taking the plunge

Sunday morning, the day after the most-perfect wedding, M, my good friend, says to me, "I've changed my mind, you can post about it."

She tells me this after I've taken no pictures of the bride and groom, though one of the guests sends me one of theirs.

All day Saturday it's overcast and cool.

The ceremony is outside. 

Just as guests are starting to gather, the sun comes out. And with it, a rainbow. No one doubts that Rose, Sam's grandmother who died almost eight years ago, is there watching over her grandson.

All brides are beautiful, and Josie is no exception. She is stunning in a sleek, sophisticated dress, and the same veil that M wore at her wedding. Josie arrives on a boat, to big cheers from the waiting guests. Her older brother officiates, and gives a warm, and meaningful speech.

Sam and Josie are happy people. They are lucky to have that gene. Although there is much for them both to be grateful for, their happiness comes from within. They have been together for ten years, and their close friends and family are joyous to see them take this big step.

Drinks and hors d'hoeuvres follow the ceremony, and are the backdrop for the most incredible sunset.

M uncharacteristically agrees to a photo with me. 

It's a glorious night. Filled with great food, great people, a great band, and even great fireworks. Literally.

Tonight's date is particularly significant, as it's the same date that M and Tobey, Sam's parents, got married 34 years ago. 

And every person in their wedding party is here tonight to celebrate the marriage of Sam and Josie.

Early Sunday morning a group of eight brave people are meeting on the pier. They all plan to take the polar plunge. 

I bump into Sam and Harrison on the way there.

It's a gorgeous fall day. The participants hold hands.  And on the count of three, they jump into the icy Maine waters.

It's a fitting end to a spectacular weekend. 

alone in nature

I wake up, step onto my second-story terrace, and look out onto Sebaco Lake. It's hard not to be awed  by its beauty.

The grounds are stunning.

I bump into the groom on my way to breakfast.

Although I'm not particularly hungry, I still eat a lot: a muffin, pancakes with Maine blueberries, and bacon. A few of us hang out at  one of the cottages for a while, and then I decide to go for a walk alone — along the trails winding through the woods.

But first, I check with the front desk on two issues.

"You can't get lost on the trails, right." The woman at the front desk assures me that I can't.

I next need assurance on the wildlife.

"Are there any bears here?" 

"We've never been told of any," she responds.

So I decide it's safe enough to go alone; I  even leave my phone behind.

It's quiet.

Majestic, even.

Eventually I see some others; I ask for a photo and they comply.

I continue walking, After a while I find myself on a secluded road. 

No cars. 

No people. 

Just me. 

Initially I think, "This is so nice. Just me and nature."

But that doesn't last long. Soon I'm imagining disastrous possibilities.

What if I do get lost? 

What if I miss tonight's wedding? 

Where would I find shelter if I had to sleep out here? I bet it'd be freezing once the sun goes down. 

I have no phone. I can't even call for help.  

What should I do if  see a bear, even though I'm told there are no bears? What if the desk clerk was wrong?

Oh, and I forgot to ask about moose. Do they wander these woods? Do they ever attack people?

I turn back, grab a picnic lunch, and read for a few hours before the wedding.

off to Maine

This weekend is my friend's son's wedding. She's asked me not to blog about the details.

So instead, I'll write about other parts of the weekend; the parts that don't involve the bride and groom — two people I adore.

I leave the house before the sun is up, to arrive at JFK for an 8:37 flight to Portland. I get to the airport at 8, and am told by someone at the gate, "You better hurry. They're boarding." I am one of the last people on the plane; and all the overheads are full.  I'm forced to check my luggage. Ugh! 

By 8:22 the doors are locked and we are taxiing down the runway. 15 minutes before our scheduled departure. I can almost hear my mom whispering in my ear, "See, that's why you should always be early."

My friend V picks me up around 10, and because we can't check in to our hotel until 3, we decide to troll around Portland. Our first stop is some kind of famous donut place where mashed potatoes are used in the batter (though you'd never know it). Our weekend eating binge begins early.



The choices are massive. I go with a rather bland —though still delicious — maple glazed donut.

We walk around the downtown area and hit a few stores. Except for three mini jars of Stonewall Kitchen Jams, I buy nothing.

A place called The Highroller is highly recommended for lunch.  The sign outside and the line inside confirm it must be good.



Our lobster rolls arrive, and the meat is generous. It's $19 and  served on a toasted brioche roll —no sides. 

It looks great.

But it isn't. 

The roll is warm. The lobster ghee (something like melted butter) is warm. And the rather tasteless lobster is ice cold — a disappointing combination.

We leave Portland, and drive about 40 minutes to our destination. —an  idyllic little camp nestled in the Maine woods. 

I stay in the main lodge in a gorgeous room with a wood-burning fireplace, the perfect lake view, and no locks on the door. It's a trusting environment.

The extraordinary lobster bake ( also including steamers, chowder, corn, and a home-baked  blueberry cobbler)  for dinner more than compensates for our paltry lunch.

It's a great start to what undoubtedly will be a memorable weekend.

break fast

For as long as I can remember, I've fasted on Yom Kippur. No water, no food, nothing.

I no longer go to temple, but I still say prayers. — though my praying time is far shorter than those that attend synagogue.

Still, I do observe this Day of Atonement. I stay home most of the day, not doing much of anything. 

Whenever I'm meeting up with my NY-based family, I get anxious over what to wear. I have plenty of work clothes, and even sufficient dress clothes. But my wardrobe is weakest in the category of casual, but not jeans-casual. Just about everyone in my family is fashion forward (my brother-in-law and his family are in the business). So I know everyone else will be wearing the perfectly accessorized, understated outfit. In the end, I put on a pair of leather pants (the only pants I own aside from jeans) and a white Simone Rocha top. 

I leave for my sister's house in Long Island around 3:30, getting in a little after five.

By the time I arrive, many people are already there. Someone has proclaimed that it's now okay to break the fast. We are not a religious family.

Three of the "kids" are now married: Adam, Jason and Jessica. They have all chosen well — not only in their choice of spouses, but also in the families they come from.

This is the first year that Debra and Charles (Rachel's parents) have joined us, though it hardly feels that way. They are warm and engaging, and so easy to be with. I sit next to Charles and his genuine interest in film and my BAFTA involvement totally endears him to me.

Nina and Jay, Jessica's in-laws, are also present. And they too, feel like they've always been a part of the family.

In all, there are 15 of us, though another 11 or so are still missing. My family keeps expanding, and it makes our holidays that much more fun and interesting.

We are a very vocal family, and we don't always share the same point of view. But that's part of what makes getting together always so entertaining. And, there are some very witty, and very funny people among us.

It's a great night. Perfect except for the long, long ride home (so much traffic, even at 10 pm). Hewlett to NYC never felt so far.

(Oh, and why only a picture of a T-shirt? I decide to spare my family the agony of photographing them).

am I the selfish one?

I leave work early to finally get home at a reasonable time.

I order a VIA and it arrives on time. 

(VIA is a shared ride service and can pick up and drop off other riders along the same route).

In the VIA are three other passengers. One is having a casual conversation on her phone, as if no one else is in the car. Let's call her passenger A.

I am sitting in the front seat and whisper to the driver, "Should she be on her phone?"

The driver has a big, booming baritone voice, and says to A, "Ma'am, you are not allowed on the phone in a VIA. It's a rule."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that; it's my first time," she replies, and immediately hangs up.

But being the cynic that I am, I'm thinking, really?  Does there have to be a rule that says no casual talking on your phone when you are in a shared ride with other passengers? Shouldn't you intuitively just know that?

Then, it turns out, A had a problem with her VIA and is requesting a drop-off on 39th and Second. We are crossing over 50th St. to then head North on First o the Upper Eastside, where everyone else in the Via is heading.

But the driver is kind and says, "I'll need a consensus from the other three passengers, but if they're okay with it, I'm happy to drop you on 39th."

That's 22 blocks out of the way. In midtown. Around 7pm, still rush hour. While it can take only an extra 10 minutes, it can also take an extra 45 minutes, depending on traffic.

No one says anything. No one, I guess, wants to be the bad guy.

So I speak up.

"I'm really sorry but I need to get home, and don't want to go 22 blocks out of our way."

The driver apologizes to A and drops her on Second and 50th.

And to her credit, she doesn't complain or argue.

But after A leaves, the driver, in a cordial tone, says to me, "That was really mean of you. She had a really bad day."

We get into a calm discussion where he tells me that if he were a passenger, he wouldn't have said no. What's a little more time?  And I say, but I never would have asked to inconvenience three strangers to suit me. 

Once home, I wondered.

Would most people have said nothing and done a nice thing? Or would most be like me and speak up. I didn't have to be at home for any special reason, I was just tired and wanted to get home sooner rather than later.

What would you have done?

my new colorist

I was heartbroken when my colorist decided to move.  I'd been with Lico for over five years, the longest I'd ever been with any hair stylist ever. And our relationship was still strong. I'd have followed her just about anywhere. But LA was too far.

But Lico promised me she'd leave me in good hands. "You'll love Maiko; she was my teacher when I moved here. There's just one thing; most of the time she works at a salon in Soho." 

Lico worked three blocks from me. I loved the convenience. Maiko (also goes by May) works downtown (except for Sundays). So that is where I go today.

It's a quick subway ride. But every time I go downtown, I get turned around. First, the streets have names and not numbers. But worse, the streets start and stop and wind around. They are interrupted by other streets. There are parks in the middle of streets. There are triangulated corners where streets merge together. It's a mess. In fact, the address I am trying to find — 178 W. Houston — turns out to be located at 178 Bedford.

It's my first time at this salon, and it's clean, welcoming, and understated.  I like that the same person takes my coat, colors my hair, washes it, and then blows it out. 

And like Lico, May is ready as soon as I walk in. She is an expert at what she does. Has strong and good opinions. Is extremely pleasant. Gives great head massages. Adds a shine product to my hair without my requesting it. And does a superb job of blowing it out.

I am thrilled with the result. (The haircut is next week).

I'm so happy to have met May. I hope it's the beginning of a very long relationship.

any accomplishment is a good one

Last night I saw a legend. Quincy Jones.

I was at a BAFTA screening called QUINCY, followed by a Q&A with the man himself.

His accomplishments are innumerable. And while I knew of some, many were big surprises. There aren't enough hours in a day for him to get done all the very big things on his to-do list. His friends (not acquaintances) include world leaders, top singers, and A-list actors. He quotes Mark Twain as easily as he recounts stories with Michael Jackson, Frank Sinatra, Colin Powell, Oprah and more. And at 85, he is not done.

I doubt any one of his days has ever been spent doing nothing. Or worse, doing the mundane. Like the day I spend today.

I am having the inner shelves in my kitchen cabinets replaced as they are sagging, so I need to empty out everything.

Having to do that, I decide to keep only what I need. That leaves a lot of stuff to give away or toss, including:

This slicer that's been sitting in my cabinet since I bought it, whenever that was. I am not even sure anymore what it's used for.

Multiple salt and pepper shakers.

Plates I once loved that have since been replaced by others I love more.

An unused All-Clad pepper grinder (I think it was a promotional item that came with something else I bought), and a never-opened garlic press that I had to have; now I buy the garlics already peeled.

Baking pans and cupcake liners; I can't remember the last time I baked, and as for cupcakes or muffins — when did I ever make those?

Parts that apparently go with something but not sure what that something is.

Lots of serving pieces for when I entertain; but I only entertain a couple of times a year. 

Drinking glasses and wine glasses that I just have too many of, and a few other glass pieces I never use.

Duplicate utensils (spatulas, tongs, wooden spoons, etc).

Multiple school mugs and water bottles commemorating my son's graduation from high school and college; I decide one of each is enough.

Gadgets I never use (like a cheese grinder).

And anything without a noticeable expiration date.

But then I come across this:

And though I'll never use these again, I'll never part with them either.

kids!!!!!!

I'm watching NBC's Trivia Quiz. This week's theme is football.

I get 7 out of 10 correct and feel kind of proud of that number. One of the questions I had no idea about is, "What is the red zone?"

I want to talk to my son, who too often ignores my texts and calls. But I know that if I text him regarding football (his passion), I'll get a quick response.

So I do:



Soon after, Alexander calls. My son lives in Philadelphia and recently moved into a new apartment with three other guys.

It's no surprise that Alexander knows what the red zone is (the area on the field between the 20-yard line and the goal line, in case you care).

We talk a while as I walk to the subway on my way to work. It's a nice morning call.

I get to the subway and it's closed for repairs. I start to walk to 79th and Lex when I hear someone on the street calling,  "Mom. Mom!"

Immediately I think, some guy is trying to get my attention by yelling, "Mom, Mom,"...could just as well have been..."Hey mama." 

Feeling old, I turn around and am shocked to see a bearded Alexander.

I had no idea when I was talking to him on the phone just three minutes prior that he was here in NY, with obviously no plans of telling me.

His rationale?  "I knew if I told you I was coming home you'd want to have dinner or something, and I can't stay. I just need to pick up a few things and get right back to organize my stuff." (He hasn't had time yet to unpack from his move.)

And if that weren't bad enough, Alexander adds, "I almost didn't call out to you when I saw you, but I figured that would be really bad, so I did." Nice, I know.

He walks with me for a couple of blocks;  agrees to a quick photo; and is on his way.

surprise at work

Sales are down, my boss (whom I love) is moving to another floor, and someone in Houston took back a "final sale" item I sold last week and now I am hit with a $400 return that should never have hapened.

So the day is starting poorly.

I spent the past week trying to resolve (eventually successfully) a time-off error. After many hours and many emails and many different faceless people (payroll is handled by people we never meet and can only be reached via email), I finally get everything resolved, thanks mostly to a responsible person in Pennsylvania.

So coming in and seeing the phone in the area where I work (still not working after three weeks) and then seeing a return that shouldn't have happened, immediately puts me in a bad mood. But the phone finally gets fixed; I get over the return that shouldn't have been; and I get into the rhythm of the day.

I approach a guy, who turns out to be from Brazil. We start talking and it turns out he knows of my friend Zelia who was once the country's Minister of Economy (everyone from Brazil either knows or knows of, Zelia). But even more interesting, this man was a student of Zelia's when she was a professor. He gives me his card and I immediately call my friend to tell her.

Then, a few hours later, this woman gets off the elevator, looks at me and says, "Lyn. It's Pam."  Someone I worked with at Unilever in the mid-80's. She looks exactly the same as she did 30 years ago. Pam is smart and talented, and went on to helm major marketing divisions at top entertainment companies.  Though she says I said I look the same too (Pam really does), I'm not so sure.

1987; ad shoot for the revolutionary extra strength aim which was supposed to revolutionize dental care; it didn't

1987; with Jean-Luc and Micahel; the Aim team (which Pam later joined)

at my Unilever Office (with my boss Patrick), which Pam reminded me  had a peach-colored rug that I got permission to have installed

and Pam at my 1992 Baby Shower; she looks the same, but even better.

day with a friend

A good friend visits from out of town.

Said good friend does not want to be in my blog. "I don't like people knowing where I am or what I'm doing."

So this time I'll call good friend Q.

When Q visits (a few times a year), it's always an event. Even when we choose to do nothing (which is rare), being with her is like being on vacation. It's an escape from the usual, and always punctuated with laughs and great conversation.

Q arrives around three. And by 3:15 we are getting joint manicures and pedicures. The inexpensive salon next door is convenient, and passes my friend's critical eye and high cleanliness standard. Q asks the manicurist if the tools are sterilized and gets the response she wants, despite no proof.

We decide on an early dinner (both of us having skipped lunch) and choose Avra, a midtown Greek restaurant that is outrageously good.

We eat outside. Our dining neighbors include a screeching 3-year old whose father attempts to calm her, and whose mother looks at her with annoyance. And a middle-aged couple who dine their entire meal without a single word exchanged between them. 

The food is fresh and amazing. The Greek salad we split has no lettuce (which I love) and lots of big, red, beautiful tomatoes. We both get entrees of the jumbo grilled shrimp and my side is grilled vegetables. It's as good as it looks.

We split a big bowl of yogurt and honey for dessert. The yogurt tastes nothing like the inferior stuff sold in markets.

We are home early. Watch some TV.  Talk some. And are in bed reading before the evening news.

how to treat a customer

Okay, so I've written plenty on how customers should treat salespeople. But there should be rules for how customers should be treated.

Where I work, sales associates really do try to give the customer what she wants (our customers are mostly shes). One of my colleagues was recently even offered a tip (she declined) from a very grateful customer.

A few weeks ago, while I was on the Cape, I saw this framed photo at my sister's house taken by her son. My nephew Jack (an incredible photographer) generously gives a print to both M and me.

We bring our prints into Michael's to be framed.  I decide on a white frame, and can't be there to pick it up, so M volunteers.

We get a call that our frames are ready. M goes in and sees a blue smudge on my white frame, and it can't be removed.  

A week later she comes back and this time there's a noticeable dent in the frame.

How is it that the manager of framing, Scott, didn't notice the flaws either time? Since M is coming to NY soon, and leaving the Cape tomorrow, she needs to have the frame re-done today. This time, she picks the frame.  All Scott has to do is switch it out with the dented one. Everything else is done. And, if Scott can't have it ready by the end of the day, I won't get it until Thanksgiving when my mom visits NY. 

Scott's response, "I'll do my best, but I can't promise."  Really Scott? 

Getting it wrong once, not good. Getting it wrong twice, very not good. Then not even being able to commit to getting it done today? And no apologies.? Why is Scott even dealing with customers?

I ask for the store manager. She apologizes and tells me that of course it will be done today. And it is.

Versus Amazon Prime. The gold standard in customer service.

I get a shipment of 60 Keurig Pods of Peet's Columbia Luminosa Light Roast.

Problem is I ordered Major Dickason Dark Roast. I call Amazon and they offer two choices.

Keep what you have and we'll refund your money; or,
Keep what you have and we'll send you the correct coffee.

I choose the latter. And, I come home from work and my coffee has arrived. Same day.

If only Amazon could train the world in Customer Service, the world would be a happier place.