dirty laundry

It costs less to send my laundry out than to do it in my over-priced laundry room. So for a few years now, I have been bringing my laundry to the cleaners next door.

On May 6, I bring in a big bag of laundry. And on May 7 it is returned. I open the bag, expecting it to look as it always does. Clean and folded.

But the only thing I see is folded.

Every single piece in my laundry is not dirty as in I've worn it.  But dirty as in it looks like it all fell off a truck, in the rain, and then was run over a few times.

And, it was delivered back to me as if nothing odd had happened to it.

I go back to the cleaners, open my laundry bag, and show the guy who works there. His first response is to suggest that I brought it in that way. As if every single item I wore had been drenched in road dirt.

Next, he tells me that the place where the laundry is shipped to noticed it, and couldn't get it out. In very broken English he explains that the washing machine and dryer were used before and after my laundry, so it didn't happen there.

I don't really care where or how it happened. Just that it did. And that he needs to fix it. He says he will.

Two weeks later I go back and he tells me it won't come out. 

He calls the boss. Some woman named Michelle who lives, and I'm not joking, somewhere in Georgia on the Appalachian Trail and has poor internet connection.  He can only communicate with her when she calls. He tells me she'll be in next week, "Tuesday or Wednesday."

In the meantime, I create an excel spreadsheet of all 21 items. I find the replacement cost online. Everything has been bought within the past two years. The total comes to $1,889.71.

Michelle finally comes in yesterday, which is a Wednesday, not a Monday or Tuesday. I'm expecting an unpleasant encounter.

But I am surprised; Michelle is nothing like I expect. 

She is attractive, professional, and speaks English well. The first thing she says is, "I am so so sorry."

This immediately diffuses all my anger.

She tells me she needs to consult with her brother to determine next steps. He is part owner and isn't available until next week.

So, no decision yet but I am optimistic.

I hope I am right.

a special delivery

My buzzer rings. It's 9:30pm. I am already in bed heavily into Line of Duty on Amazon Prime.

I know it's the doorman. Probably to tell me that I have a package. No rush. I'll get it in the morning.

This morning, on my way out, the doorman reminds me of my delivery. "I'll get it when I come back," I tell him.

I return and take the small bag filled with tissue paper up to my apartment. It's a purchase from SkinStore, I'm pretty sure. Lipstick I think.

Sometimes I don't open a package for a few days. 

But today I'm curious. It looks like it was dropped off, more than mailed.

I remove the tissue paper. 

Yellow roses. Are these even real I wonder. 

I smell them. They are.

Who would send me flowers?

No birthday.

No holiday.

No reason.

I open the card, and trite as it sounds, my heart fills with unexpected joy.

Flowers from my son for a belated Mother's Day.

a good friend

Q and I have been friends —good friends — for a very long time.

We are in touch almost daily but I see her rarely. At least this past year... ya know, that COVID thing.

On Monday, Q suggests dinner for tonight and I immediately say yes.

Then tonight comes.

I run some errands in the morning, and it's hot. In the high 80's. I hate this weather. It depletes me.

Then another friend tells me about a British series I should stream, Line of Duty on Amazon Prime.

Oh, and I even have dinner all ready to heat up: branzino from Butterfields. Love the way they prepare it.

Hmmm. Staying in is sounding more and more appealing.

I could email Q and say I'm not feeling well. Technically I'm not. The heat has made me sluggish.

But she's a good friend and I don't like lying. 

So as I am imagining my blissful night in of doing nothing, I text her. And seconds later I get Q's unexpected response.

We are good enough friends that she knows I will laugh and capitulate.

She continues.

We meet.

DInner is great.

We catch up in ways that can't be done over text or phone.

I am lucky to have a friend who won't let me off the proverbial hook when there's no good reason to be on it.

a legal drug buy

On the way home from the Cape, out of curiosity more than anything else, Zelia and I make a stop in Wareham to check out Verilife — a cannibas dispensary.

We find the place with little problem. There is a small parking lot in the back for medical clients, but none for recreational ones.  A police officer, in sparkly sunglasses, stands in front of Verilife. She tells us where we can maybe find a space but she is not optimistic. 

After a second or two, she says, "Do either of you have any medical issues?"

"No," we both answer.

"What about trouble walking?"

"No," we respond.

At this point I begin to suspect that she is really trying to help us out.

"What about knee issues?"

Aha! 

"Well, I do have arthritis in my left knee," I truthfully respond.

She immediately takes out her walkie and talkie and says to some guy in the back lot, "I am allowing the next car to park here. I've approved them for discretionary parking."

I love this women.

We get in line. Yes, at 10am there is already a line. And though no one seems to care, we look different from most of the others who are waiting.

The offerings are printed on 4-pages. Different kinds of cartridges (whatever that means). Flowers (not the kind that go in vases). Pre-rolls. Edibles. And a column noting the percentage of THC and/or CBD on each. 

The process is very well organized. 

 ID's are checked three different times.

And everything and everyone is clean and professional. The place looks like a high-end apothecary, though I've never been in one.

Nothing is reminiscent of the way marijuana used to be sold when I was in college. That was always through someone who knew someone. And that person was always easy to find.

There is signage everywhere, and one-pagers describing the different products. It's all very impressive.

In the end, and after much consideration, I buy an edible that I'm told can help with sleep. 

If Verilife had existed back when I was in college, I am pretty certain this is not the product I would have bought. But as Dylan famously said, "The times they are a-changin'."

escape to the cape

Zelia and I  drive up to Falmouth on Friday. I haven't seen my mom and sister since last summer.

We leave Friday morning, and basically spent three days eating, walking and just hanging out.

We tour two newly built houses. Both gorgeous: 

• My sister Jean's is on a lake and an easy walk to town. My friend M's is on the ocean in nearby Sippewissett. 

• Jean will be all moved in by the end of this month. M's move-in date will hopefully be by Thanksgiving, not the expected September.

Dinners are all great. 

• One my mom makes. Perfect cornish hens and apple pie.

• One at The Chart Room where the view is beautiful. The noise level high. And, in my opinion, with a menu offering only one item worth getting: the no-work baked stuff lobster where the claw meat is included in the stuffing.

• And one at C-Salt with Zelia, Jean and my good friends M and V. It is, in every way, ideal. (C-Salt and Bleu are my two favorite restaurants on the upper Cape). I suppose if one thing could be changed it would be the outdoor ambiance. We are seated in an enclosed tent, situated opposite a highway and next to a parking lot. But the tent shields us from the less-than-stellar view. The night air is comfortable. And most importantly, the food is excellent, and the conversation flows as if all of us have been friends forever.

And then there are the walks. M sister introduces us to some new trails. One at a place called Mashpee River Reservation. 

And the other same-day walk is around Long Pond. Beautiful, with lots of rocks and inclines.

Before leaving, I buy three of my favorite foods to take home: the cranberry bread at Maison Villate, and the lobster salad (best I've had, perfectly balanced amounts of mayo and other stuff) and gigantic frozen shrimp (8 to 12/pound) at The Clam Man.

And finally, there's my mom — an inspiration for how 91 can look.

online returns

When I worked in retail, returns were probably the number one thing I hated (and there's a lot to hate in retail). Returns are deducted from commissions, and commissions are the only way I was paid.

So I am sensitive to this when I buy anything in a store. If I can try it on, see it and feel it, I shouldn't have to return it.

But buying online is totally different. 

No one is paid on commission (at least I don't think so). There, I am less concerned about a return. And also, because I can't check the fit,  feel the material, or see the product's real color, the likelihood for a return is high. 

Recently, I return a few things, and my experience ranges the gamut from dreadful to so good it's hard to believe.

BAD: Goldietees.com

I recently purchase a ribbed long-sleeved white T-shirt and a white cotton hoodie from Goldies. The hoodie fits short, and I don't love the feel of the material. It's too flimsy. 

The process for returning the item is easy. I simply download a return shipping label and mail it off. 

But then...

A few days later, Goldie notifies me about the return. It is accepted, and $14.95 has been deducted for the return shipping label. I check their Return Policy (which I hadn't done previously) and yup, that's what it says. Plus, only returns from FedEx or UPS are accepted.

Disappointing and expensive.

GOOD: Most

Most online retailers provide free shipping labels, a reasonable window for returns, and a short wait for the credit. I always wonder, though, why is the charge for the item immediate and the credit for the return so long?

GREAT:  Zappos (owned by Amazon)

Shoes are hard to get right. I often feel apologetic returning them. But sometimes it takes a few tries before finding the perfect fit.

Zappos famously allows up to a year for returns. Makes the process simple. Covers all return costs. And the time it takes to be credited? Well, I'll give this example, though it may be extreme.

I print out the return label. A few hours later I get a notification that the return has already been processed. And, I haven't yet had time to even mail back my shoes. 

AMAZING: And then there's Amazon

The process couldn't be easier. Print a free label and mail in your package. There are even some drop-off places where you can bring in your item unpackaged and they will handle everything.

But sometimes...if the item is inexpensive...you might be lucky and get this. 

An in case you're wondering, I had meant to buy the Blood Orange, not Peach.

happy mother's day

When I took the at-home pregnancy test and saw it was positive, I was thrilled.

I didn't have a husband I could share the good news with. And I  knew the 29-year-old father would not share my excitement.

But I wasn't an unwed teen either, and I had confidence that I could raise a child on my own.

My family was at first skeptical, but always supportive.

I have always felt lucky to have a child. A son. And this Mother's Day, in particular, I am incredibly grateful.

Being a parent is not easy. And not for reasons of finance or logistics. No, it's the never-ending worry that your child is not happy. Or making bad decisions. Or getting hurt, whether physically or emotionally or by just some girl who broke his heart. 

Your child can be three or fifty, it doesn't matter. As a parent, your heart forever lives outside your body.

But there truly is no better feeling, than when all the stars align, and you see joy in your child's eyes. 

So to all my single friends. My married ones. The moms with newborns and toddlers. And the older moms with grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Embrace the day. And know how truly lucky we all are.

Happy Mother's Day.

tragedy averted

I get up at 1:30am and find my son in the other room, still wide awake.

We talk briefly and I go back to sleep. 

The next time I see him is at 6:45am. Alexander has come in my room to tell me he's leaving to head back to Philadelphia.

"Did you get enough sleep to drive?" I ask. 

"Ya, I'm fine," he responds.

Around nine my phone rings; it's Alexander.

"Hi, are you home yet?" I ask, figuring that's why he's calling. I always like to know when he arrives at his destination after a long drive.

"No, but listen. I'm fine." And before I can question that odd remark he continues.

"You were absolutely right. I should have listened to you." I have no idea where this is going.

"Look, I'm totally okay but I guess I was too tired. And I started to doze off. Just for a second. But in that short amount of time, I lost control of the car and drove into a concrete embankment. The car started smoking, and..."

I think around this point I stop listening and my mind fills with horrid imagery.   But my son is on the phone. I am talking to him. And he sounds fine. Serious. Rational. And calm.

The seat belt, the airbags, and a last-minute decision to swerve saved his life.

The car is totaled. The chances of surviving a crash at 70 miles per hour on a 4-line highway is not good. 

My son is so very blessed.

The NJ State Troopers who stopped soon after the accident were helpful, despite giving him three tickets. Alexander did not have to go to a hospital but he did go to a walk-in clinic later. 

He's a little bruised but appears to have no serious injuries.

I am not a religious person, but I do believe in God. And today he was watching over my child.

a visit from my son

When Adam and Rachel give me a very generous gift certificate to Wolfgang's Steakhouse for my birthday, I know immediately whom I'll invite.

Alexander and I differ on so many subjects it's sometimes hard to remember I raised him. I prefer winter; he hates the cold. I am a spender; he is a saver. I am a liberal; he is not. But our tastes in food are similar. Among many common loves, steak is high on the list.

Today my son visits. He looks healthy and I know he's happy because he lets me take his picture without complaining.

Alexander arrives midday and has a few things to do. So we talk over lunch and a long walk to Wolfgangs.

So many NYC restaurants have created great outdoor environments that I hope last beyond the pandemic.

We have our own semi-private room, complete with window and portable heater.

And as always, the food is amazing. 

We start with tuna tartare.

And both get the medium-rare, perfectly prepared strip steak, along with the restaurant's signature German potatoes and creamed spinach,

After dinner, I come home and Alexander goes off to meet up with some friends.

I wish my son lived here, and that spending time with him was more usual than not.