allowed to carry on the floor). Breaking this rule hurts no one, or so I believe anyway.

Food is also not permitted in our work areas. But I need my coffee (or tea). This rule I do understand. But now that I have my Contigo, the risk of spilled coffee is eliminated. Plus, I can do a better job if I'm alert and hydrated.

We are not allowed to wear certain sneakers but can wear others (if the store sells them). Okay, I kind of get this rule, but then, there are associates that walk around with bluetooth earbuds which looks far less professional than any shoewear I can think of. I sometimes need to wear non-designer sneakers because my feet hurt and I walk so much. At least I wear ones that are not too obtrusive.

But some people are a stickler for rules. 

The customer service rep who won't exchange a defective item because it's one day over the warranty.

The bus driver who sees me running to the bus stop but pulls away anyway because the light is green.

The telephone company who won't re-activate a promotion I accidentally cancel.

The inflexible librarian who won't let me keep a book on hold a day passed the hold date.

And subway toll booth people.

I get to the subway and realize I've left my wallet at home. In it, is cash, credit cards and my Metrocard.

I don't have time to walk back home or I'll be late for work. I'm hoping that I'll find a good samaritan who will generously pay the $2.75 for my ride. 

I get to the station and then decide to try another tactic, one I fully expect to have a bad result.

I approach the toll booth, where a middle-aged woman sits.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could just let me through without paying.  I forgot...." and I tell her my saga.

She doesn't hesitate.

She doesn't question me.

She doesn't suggest alternatives.

She doesn't lecture me, laugh at me, or dismiss me.

Nope. She just looks at me and says, "Sure." And unlocks the gated door.


Some rule-breakers I just want to hug.

two types of people

The University of Chicago is known (among other things, of course) for their creative questions on their college application. One of them is, 

 "Dog and Cat. Coffee and Tea. Great Gatsby and Catcher in the Rye. Everyone knows there are two types of people in the world. What are they?"

I'm not 18, but if I were asked this question today, I could answer, "Considerate shoppers and inconsiderate ones."  And even better, I could break down each into subgroups. Although the subgroups are not mutually exclusive.

First, the Considerates.

There are:

The Appreciative Ones
They're the ones who take time to mention when you've chosen something for them that they wouldn't have found otherwise. And they never walk away from the dressing room (whether they bought something or not) without seeking you out to say thank you.


The Well-Brought Up Ones
They always leave the dressing room neat. All the clothes are neatly hung. 



The Best Ones
These include both categories above. Plus — they buy a lot and rarely return (clothes, that is). 


Then There are the Others. The Inconsiderate Ones. 



The Rude Ones
They treat the sales associates as personal slaves. They never thank us. They ask for tons of sizes and colors in multiple items, then buy none of them. Their dressing rooms reflect their rudeness. Clothes inside-out in piles on the floor. Nothing hung. And, if you see them on the sales floor and ask if you can help them, they totally ignore you.



The Non-Shoppers
These people like to try-on. Some spend hours in their dressing rooms instagramming friends. They take piles and piles of clothes into the dressing rooms that we then have to lug back to an area far away (or so it feels) so the clothes can be put back on the floor. These people typically leave with a thank you but nothing worked. 



The Commitment-Phobic
If (and this is a big IF) they purchase anything, they always ask, "What is your return policy?" They need an opinion from everyone. They waffle over every piece they are considering buying. And you just know that whatever they're buying is coming back. Because it's very likely that they will find a husband or friend or mother or daughter that thinks that what they did buy is too big, too tight, too similar to something else they own, not flattering, or too matronly.



The Holders
These are the people who ask, "Can you hold this for me until tomorrow?"  Even after spending much time trying the item or items on. The excuse given is usually lame. I didn't realize the time and I'm meeting someone for dinner. Or, I forgot that I have a coupon at home that I want to use. Or, my boyfriend is paying and he'll be in with me tomorrow. I don't understand this group. Either buy it and if you change your mind return it. Or don't buy it and go home and think about it. But asking an associate to Hold merchandise for more than a few hours requires a big effort. We need to ring it up as if it were a purchase. We need to put plastic around the clothes being held along with an uncharged receipt. We need to get a manager's approval. And we need to carry the items to a special area, and then remember to retrieve it if it's not sold. This would all be fine, except 99% of the time, the Hold-requester never comes back, despite pleas and promises to the contrary.


The You Belong To Me ones
These are rare but upsetting. This happens to me today. I have three customers I am helping at the same time and therefore can't be 100% available to any one. I can't, more specifically, fill the expectation of personal sherpa.


The Late Shoppers (the worst)
These are people who enter a dressing room, with arm-loads of clothes, minutes before the store is closing. I once stayed three hours after closing to help someone who was loving every single expensive piece she was trying on. I anticipated a big sale and stayed until 10pm on a Sunday night when I should have left at 7. In the end, she bought nothing. Another time I helped someone who was shopping late. This time I stayed two hours past my departure time, to finally ring up two small, on-sale items, that netted me $12. 



The Inconsiderates can and do make sales associates cry. It's hard not to feel bad about yourself when you are being treated with disdain.  Sure, we can rationalize and say, "I know it's not about me, it's about them," but their lack of respect stings. 

It's fortunate that most people fall into the Considerate category. It's the primary reason I do what I do. I believe that most people are nice. Do treat me with respect. And value my opinion and help. If it weren't that way, no store would have any sales associates at all.

sad day for me and my hair

I accidentally find Lyo in 2013. She is working at a small, Japanese salon in my neighborhood. Great YELP reviews. And a special offer for first-time customers.

A couple of years later, I follow Lyo to another salon. And then a year or so after that  I follow her again to Blue Bocker, where she is now, and where she calls herself Lico.

I have finally found a colorist I I would follow anywhere. 



Lico is a small girl with immense talent. 

She never keeps me waiting.

Is flexible with her schedule.

And my hair is in her hands from the minute I walk in until I leave.

She takes my coat. (No fancy coat-check).

She offers (and then gets me) tea if I'd like some.

We discuss my hair color. I  ask her advice and then let her do what she thinks best.

Highlights sometimes (but not when my hair is too dry).

Lico is the absolute best head-massager. 

If I get my hair conditioned or some kind of shine added, she'll spend an extra 15-minutes messaging it into my head.

My shampoo with Lico is as relaxing, and probably as therapeutic as, a 60 minute body-message.

Today I see Lico.

She takes my coat, and walks me to her station. 

I settle in the chair and she asks, "Did I tell you my life-altering news?"

"No," I say. 

So I  guess. "Are you getting married?" She's been living with the same guy for awhile; they've been dating for five years.

She smiles and shakes her head. But I can tell she's really excited.

"Are you pregnant?"

"No," she says. And smiles this big smile.

"I'm moving to LA. I was there on vacation and loved it. We're moving the end of July."

I want to scream," OH NO!!! YOU'LL HATE IT THERE. THERE'S SO MUCH SMOG. AND YOU'LL HAVE TO DRIVE EVERYWHERE. AND THE TRAFFIC IS AWFUL."

But I don't.

I am happy for her. Lico likes the outdoors. She'll be slightly closer to her family who live in Japan. And she likes adventure.

"I'm 32," she tells me. "I have about 50 years left to try different things."

And, when Lico and her boyfriend get to LA (after she spends a few months with her family), she's not going to be a colorist She is going to make candles.

I have no doubt that Lico will be outstanding at anything she does. Either on this adventure, or the many others  she'll create for herself over the next 50 or 60 years.

But in the meantime, my hair is very very sad.

signs of aging

Of course there are the obvious.

More wrinkles being at the top of the list.

And my hair. It's not as shiny as it used to be.  And while there was a time I could go months between coloring, I really shouldn't put it off for more than three weeks now.

But then there are those other, less visible signs, like:

• Not wanting to wear three-inch heels and rarely buying any.

• Enjoying staying home — A LOT!

• Finding that getting all dressed up, makeup-up and all, is less appealing than it used to be. Jeans, comfortable shoes, and little make-up is much preferred.

• Worrying  more every time I go to a doctor for a routine check-up that they might find something unexpected and not good.

• Preferring quiet restaurants to ones with big-scenes and loud music (although really, I think I've always had this preference).

• Knowing I'll never be pregnant again.

• Looking at my calendar and being happy when it's empty for the day.

• Accepting that the apartment I live in now will likely be the last apartment I live in.

• Buying a piece of furniture and thinking, "This might be the last sofa (table, bed, etc.) I ever buy."

• Knowing that I'll never get another good, corporate job.

• Having less tolerance for the people around me who don't make me happy. 

• Thinking too much about the plastic surgery I'll likely never have (but would love).

• Loving a piece of clothing but not buying it because it might look like I'm trying too hard to dress young. 

• Loving a piece of clothing and not buying it because it might make me look too matronly.

• Going to Butterfields and buying their amazing $11 lunches and having it for dinner.

• Going to Butterfields and buying their 1/2 price foods that (I think) are just a day old.

• Never considering a movie that starts at 10 (but then again, I can't remember the last non-screening movie I've been to).

• Being so happy I splurged on a good mattress a few years back.

• Resolving myself to the fact that I'll never own my home.

• Feeling confident that the many good friends I have today I'll still have when I'm 90.

But I know I'm not that old. 

I still eat dinner after seven every night.

life's too short

It's the end of the day and I'm tired. 

All I want to do is be home eating dinner.

Around 7 I call one of the floor Directors to get his help on something. I'll call him Matt.

In the recent past, there have been a couple of instances where we have both angered each other. Our relationship is not the best.

Without going into detail —as so often the details are irrelevant — Matt and I get into an argument and I behave badly. I react poorly. Perhaps overreact would be the better word. I turn my back and walk away as Matt is speaking.  I shouldn't have. And I ignore him when he shouts for me to come back. 

Even as it's happening, I am embarrassed by my own unprofessional behavior. Matt is insistent that we "talk now" and I am just as insistent that "it's late, and I want to go home."

In the end, I clock out and go to his office. We both air our concerns about the other. And it feels remarkably good. In the end, we agree to start over. 

I come home and feel good and bad. Bad about how I acted. Good about our much-needed conversation.

The next day I come in and it's as if Matt and I are meeting for the first time.

I hope I can learn from this experience. Being right or not right is often not the issue. Getting along is. I know it's a cliche, but it's true. It's more productive,  easier,  nicer, and even healthier — no built up tension or smoldering anger. I think Matt and I are now on the road to building a strong relationship. I hope so.

It's a nice feeling to let things go. I'm not very good at it, but I'm trying.