an unexpectedly wild night

In typical John fashion, he calls around 8:30 to tell me he's in NY. He lives in Minneapolis, has a wife and three kids. I haven't seen him in over 20 years, plus he never phones.

"I'm here at the Four Seasons finishing dinner. Meet me," he begins.

"When?" I ask.

"Now. Like right now."

Within an hour, I've taken a shower, washed my hair, put on makeup, and walked over to The Mark.

And it's like I saw him yesterday. Really. His absolute craziness, humor, and edginess have always appealed to me. He's also brash, arrogant, and irreverent. Qualities to which he'll easily and proudly admit.

We first met in 1981. We were both working in Boston at Gillette; I was seven years older, worked in Marketing, and he in Finance. We ended up in a passionate, highly volatile relationship. I loved/hated him for years, and he played me for the same amount of time. 

When things were good there was nothing better, and when they weren't, they really really weren't. 

My idea for the night is a couple of hours at a quiet bar catching up on life. But that's not what happens. 

I arrive at The Mark around 9:45.

We walk into the hotel's bar soon after hugging hello.  Immediately we see a very pretty twenty-something woman posing for a photo on a nearby sofa. Without saying a word, John jumps into the shot. 

She's with an attractive group of young women, all dressed in evening attire, having just come from a ballet gala at Lincoln Center.  I don't remember if they invite us to join them, or if John just assumes we will. We spend the next 90 minutes or so with them and they are all great (and very welcoming).

On John's suggestion, we call Alexander and he arrives an hour or so later. John and Alexander have spoken over the years, but the last time they saw each other my son was about six. 

The last part of the night we spend outside. The engaging and beautiful Scheele joins us for a while, but mostly it's just John, me and Alexander.

Toward the end of the night, John brings up Aristotle's three different levels of friendship. He concludes that we are in the highest group. The least superficial one. The one based on true appreciation of the other. And the one that is the most long-lasting. He's right.

Totally unplanned and filled with outrageous moments and plenty of laughs, it is a spontaneous, memorable night. Just the kind I'd expect from John.

Age has not diminished his bad boy behavior.

fall in new york

Christmas in New York is magical.

Spring in New York brings some park beauty, though it's usually short-lived.

Summer in New York sucks.

And fall in New York is the best.

There's the gorgeous fall weather — as it should be, not as it's been. Central Park is looking more like summer than early October, but eventually that will change.

There is just so much to do, some things unique to NY, others more universal.

As for me, I:

See friends who've been gone over the summer and are now back.

Go to screenings, many with Q&A's with filmmaker and actors.

Entertain at home; I have access to a proprietary film app that will eventually include all movies (about 200) to be considered for BAFTAs.

Attend new plays, often at reduced prices through TDF and other sites (especially off-Broadway).

Walk the city without experiencing oppressive heat or icy sidewalks.

Dress in cozy fall clothes.

And of course watch Patrick Mahomes and his team try to make it to Super Bowl LX.

lessons in etiquette

After seeing William Hanson interviewed on TV, I decide to read his book, Just Good Manners.

It's a little too British-oriented for me, and covers topics I'll never need to know. Like how to address royalty. The best way to host an afternoon tea. Or the difference between being invited for cocktails or drinks (not much of one). But it's still entertaining and informative.

Two things I do learn:

• Saying "Pardon?" if you don't understand or hear what someone is saying is not good. According to the book, "Pardon? is a contraction of I beg your pardon (which is fine)" ... and it is French-sounding (which the Brits hate)." The correct interrogation, according to Hanson is "What?" Although the author then says we can improve on "What?" by using the preferred choice of "Sorry?" I disagree with this one. To me, "What?" sounds coarse and "Pardon?" sounds refined.

• Regarding weddings: You don't need to buy a wedding gift if it's a destination wedding and costly. The "waiting up to a year" to send out thank-you notes for gifts is no longer true; it should be a lot sooner.  And guests should send a thank-you note(s) to those responsible for hosting the wedding (have never heard of this one and sure hope I'm not the only one who's not doing it).

Of course no book on etiquette can cover everything, so here are a few I would add:

• Never put your phone on speaker in a public place. It happens all the time and it's selfish and disrupting to everyone around.

• Don't use text to have a conversation. Texts should be used to pass on info or to make uncomplicated plans.  

• Don't leave your phone on in a theater and then look at it during the film/performance. The bright light of a phone is annoying to those around you.

• Don't talk on your phone in an elevator. Listening is okay.

• Don't use text to thank someone for a thoughtful gift. And, if the gift took a lot of time, care and creativity to produce, then definitely send a written thank-you (can you tell this one is personal?).

• Don't wait until you get to the cashier at checkout and then decide to start looking for your cash or credit card; have it ready.  And certainly don't engage in a conversation with the cashier about the latest celebrity break-up when there's a line.

• Have a real person contact option and not just email or chat if you are a company (okay, this might not fall under etiquette but it sure belongs somewhere).

• Follow the rules of the road; that means you, too, bikers. And don't ride bikes and electric scooters on sidewalks.

• Answer texts that require a simple yes, no, or maybe response when you see it.

• And never ever call a future in-law the C word, especially before you've even met (as happened recently to a good friend so I just had to throw this one in).

Good manners are about courtesy and respect. It's amazing how many people ignore them.

Let me know of those I missed. I would hate to be unknowingly rude.

the new 70

I watch the first hour of The Today Show every day; have been for years.

There's a segment this morning about aging. Maria Shriver is about to turn 70, so she is interviewing people who range in age from 72-79.

The new 70's they say. Fit. Fearless. And forward-thinking.

The people they highlight include a high fashion model (76 who looks 90). An ex-lawyer turned poet. A social-media influencer. And an entrepreneur (79, with a turkey neck that detracts considerably from his somewhat youthful face).

I think my friends who are in their 70's (or close to it) would have made a more enviable group.

One friend, a few months shy of 80, plays tennis multiple times a week, plus a multitude of other exercises.  She recently completed two very long treks on the Camino Trail. Has recently written a book (first time). Decided to learn French. Got her PhD (not all that long ago). Travels a lot. And has an agent and is now acting. She is beautiful and vibrant and surprises everyone when they learn her age.

Another friend works at high-impact, short-term jobs as a major contributor. She too, is physically fit. Works out a ton. Is always visiting some foreign country.  Goes out about five nights a week (and is my inspiration for saying YES more often). 

And then there is J who bikes everywhere. Is a workout fiend. Started a job (nine years ago) as a full-time consultant to top corporate executives. Is often visiting or living outside NYC. Looks (like the others) many years younger than her biological age.

Oh and B on the west coast. He flies a plane. Kills rattlesnakes. Hunts elk. Runs. And hasn't been inhibited by age in the least.

Or another J who lives in Colorado. She skis. Still runs marathons (I think). Looks about 20 years younger. And totally embraces growing older.

My adventurous friend SW, a recreational pilot, and the best downhill skier I know, lives in New England. He now flies an open cockpit plane, and knowing him, likely does loops and rolls as well. He asks me if I would ever go up in one, and I so want to say, of course, but would I? Maybe for five minutes; certainly not to actually fly somewhere.

My list is long. Too long for a blog post (so hope no one is offended if they are not described).

Yes, there are more aches and pains. And yes, there is more awareness of mortality. And yes, I have at least one friend who agrees with Dr.  Ezekiel Emanuel (Chair of the Department of Medical Ethics and Health Policy at Penn) who famously wrote an article (in 2014) titled, Why I Hope to Die at 75. 

But staying active. Staying positive. Staying involved. And being surrounded by like-minded, like-acting people makes all the difference.

I also think that had my friend group been the one profiled on this morning's Today Show segment, younger people watching would be thinking, "Hmm. If that's what aging looks like in your 70's (or near 70), then maybe it's not so bad."

Still, I look in the mirror and wish I could afford a facelift.  Vanity does not diminish with age. At least not for me.

another birthday celebration

It's Z's birthday. For many many years now, a group of us (all ex-Horace Mann moms) have been getting together to celebrate.

We are a high spirited, hold-no-punches, energetic group. Tonight there are five of us.

The restaurant we've chosen, San Babila, is new and has gotten rave reviews.

Twenty-two minutes after being seated, and we still haven't seen our server. The restaurant is loud, tables are filled, and not much food has been served.

The hostess finally comes over to take our drink orders we think. But no. She's there to take away our drink menus as the restaurant apparently doesn't have enough.

This is not good. We leave.

We go a block away to A La Turka, an aptly named Turkish restaurant. The ambiance is great, and we get a table near a wall of open windows.

The service is fine, as is the food, but there are a few minor (though surprising) peculiarities.

Our drinks come and Ellen has ordered some kind of cocktail. It comes in a small tumbler, and is filled with about one inch of alcohol. Really! And, it's $24. So ridiculously overpriced. It basically looks like what remains after ice has melted in a small glass.

As an appetizer, we order the Turkish thin-crust pizza which we heard was excellent (and it is). We ask for it to be cut into five pieces. "I'm sorry, we can only cut it into fours," our waiter says. When questioned, he repeats his answer and is adamant. Four pieces. No negotiating. The pizza arrives and could easily have been cut into eight small slices. Why it couldn't be cut into five is a mystery, answered only by, they don't want to.

When we go to pay, we throw in four credit cards. This time our waiter says, "I'm sorry but we can't take more than three." Another strange rule. This restaurant seems to have many of them.

But hey, the food is good, and the company better.

We've known each other a long time. Our conversations are always animated.  Often argumentative (our politics are not all the same but getting closer).  And most of all fun.

Happy birthday Z, and many many more.

96

I leave my home around 8am on Thursday morning to meet my sister and brother-in-law in Stamford. We are driving up to the Cape. The weather is not welcoming. 

Midway through the drive the skies open and torrential rain falls. It is barely possible to see. Road conditions are awful.

But as soon as we cross over the bridge, the weather changes. It is now borderline nice.

It's after 3pm when we arrive at Atria to see my mom. She looks good and is happy to see us all. The place where she now lives is very nice. Clean. Bright. And while filled with mostly people over 90, everyone is well-dressed, friendly, pleasant, and importantly, active and aware. 

I think my mom has adjusted well to her new home. The house she lived in for over 40 years went on sale September 17. There was an open house last weekend. We got four good offers; accepted one. It sold quickly which thrills everyone.

Today is my mom's 96th birthday. My two sisters, their husbands and I celebrate my mom at Flying Bridge Restaurant. It is a perfect fall day, and we eat on the outdoor terrace overlooking sailboats and water. 

I order the lobster roll (big but not tasty). 

But it isn't about the food.

We are here for my mom. 96 years old.

Happy birthday mom. You are well-loved.

not just any flowers

I read on Instagram and then later see on TV, Cj Hendry's Flower Market in Rockefeller Center for this weekend only. On display (and for sale) are not your usual flowers. They are fake.  And not just any kind of fake. But plush fake. 

Despite the line on Friday being over three hours long, I decide to go the next morning.

Armed with my phone (including today's Bee), my Kindle, a mug of coffee (which I later decide not to drink as I can't risk leaving the line), and a sweater, I leave home around 9:15 and am in line a half hour later.

It's a beautiful cool fall day. Perfect weather for waiting in a long line. 

The market is in the Rock Center Plaza, between Fifth and Sixth on 49th. I get in line on 51st Street, between Fifth and Sixth. It's long, but my line-neighbors are nice, and I've come prepared.

I get closer to the front about 2 1/4 hours later. Some guy on the sidewalk is ranting about how stupid we all are to spend hours in line to buy fake flowers. He's actually pretty articulate, but aggressive in his tone. The guy behind me stupidly gets into a verbal altercation with him, which clearly he won't win. And soon the police are summoned and I somehow end up being questioned about this guy's behavior.

I tell the officer that the ranting-sidewalk-guy is not harming anyone and not saying anything too offensive; he's just really annoying. The ranting-guy thanks me, and now I have a new friend, and not one that I particularly want.

And then...

When I'm within ten minutes of the entrance, I notice two women behind me who weren't there before. In fact, I hadn't see them anywhere in line. I say something to them, and they are nasty and dismissive, telling me to mind my own business. Soon a security guard comes over and tells me the same thing. They must be friends with the security guard who let them cut the line. No one else says anything so I stop. In retrospect, I should have stopped myself before I said anything. I need to be more careful.

In any case, I eventually get to the front of the line and have fun picking my flowers.

I can rotate them throughout the year to make different bouquets.

But was it worth three hours in line peppered with some NY drama?  Some may disagree, but I think it was. 

What's three-hours of time for flowers that can last a lifetime?