two arrivals that make me happy

A year ago March I thought I had discovered the best furniture store on the planet. It is tucked away on W. 18th Street in the Flatiron District. I walked in and fell in love with almost everything in the store. M was with me, and actually, it might have been her who "discovered" Home Nature.

As it turns out, this discovery wasn't that much of a discovery. One of my nephews furnished his Hampton house largely from this store. Another nephew's in-laws also shop here.  And one day I even see Julianna Margulies shopping here with her mother.

Finally, this past January, Home Nature has a sale on the sofa I want. I buy it (and later, some throw pillows).  I love the fabric; the picture does little to show its beauty, texture, and durability.  It can even be cleaned with bleach —not that I would, but I can. And better still, Citibank is offering an 18-month-zero-interest credit card, so paying for it becomes affordable.

Today the sofa arrives, and it fits perfectly. The scale is exactly right. I love its modern lines, and simple aesthetic. It'll likely be the last sofa I ever buy, but I doubt I'll tire of it.

A few hours after my sofa arrives, my good friend M also arrives. She's here (from the Cape) for a quick 24 hours, but we still manage to get a lot in.

First, Costco, which is a treat. I haven't been there much lately, having no car access and only one person to feed and clean. 

On the way home, we stop at Lloyd's on upper Lexington. For $3, Lloyds still sells the best piece of carrot cake anywhere.

Later we meet Sam (M's son) and Josie (his fiancee) for dinner at Kefi. Sam is the foodie among us and we always let him choose the restaurant for dinner. This one he heard of by watching Billions — apparently some of the show's characters ate there in one episode.

Josie and Sam are among my favorite young couples. I thoroughly enjoy their company, and being with M is always great. The service is slow, but we don't mind. We have plenty of time between courses to savor the many flavors of each dish. And while everything is good, the Australian lamb chops are exceptional. They are served with a lemon/olive oil sauce called ladolemono. It is so outstanding that I am tempted to cook something just so I can see if I can replicate the sauce. 

After our leisurely dinner, we call for a VIA and it comes in one minute, literally — the ideal end to an ideal night.

thank-you Jeff

One of the many reasons I love New York is that it has everything. The best shopping. Great restaurants. Interesting and diverse people.  Theater.  Museums. Parks. Liberal politics. And everything in between.

And every neighborhood is a microcosm of the city. 

I could pretty much live my entire life within a few blocks. There's Agata for food shopping. Multiple nail and hair salons. Grocery stores and pharmacies. Toy and dress stores. Bakeries. And even a top hospital. It's really quite remarkable how much I could get done without even crossing a street.

But now I don't even have to leave my house to shop for the simplest things. Amazon Prime has made life so much easier.

WIthin the past four days:

The small plastic chgarger on my fitbit breaks. I find a replacement on Amazon for $5.99 and order it; it comes in two days.

I run out of AAA battereis. Again, Amazon makes the re-purchase easy.

I like cold water, and recently thought, "I wish I could put ice-cubes in my Poland Spring water bottles. I search Amazon and find multiple options. I chose the one  that people seem to like best: 

I run out of Vitamin B. Easy enough to find on Amazon, despite there being a health food store a block away.

I like Mrs. Myers Hand Soap. I decide I want it as a refill for my bathroom soap dispenser. Easy to find, and cheaper than I'd find in any store.

I finally finish off the tape in my tape dispenser. Could be a decade since I last put tape in it. I like the clear, non-shiny kind. I buy three rolls for under $8. It could last me my lifetime (sad thought).

I get on the scale and it keeps flashing lo. I change the batteries and it doesn't help.  I call the manufacturer and they tell me it's unfixable. I go on Amazon and buy an inexpenisive, nice looking model that 71% of 15,029 prior purchasrs love.

And then of course there's my new friend, Alexa.  She wakes me up every morning at 7:45. Tells me when my hard-boiled eggs are ready. Announces when it's time to get the laundry. And plays my favorite music.

Amazon hasn't actually replaced the benefits of New York, but it's certainly freed me up to enjoy more of them.

getting a gold sticker

I return to work on Friday, having been gone almost two weeks. 

My body is not used to the punishing requirements of selling clothes. Eight (or more) hours on my feet plus 13,000 or more steps equal an aching lower back, cramping calves, painful feet, and utter exhaustion.

And the first week after returning is particularly brutal since I'm working basically without pay. While gone, I accumulate returns. And I am not paid until my "returns" are off-set with the same amount in sales. I try not to stress too much about this; I know that's the price for taking time off.

While I'm gone, a new entry/exit door is put into effect for all employees. 

Now, upon entering and leaving the building, we have to walk down a flight of stairs to the basement level. Then we walk through a long, meandering maze to the elevators. 

The old entryway was at ground level, with the elevators right there. The new system can easily add 10 minutes to entering or exiting the building.

But there are exceptions. 

Some people cannot walk up and down stairs every day and I am one of those people. I have a bad left knee. And it's chronic. Sometimes it's fine, and other times it's not. But walking up and down stairs exacerbates it. 

So I get a temporary exemption. I am waiting to hear what is needed to get a more permanent one. My ID. (the black square is supposed to be my picture) now sports a coveted gold sticker, allowing me to enter/leave the building at ground level, thus avoiding the more complicated and time-consuming new system.

 I guess that's the silver lining to having a bum knee. It's not much, but I'll take it.

a new look?

My mom, as sweet as she —and she is very sweet — doesn't mince words.

I'm talking to her the other day, and apropos of nothing she says, "You need a new haircut."

It's been 11 weeks since the last time I saw Sato (at Miano Viél Salon & Spa) and I am way overdue. So I take my mom's advice, schedule an appointment, and begin googling styles.

layered hair medium-length gets a lot of hits.

And I get even more when I qualify my search with the added words older women.

After poring over lots of hairstyles, I like the two below the best. I am sure I am biased by the fact that both women are beautiful.

I send an email to a few friends asking their opinion (and ideas) with the caveat that:

• Keratin has made my hair pretty flat and straight.
• I don't want anything that requires prep; I prefer wash, quick dry and go.

Today I see Sato, all ready for my new look. 

He views the pictures and says (correctly), "That's the haircut you have now. It just needs shaping."

I tell him I agree, and ask about the bangs.

"You'd hate bangs, especially in the summer. They'll be hot. On your face. And, you need to style them."

He's right.

Sato is a precise and conscientious cutter. I give him only two preferences:

        "Make the bangs as short as possible without them being bangs."

        "Make the bottom choppy."

And here's what I get:

I'm happy —despite my new haircut looking just like all my old ones,

Maybe someday I'll take a big hair risk; that someday, though, is not today.

at-home vacation

I've had little to write about as I've been doing very little.

I had a minor (underscore minor) procedure a week ago today and am recovering. No need for any get-well wishes; I am totally fine and hope to be back at work on Friday.

It's amazing all the things one can find to do without leaving home. But only one of them is worthy of mention.

I'm talking to M and she's telling me about this app called bit emoji. You upload a selfie and then create your own personal emoji. 

So today I create one. There are some limitations to the app. The biggest one being that the app doesn't account for age, except for the ability to add a few wrinkles. So anyone older than 40 will look younger. 

After you create your emoji, the app populates it with lots of different versions of you. Below are just a few of mine. Would love to see yours!

my world gets cleaner

It's been four years since I've had my windows washed.   I wanted to wait until my sofa was gone so there would be no obstacles preventing access to the living room windows. That's my poor excuse.

I call Frank's Window Cleaning and speak to Rich, the owner. We agree on a date and a price.

Vance comes around 9. He's done my windows before. He's a big guy, short of breath, and  a true professional. Though he doesn't come with a step stool, at least this time he comes with a bucket.

Vance tells me that my screens have rotted and I need to throw them out. I don't open my windows all that much, but now I'll be afraid of a pigeon flying in. Can these birds squeeze through if I open the window just a crack? I hope not.

The windows badly need to be cleaned.

living room

living room — I think (hope) the picture makes it look much worse than it actually was

Vance cannot close one of the upper windows in the living room and has to call Rich, his boss, to come over and help. Apparently there is a tiny crack in the window that is affecting the frame.

Then Vance tells me that some of the small spots don't come off the windows because, "It's been so long since you've had them cleaned that dirt has embedded itself into the windows themselves."  

Vance cleans all ten of my windows (plus two CitiQuiet windows I had installed years ago). His work is impeccable.

I was told by Rich that the total cost would be $159. Cash or check only.

But before I even pay, Vince says,  "You're a good person. I love you to death. But I'd never come back here."

He then goes on to explain. "This job should have been over $200. I've been here two hours. I only made $80.  I just get half of what you pay."

I don't know what to say. So I hand Vince $175, say thank you, and wonder if I'll ever see him again.

In the meantime, my world looks a lot brighter. 

time management

Jean and her husband Jim are both social and gregarious. People gravitate to their warmth and openness. And although they've been living on the Cape full time for a little over a year, already they have many local friends.

Saturday night they host a party, and invite about 30 people. Some they knew from before the Cape, some they've re-connected with, and others they've just met. Everyone mixes well together, and it's an easy-going, fun group.

Among the many guests is Roxy, Jean and Jim's adorable, and well-behaved dog.

My sister is definitely one of the best hostesses I know. She can effortlessly entertain large groups. Prepare incredible food (her tuna tartare and avocado toast points were incredible). And make everyone feel comfortable. My mom and I, by Cape standards, get home late. About 10:30. And tomorrow is a very early day.

My mother has this thing about being late. She admits it. "Look, I'm not afraid of most things (which she isn't). But I am afraid of being late." Then she'll add, "I've always been this way."  That's the best explanation she can give.

Before going to bed, my mom tells me we are leaving at 5:30. My bus leaves from Sagamore at 6:35. Sagamore is 16 miles from my mom’s house.  We no negotiate to 5:35. 

“Mom, it doesn’t take an hour to get to Sagamore.” 

“I just want to leave plenty of time. I don’t know where I’m going (she does) and there’s always a lot of traffic on a Sunday morning (there’s of course none)."

We end up leaving at 5:44 and my poor mother is near-frantic. There are no other cars on the road. My mom gets to the bus station easily. We are there at 6:05. The parking lot is empty. We are alone.

We sit in the car ( with the door open for fear that if the door is locked the ignition could lock). Finally. around 6:25, two other passengers show up. 

One of my mom’s weak arguments for leaving early was, “There will be a lot of people on the bus and I want to make sure you get a seat.” So I ask her to take a picture of me with ALL the other passengers.


Now my mother is a self-admitted poor photographer. But an iPhone is pretty easy to use. I show her what button to press, set up the shot, and go stand with the two amicable fellow passengers.

Here's her unedited photo.

I love watching my mom laugh. She has a great sense of humor and we both find her photo hilarious.

Her re-do is a little better.

I'm at South Station by 7:30; it takes less than an hour. 

just a little bit off

I think my mom should offer a little instruction book to her guests. Here are a few recommendations she might want to consider.

WHEN IN THE KITCHEN...

The cold water faucet on the right dispenses hot water. And conversely, you'll get cold water through the hot water faucet on the left.

WHEN IN THE UPSTAIRS BATHROOM...

Don’t be alarmed if the toilet handle to flush is difficult to push down.  Depress it half way for most of your flushing needs.  Hold the handle down for a few more seconds for more complicated ventures.

WHEN IN THE BACK BEDROOM... 
You may be tempted to use the light switch on your right when you walk in the room. Don't. It doesn't work. Hasn't for as long as I can remember. If you need light, just switch on the bedside lamp. 

WHEN IRONING... (laundry is included in all stays but ironing is not)
The ironing board and associated plug are near the washing machine and dryer. But if you use the wall plug, you need to first remember to flip up the light switch near the stairs.

WHEN DRIVING MY CAR INTO THE GARAGE... (Car usage is generously included in stay)
The right door on the garage doesn’t shut when you use the automatic garage closer; only the right side works. Don't ask why; I have no idea. To close the right side, enter the house and use the clicker near the door.

ALSO WHEN DRIVING MY CAR...
Don’t idly sit in it.  If you do, the transmission can automatically lock. Just leave the door open a little and you should be fine. I recently had to call a cab to get to my destination after the car refused to start.

But maybe it's not just my mom's beautiful home that has its quirks.

I drive to the local cheese shop today, and am greeted with this sign:

I tell the owners. “Hey, do you know you’re sign is upside down?”

“Ya; we know. But the sign on the other side is correct."

Hard not to love a place that's so endearing.

dining fine

My pasty white face is finally getting some much-needed sun.

I know it's bad for me. I know I should be under a hat, heavily slathered in 50 SPF. But damn if a little color doesn't look good.

It's been perfect beach weather every day since arriving.

And perfect every night for eating well.

Tuesday, M and I go to BLEU. It's a small upscale restaurant in Mashpee Commons. Its food distinguishes it from the neighboring restaurants in the Commons. I don't go frequently, so when I do (once a year at most), I always order the same thing. Duck breast. It's incredible.

Wednesday I go back to Mashpee Commons. This time it's with my mom, my sister Jean and M.

We are eating at a well-reviewed and popular Greek restaurant called ESTIA. It's doing so well that soon they'll be opening another Estia in Falmouth Center. We order Greek salads, zucchini chips, lamb chops, moussaka, and a yogurt with honey for dessert. The dessert is simple and refreshing. Everything else is neither. My rack of lamb is seasoned with too much of a very sharp mustard — the kind that goes straight through your nostrils with every bite. Jean and M's grilled lollipop lamb chops are also overly spiced. And the salads, according to my mom (and she's right), are "a disgrace." The pizza looks good. If we ever go back (and that's a very big if) it'd be for the pizza.

Thursday my mom, her friend (and mine) Cindy, and I go to THE CHART ROOM. At least once a season we go, and I always order the same thing — baked stuffed,  mess-free lobster.  The claw meat is taken out and re-stuffed into the lobster. It's the absolute best way to eat a lobster.

And then last night, I join M and her family (Tobey, Harrison, Sam and Josie) at the hottest little converted diner in town, EPIC OYSTER.

This used to be a passed-over diner housed in a stationary trailer. Now it's an-always-busy-hard-to-get-a-reservation restaurant. 

Before dinner, we order drinks. I get some kind of mixed cocktail mai-tai that is served in a two-piece metallic pineapple. We raise our glasses to toast and the bottom of my pineapple container separates from the top and the drink inside splatters all over Sam. Harrison aptly describes the mess; "It looks like baby throw up." Aside from that fiasco, dinner is great. 

But five nights of good eating comes at a cost. The cute pair of tight jeans I purchased on Tuesday are being returned tomorrow. 

regression

Age doesn't matter.  When you visit home, you become the child you once were. 

My sister and I get along great. And if anything, as we've gotten older, we've grown closer. Jean is six and a half years younger than I, so growing up, the difference of six grades in school meant our friends and activities didn't overlap. But now those six years don't matter.  Both of us are now adults (well, sort of).  Yet still, there are many leftover childhood characterizations.

For example, I'm still viewed as the argumentative one (even when I don't think I'm being argumentative at all). I'm still the inept one in the kitchen (that hasn't changed — the only thing different is that Jean has really developed into a first-class chef, able to effortlessly combine disparate ingredients into gourmet meals). And I'm still viewed as the most inflexible one when it comes to time, as in, when to go to the beach and when to eat dinner  (even though we are all equally adamant in our preferences). 

And when I'm with my mom, her natural inclination is to warn me of life's hazards — even the obvious ones. "Be careful you don't trip on that hose." That hose being something that would be impossible to miss. Or a million feet from where I'm standing. 

"You don't drink enough water."  Whether it's true or not, how does my mom know how much water I do or don't drink?

"You need to eat something? Remember that time you didn't have lunch and you almost fainted?" I don't remember anything like that, but my mom does.

And then there's my name. My mom knows I haven't been Linda since I left for college at 18. But still, it's difficult for her to call me Lyn. She tries, but it's not natural for her. Maybe that's the same way my son feels when I call him Alexander instead of Alex.

I'm sitting on the beach with my mom and M. It's a gorgeous day, and one of the things I most love to do is sit in front of the ocean, face toward the sun, good book in hand, and maybe even a sandwich from Dean's. That's how I find myself today. Unfortunately, my mother has already said, "I can't read on the beach. There are too many distractions." I'm the opposite. I love to read in the beach and can easily get lost in a good book. And Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine is one of those exceptionally good books. 

My mom begins a story. I half-listen, with admittedly most of my attention going to Eleanor. All of a sudden I hear, "Linda, look at me when I'm talking." I look up and out of the corner of my eye, I see M, trying unsuccessfully to hide her laughter. 

Age is irrelevant when I'm home. The child within surfaces as soon as I step through the proverbial front door. 

And my guess is that I'm not alone.

gone girl

Finally, a few weeks ago I give in and buy a very affordable, overnight wheeling suitcase by Baggoallini. $135 and worth every penny.

I'm flying out of JFK to Hyannis, and take the subway to the airport. With my new rolling suitcase, it's so much easier than it was when I made the same trip last year.

For the past few years, I have randomly been pre-approved for check-in. This year I wasn't, and the line is long. Shoes off. Food in one bin. Computer in another. Coat in a third. Tote in a fourth. Plus of course my suitcase.

I finally get through and just want to put my shoes back on. The floors are filthy. I get to the gate with time to spare.

I'm making calls. Playing WWF. Reading the paper. And then I remember. Actually, then I don't remember — putting my computer back in my suitcase. I don't remember doing it because I didn't do it. And how easy it would be for someone else to pick up my computer from an unclaimed bin.

I race back to the check-in area. Speak to a security person. And fortunately they have my computer. I don't think I could have left had I not found it.

But I do find it, and I do leave.

Finally, I'm in sunny Cape Cod. I immediately feel more relaxed and less stressed than I felt in the city I left behind.

My mom picks me up.

We later play gin. I even win the first game.

Dinner's at my sister Jean's — she makes fresh sockeye salmon and haddock, caught just last week when my nephew and brother-in-law went fishing in Alaska.

And then I meet-up with my close friend M. She's renting a house for the summer, just minutes from my mom.

It may not be an exotic vacation, or even an adventuous one. But it's the exact kind of vacation I like. Friends. Family. Good food. Low maintenance. And the gorgeous Atlantic.

my friend's big birthday

A very good friend is having a big birthday. She invites a group of us to celebrate with her at The Atrium in DUMBO. A week or so before the event, we get an email that says in part:

Please do me the honor of sharing a few words on ONE of the following:

• I BET I KNOW SOMETHING THAT YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT JILL...

• JILL WOULD BE PERFECT IF ONLY SHE DIDN’T HAVE THESE SMALL, PESKY HABITS...

• AND THEN THERE WAS THE TIME WHEN JILL...

My friend Lyn advises that these sorts of things can get boring if they go on too long, so I promised we'd put a hard time limit of 90 seconds or less. 

I've known Jill for over 30 years, and I have many funny and embarrassing stories to tell. Our friendship is solidly cemented, and holding it together are decades of shared experiences as single mothers of boys; ski adventures; celebrations; more movies, concerts and plays that I could ever count;  and even the same job at the same time. The short speech I chose to give isn't funny, but speaks to Jill's unselfish character.

I had planned to arrive on time at 11 (which I do), celebrate over brunch (which I do), and then spend time with Jill in Brooklyn (which I don't do). 

Last night my internet and phone go down. Tomorrow I leave for a week on the Cape. Spectrum can come to my house today at two. And I am too compulsive to leave my home for seven days without getting everything I need fixed, fixed before I leave.

The party is perfect. Jill's closest friends and family are there. The speeches are all heartfelt,   poignant, and knowing. 

And all provide insight into our mutual friend. Few keep to the 90-second limit, but good content cannot always be contained.

Jill's youthful mom is obviously proud to listen to what Jill's friends say. And Jill's sister gives a brilliant (and hilarious) roast.

I know many of Jill's friends but not all, and it's nice to learn through others how lucky I am to have the friendship I do with this amazing woman.

paid vacation? kinda, sort of

It was the summer of 1998, and I headed up Ad Sales Marketing at Discovery Communications for all of its networks.

I was going on vacation, but the week before, we were taking a group of key advertisers to Iceland. It was an amazing trip. 

White water rafting.

Whale watching.

Skiing and snowmobiling atop a glacier. 

Learning to shoot (the first and last time I ever held a gun).

And relaxing in the geothermal waters of the Blue Lagoon.

All this, and getting paid too. After all, this trip was part of my job. The previous year I was in Australia for over two weeks. Again, to build relationships with major advertisers.

And then, after arriving home, I went directly on vacation — being paid of course my full salary. 

That was then.

Today is my last day of work for the next couple of weeks.

And it's a bad day. High returns. Low sales. I gross $83.

And now I'm off. I'll get paid for my vacation. But I'll still be accumulating returns. So while I may come back refreshed and relaxed, I will be facing all the returns that have built up while I've been away.

That means that for the next week or two after vacation, I have to "pay off" my returns. So if for example, I come back to $5,000 in returns, I won't be paid any commission until I sell $5,000 worth of merchandise.  I plan not to dwell on this while I'm away.

But oh how I do miss those corporate days of great pay, great fun, great big giant budgets, and great benefits. And when a vacation really was a vacation. And the job could even be one too.

I think summer's overrated

I don't get it.  Why does everyone love summer so much?

Sure, for a select few summer is amazing.

If you're a teacher, you can look forward to ten weeks off.

Or if you're a student, no homework for a couple of months.

If you own (or even rent) a beach house — well, that's pretty great.

Or if you use the summer time to travel to interesting places, I'm jealous. My friend Susan just returned from a 4-week trip to Europe and Southeast Asia. My sister went to Alaska.

But if you are like most mortals...there's much not to like about summer.

Today, for example, it's hot. Too hot to function outside.

I walk a block and feel exhausted.

Most people look sweaty, smelly, and miserable.

If you live in a city like New York, it's generally hotter than the surrounding areas. In fact, according to some expert I googled, 

"In cities, a phenomenon known as the 'urban heat island effect' causes air temperatures to be warmer than in nearby suburban or rural areas." 

No wonder NYC is a ghost town on summer weekends.

Oh, and when it's hot out, you are limited to how little you can wear. But in winter, for example, just layer up and wrap a scarf around your face and you're good to go. You can always add clothes, not so the other way around.

And of course fall/winter fashion is so much more exciting and interesting than spring/summer fashion.

The busses here in NY are freezing, so if you are dressed for ninety-degree weather, you still better be carrying a sweater.

But not on the subway. The platforms there are dreadfully hot; even the rats stay hidden.

I can take shower,  but as soon as I walk out the door I feel the need to shower again.

Humid weather is bad for hair.

Scorching sunlight is bad for skin.

Give me a snowy, freezing cold day any time over heat and humidity.

But one week from today I'll be on the Cape. 

And there, at least, summer is, as summer should be.