Think globally, act kindly

Last night my usually rational and sophisticated mother was in a bit of a panic. She had been watching a television show on the History Channel about artificial intelligence in which several experts were convinced that computers and robots would become self-aware and eventually overthrow man by – get this – the year 2040.

By citing examples like the Y2K scare and the novel 1984, I assured her that most prognosticators of doom have been proved wrong. But more importantly, I spoke to her about something that I think we need to remember – especially at this time of year. When I start to worry about global climate change, underperforming antioxidants in my system or potential terrorist attacks in lower Manhattan I must remind myself that all I can control in life is my own behavior, and considering that I don’t always do such a stellar job with that, I should really focus on what I can change.

In fact, the reason I was speaking with my mother at all last night at 10 pm was to apologize to her for my bad behavior earlier in the day. I had freaked out about her grocery shopping for the Christmas meal that I was to cook. In Karen’s world, only the chef shops for her food, I mean I have certain standards! I continued to rant and complain even after I learned that my mother had purchased quality ingredients. Bad, bad Karen! Later when I was walking Rollo by the Hudson and breathing deeply, I realized how horrible I had been. I was agitated trying to please everyone, so I took it out on my poor mommy. Hence the post-dinner amend-making phone call.

That was something I could do to make the world a little better. Those who know my easy-going and loving mom know that she was not holding a grudge. But I do think it made her feel a bit more comforted to know how much I do love and appreciate her right before she sacked out.

I understand that my sphere of influence is rather trivial. I have a dozen or so friends that I see on a weekly basis, a tiny family, a bunch of neighbors, a handful of devoted blog readers and Facebook friends, a small community of fellow students, and absolutely no coworkers.  But I often like to think of the ripple effect that my behavior can initiate. So although, I’m not responsible for passing legislation or airlifting refugees out of Cambodia, maybe my actions can make a difference in the world.

Aside from acting kindly when I can, I have spoken boldly in this blog before about the importance of voting, publicly espousing my feminism, recycling and using natural products, etc. – these are my ways of acting locally but thinking globally. Sure, there’s a continent of plastic floating in the Pacific, but it sure as hell ain’t gone be my Poland Spring.

But sometimes I think I am the last of a dying breed. Not that I'm the only person trying to be kind -- thank god there are those much more generous, magnanimous and patient than I. No, I'm talking about a growing trend of taking care of #1 before seeing to the needs of others. For example, last night before I went to sleep I settled in with my copy of Real Simple and read one of my favorite features, the etiquette column. A reader wrote in and complained about an elderly neighbor who often appeared at her door bearing gifts of banana bread and the like. This nice old man had the audacity to try to engage her in lengthy chats over the threshold. This too busy graduate student couldn’t tolerate these intrusions because of other demands on her precious time. I thought that was kind of selfish and sleazy. But what outraged me more than her ingratitude and lack of patience was the fact that the etiquette columnist coached her on how to politely send this guy packing. Seriously? I reread it twice to make sure I wasn't confused. 

My feeling is that unless you are in fact airlifting refugees out of Cambodia then anything you are doing can wait ten or fifteen minutes to enrich the day of a senior citizen. I think that would be an even more significant accomplishment than any degree she could earn. And that should mean a lot considering that I am currently a busy student myself!

When I am nearing the end of my life, I don’t think I will look back in pride at the pages I read, the tests that I aced, or the papers I wrote. Instead I will remember the love. The love that I have received – albeit inconvenient at times – and the love I have given (sometimes begrudgingly.)

This is it friends. This is life, not a dress rehearsal. If we’re not kind and patient with the other humans around us then what is the point of life exactly. So when tempted to complain, nag, insult, brag, criticize, scoff, gossip or roll your eyes, just breathe and try to be kind. It may not cure cancer, but then again it might.

Merry Christmas and safe travels to all of you!

P.S. I am not renewing my subscription to Real Simple in 2014

The Shopping Fix

The other day in the middle of a rather fascinating conversation about news, politics and other worldly events I said to my friend, “I really feel like shopping.” He replied that he too felt the urge – and he never likes to shop unless it’s for food. We both blamed this pre-holiday retail advertising blitz and went on with our regularly scheduled programming, so to speak.

But, I find myself returning to this seemingly innocuous comment…”I feel like shopping.” Notice I didn’t say, “I need to buy pants,” or “I still have Christmas gifts to buy.” No, I said I feel like shopping the way I would have observed that I felt like eating or wanted to take a nap. But unlike being hungry or tired shopping doesn’t have a physiological state connected to it – or does it. So, I keep asking what made me “feel” like shopping? And what does “shopping” mean, exactly.

Well, I know what shopping should mean: we have a need for something and we go to a store or two to find the object that best fits that need and we purchase it. In my life, that description may only apply about 10% of the time when I go “shopping.” Think about it…of all the things we buy, how many do we really need? Maybe soap, toilet paper, light bulbs, toothpaste and dog food. Even human food is a gray area. I mean do I need pretzels or scallops or mushrooms? Can’t man live by bread alone? And speaking of bread, did I really need to buy the fancy loaf with pecans and raisins? Even when we go grocery shopping something other than our bare bones basic needs are coming into play. We want to satisfy something far more insidious than hunger.  We want treats, flavor, spice – we want food that will provide excitement and comfort in addition to (let’s hope) nutrition. So, perhaps that’s what we’re looking for when we “go shopping.”

I know that when I made this remark earlier in the week, I was still reeling from my Thanksgiving with family. Despite all my years of actual experience, I still have expectations of people showing up on time, being grateful, polite and patient, of things going the way I planned, of adolescent family members pitching in and so on. And when these expectations are dashed – as they always are – I feel defeated and depressed. Not to mention the fact that I ate chips and dip, cheesecake, gravy and a multitude of other foods that I have avoided in the past several months as part of my new healthier regimen. Although they were great in the moment, they also left me with bizarre cravings and a shallow sense of regret. I spent two days or recovering on my coach, isolating and taking comfort in doing nothing but watching TV and reading magazines.

Then came the shopping urge. It’s really not that surprising.  Just like eating, drinking alcohol or using drugs, shopping can provide that initial high that alleviates -- albeit temporarily -- those negative feelings. Furthermore, the act of shopping gives us an odd sense that we are somehow controlling our environment. Although I am powerless over the actions of my family or the crowds on the street, or the delayed subway train, but I do have the ability to buy that sparkly sweater and feel better for a bit. Well, until I look at my Visa statement a few weeks later.

Like any addiction, shopping has its consequences. Experts predict that Americans will spend more than $470 billion dollars on shopping this holiday season That’s a lot of money no matter how you look at it – in fact, it’s more than the GDP of many nations. And it's about half of what  Americans will give to charities in an entire year, (no judgment, of course.) When you think of what good could be accomplished with those funds it's staggering and shameful.

But perhaps more frighteningly, that $800 or more per family spent on Christmas gifts is more than most of us can afford. Sadly, many people choose to shop when their finances are in trouble in order to mask the fear surrounding debt. The act of shopping not only lifts our spirits (temporarily) but, because it flies in the face of reality, of their financial situation it provides a good healthy dose of denial. If they can plunk down their credit card and pick up that new X-Box or leather jacket, how can they actually be in trouble, right? The problem gets worse, and then oddly enough, they want to go out shopping.

The shopping addiction isn't just prevalent at Christmas, of course, it’s year round. But what makes Christmas shopping worse is that we’re given an extra license to indulge in spending money on stuff – in fact, there’s a cultural imperative to do so. Black Friday is now nearly as entrenched in our Thanksgiving traditions as is the poor old turkey and post-dinner bloat and lethargy. It’s now the American way.

So that makes me truly American. I do love to shop. I have an awareness of what it means, but I do it anyway. I make the joke that it’s in my blood and I have no choice. My parents met while both working and the now defunct but once renowned department store, B. Altman’s. My mother continued her career in retail and worked for Macy’s in Brooklyn for more than 20 years. She was always grateful for a job that enabled her to shop while she was working.

As someone who no longer has a steady income, I know that I should NOT be shopping for sport anymore. But I can always find a “reason”: my sister’s in town and that’s how we bond; I have no pants that fit me anymore since I lost weight; tis the season; I want to try that new intensive hair mask I read about in InStyle;  The truth is that my sister and I would be better off taking a nice long walk; I don’t have as many pants that fit me as I used to, but I do have enough pants; the season shouldn’t be about materialism but about friends, love and good spirits,;and I can make a hair mask out of the coconut oil I have in my pantry.

Trying to curb our shopping addiction will not come easy. We are bombarded by messages telling us to shop: television, emails, facebook, store windows, magazines and catalogs reach us everywhere we go. They convince us that we need when we really want; we are assured by merchants that these sales are actually saving us money; our credit card companies are more than happy to extend our limits; we are told we are doing our part for the economy; and our post-purchase endorphins provide a delicious but insidious fix that needs to be fed as soon as it dissipates.

So let me tell you what I’m going to do and maybe you’ll choose to join me. When I get that urge to “shop” I’m going to think it through and ask myself a few questions: why do I feel this way, what’s happening right now? If I’m in a store or about to click on an online retailer’s site I will ponder the question of need over want. I will take a thorough survey of my current wardrobe so I know what I really need, if anything. (And if you look at my messy closet it's pretty clear I don't need a thing!) And knowing that those endorphins can kick in even if I’m buying something for my husband, mom or dog, I will ask myself if those loved ones can get along without that new pair of gloves, tea kettle or chew toy respectively.

It’s not going to be easy but neither will my retirement if I keep buying new pants.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Lucky Me

Last week, while walking my beloved border collie, I found a slightly damp 10 dollar bill. My heart sang. I felt like jumping up and down for joy. It’s not like this ten was the difference between me eating and starving, nor was it my transit home or anything vital. But to me it represented good fortune. It made me feel as if the gods were smiling down on me.

So, I stuck that tenner in my pocket and skipped merrily home. Later that day, I took out the magical bill to buy a double espresso. I received eight dollars in change. Ooh, what else would I procure with this windfall? I thought. But when I reached into my pocket some three hours later I had only three dollars left. What happened to that five dollar bill? I will never know. Perhaps I never got correct change. Maybe it fell out of my pocket (damn you women’s wear designers for your cursed shallow pockets!) All I knew was that it was gone. And I went from feeling blessed and happy to feeling frustrated and doomed. Just like that.

Even at the time, I knew I was acting irrationally. My friends and loved ones urged me to look at the situation differently. “Hey, it's not like you lost $5, it's more like you found $5,” they said trying to sway me into a different attitude. Nope, I couldn’t do it.

My Dad circa 1976 -- who I miss, but am grateful for.

I am a glass half empty person, I guess and it’s very hard for me to see myself as lucky, fortunate or blessed. But the fact of the matter is that I am. Sure, I’ve been through some really rough stuff in my life. My childhood was no Disney tale. I struggled with some demons in my early adult life. I fell in love later in life and quickly learned I couldn’t give my soul mate the child he always dreamed of. I reunited with my father only to lose him a few short years later.

Yeah, pretty sad, but people have gone through lots worse and not fared as well as I have. The thing is self-pity often feels like a safe, warm haven for me. But it is actually a very dangerous place. It leads to harmful bad behavior like isolation, over-indulgence, resentments and depression. So this year, I choose not to go there.

So, as Thanksgiving is upon us, I have decided to honor the true spirit of the holiday and give thanks for the abundance of good fortune I have in my life.

My Health: Yup, I’ve got to start with a cliché because if I wasn’t alive I’d have nothing else on this list. But I also put it at the top because I am acutely aware of what good health feels like and how it has changed my life. A year ago at this time, I was still deeply in grief. My life centered on clearing out and cleaning up my late mother-in-law’s home – not a very cheery vocation. I was 33 pounds heavier. I couldn’t walk more than five steps without pain from plantar fasciitis. I didn’t sleep well. I had very little energy. Life seemed like a chore. When I made the decision to focus on my nutrition, exercise and meditate everything changed, and I mean everything! I don’t feel or look like the same person. I have boundless energy most days, no pain and lots of hope. I no longer focus on death, but think about all the things I want to do (like return to Acadia National Park -- where I climbed this freaking mountain!)

My Family: One of the great things about getting married late in life is that you really know that it’s the right person. My husband Steve is my best friend and the Yin to my Yang. He is patient, loving, supportive, kind and the most devoted doggy dad in the world. And all of you that know him have to agree on that, right? And you all know that our beloved Rollo is also like a furry baby to us – and one that we don’t have to save money for college tuition (or bail!) I thank God every day that my Mom is still healthy and happy. I love talking to her every day – even if she doesn’t always agree with me (and vice versa.) She still has one of the best senses of humor and her enthusiasm for all things British – especially Britcoms and tea – is still utterly charming. And despite a bit of drama now and then, I love and am proud of my sister , my niece and nephew and am grateful that they are in my life. I'm also lucky enough to have an amazing half sister and step mother in Maine who know where the bodies are buried and love me anyway.

My Friends: I have some friends that I have known for 42 years and some I have known for 4 months. I have friends who are half my age and friends who are old enough to be a parent. My friends are high powered lawyers, dog-walkers, teachers, entrepreneurs (read: unemployed people) retired cops and students. I appreciate their minds and hearts, their vast and varied experiences, and their company. At this age, my friends are not drinking buddies or wingmen; they are not just bridesmaids or travel companions. No, they are extended family, they are my support system.  Steve and I made the decision long ago to jettison what we refer to as “emotional vampires.”  We no longer make space for people who just want to suck the life out of us by dumping their problems with no interest in actually changing or helping others. So the friends we do see and spend time with love, nurture and amuse us – and only occasional frustrate us.  

My Home: Sure, I complain about my home. It ain’t easy fitting two people, a 60 lb dog and

everything they own in a one-bedroom apartment. Nor is it my life’s dream to share a bathroom with a man. But, having a safe, warm and lovely place to live is definitely nothing to take for granted – especially in Manhattan. My heart breaks for friends who get uprooted because of new construction or break ups etc. and find that they can no long afford even a room in Bushwick. And there are those moments when Rollo and I approach the Hudson River on a quiet day. We sniff the water, we feel the breeze. We watch the boats sail by and I think (I can’t say what he’s thinking) how lucky I am. I feel like I live in a vacation resort. And, I do. People come from every corner of the earth to walk the same streets I walk every day and for that I feel blessed.

Coffee: Besides the occasional shopping trip, this is my last remaining vice and I adore it with a nearly fanatical devotion. I got so excited when I learned about the new Nespresso boutique in Macy’s I could barely contain myself. The sales rep there gave me a free vanilla cappuccino because he said I the nicest customer he had all day. Of course I was. I was acting with utter reverence. I was in my holy place. Coffee doesn’t really fit in with my new nutritional outlook (especially when you add half and half as I do) but I think we all need our vices in order to be human – and as bad treats go, this is not as bad as some (eg see Mayor Tom Ford - or me circa 1995.)

Well those are the biggies. Sure, I am grateful for all the wonderful television shows about bridal gown shopping that provide delicious distractions from my school work and swiffering; and I cherish my favorite Mexican restaurant Mariachi’s (formerly Little Place); and don’t get me started on shoes and handbags. But I think writing about those things on this list would diminish the importance of friends, family, health and home.

But, I do want to add my deepest appreciation for everyone who reads this blog. I have always been grateful for my ability to write. And you all allow me to enjoy this “gift” and share it with others. So to all of you, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving.

 

P.S. Thanks again, Rita for the gift of the 18 lb Turkey -- the other "real" meaning of Thanksgiving!

Resisting the Bear

Ever since we set the clocks back last week I have morphed from a healthy, energetic woman into a lumbering, sad, grizzly bear. I don’t want to get out of bed, I’m craving salty, fatty fried foods and I have zero motivation to work out or even leave the apartment.  I know that I’m not alone. My instinct to hibernate and put on that delicious layer of “winter fat” is pretty universal. That is why this time of year is known for weight gain and depression. Fa la lala la!

Of course, it’s natural to feel this way at this time of year because we are, in fact, animals.

"Keep walking, Mom...we're not done yet."

We react to the seasons and our environment just like migrating geese, nut-storing squirrels and good ol’ hibernating bears. Just because we may have larger brains and have developed the ability to drive a standard transmission doesn’t mean we’re not part of nature. Our joints ache when it’s about to rain; we are drawn to bask in the sun, we relax at the ocean; If you don’t believe that we react to forces of nature, just visit a packed emergency room during a full moon. I kid you not.

So, is time to wrap yourself in a fleece blanket and gobble up as much grilled cheese sandwiches and pecan pie as you please? Unfortunately, no. But we should listen carefully to the cues are body are giving and honor them healthfully. This way, we can get through the winter basically as emotionally and physically unscathed our families allow.

As human beings, we will always need sunlight and exercise no matter how cold and dreary it is outdoors. We thrive on it. Our bones need vitamin D and our heart muscles need cardio (even just walking) to stay strong. Having a dog is my saving grace. Whether I have the motivation for a brisk and chilly walk is irrelevant, it’s my job. But I find that if I have a purpose or some accountability, I will definitely show up for myself no matter the temperature.  So make a date with a friend for a walk on the highline, ice skating in central park, or to organize a touch football game. Or use your lunch hour run an errand at a store about 10 blocks away. Or bike to work instead of cabbing it or taking the subway. If you supplement that with some weight-bearing exercise in your warm, cozy home or in the less warm, cozy gym, you’ll be golden.

Now about food…cravings are our bodies’ way of telling us we are lacking in something. So listen carefully but don’t jump to the first conclusion. For example, sometimes when we crave salt, we are actually thirsty. If you wake up dreaming of French fries, have a nice big glass of water and maybe some tea and see if that salty urge passes after 20 minutes or so. Or sometimes it means that you need certain minerals like potassium, so try a banana. If all else fails, have some salted nuts like pistachios or almonds, a seaweed snack or an over easy egg with a touch of salt instead of something with zero nutrition like potato chips.

Indulging in fatty foods in the winter may be an American tradition, but so is overspending and invading sovereign nations – and you don’t want to participate in any of those. Craving grilled cheese is our body’s way of telling us that we should transition with the change of season and start eating hardier and more warming foods instead of the salads and smoothies of summer. And oddly enough, these are the kind of foods that Mother Nature provides to us from the earth in the winter. Root veggies like carrots, parsnips and beets provide that kind of healthy grounding energy that pizza and wings do not. Beans and dark leafy greens like kale also do their part at this time of year to provide warmth and sustenance. A bowl of freshly-made soup (avoiding the creamy ones)  will definitely satisfy that fatty urge without adding what you don’t want which is…fat.

Now, let’s tackle that desire to hibernate and isolate. Although many of you know that I am a huge proponent of sleep, too much  can throw off your sleep cycle, cause insomnia, and can exacerbate depression. I may want to pull the covers over my head and get an extra hour (or two) of sleep at this time of year, but when I do I’m often listless and cranky for the rest of the day instead of rested and energized. That’s because there’s a difference between sleepiness and fatigue. If you get up and move around and you’re still tired…then you are actually tired. If you force yourself to get up and you feel normal after 10 minutes or so, then you were just sleepy.

So now that you’re up is it up is ok to plop back down on the couch and settle in for a long winter’s marathon viewing of Homeland or Scandal? Uh…again, no. During the winter, we’re not running around with tons of social engagements etc., but we still need to keep our minds busy, and not numbed by passive entertainment (well, not all the time.) This is a great time to get organized (oh, I get such a thrill even thinking about organization, but that’s just my sickness!) Clear out a closet, put together a new photo album, or rearrange your kitchen cabinets or desk. It’s also the perfect time to catch up with old friends via the phone or letter. I would warn not to do this last task electronically lest you be pulled into the digital abyss of Facebook, games and online shopping.

Or you could learn a new skill/hobby like jewelry-making or knitting, or vegetarian cooking (hey, I made that necklace to the left.) You don’t even need to leave the house…there’s tons of online videos to coach you. Perhaps, it’s time to write that novel or short story you recite in your head when you should be listening to your husband.

But, of course the danger in the above activities is isolation: the insidious precursor to the winter blues. It’s challenging to feel connected and engaged when all you favorite people are holed up in their comfy nests. So we need to fight that. If you don’t want to get dressed in heels and a cute top and venture to some cavernous, noisy restaurant when it’s 35 degrees out, then offer to host something at your place. A game night, a soup-tasting, a clothing swap or even a tea party are fun and warming ways to bond with friends without venturing outdoors or spending a lot of money earmarked for holiday gifts or that much-needed Caribbean escape in February.  Don’t feel like cleaning your house in preparation for guests? Then encourage a friend to host. Or at least meet at a nearby movie theater or museum.

There’s a reason why gyms sit and wait for us fat turkeys to waddle in come January.  It’s common to eat our way through the holidays and snuggle on the couch transfixed by Carrie and Brody’s failed attempts to bring the truth to light, but it’s not natural. No matter what the calendar says, we still need to eat well, move our bodies and connect to one and other. That being said, it’s ok to indulge on occasion during holiday celebrations. Even a squirrel gets lucky with a forgotten Twix bar now and then.

Please feel free to share your healthy holiday tips with me.

PS. I just made that carrot soup pictured above - if you're interested, I'll send you the recipe.

 

I am the Cleaning Woman

The other day a dear friend-- and a devoted reader of this blog-- posted that workmen in her new house were amazed that she herself had come in to clean and do a bit of painting – they were even more impressed that she actually knew what she was doing. My friend’s new house isn’t in Southampton or upper Park Avenue; it’s in a quiet middle class Long Island community. So why should a woman cleaning her own house with some acumen be an anomaly, I wondered.

I didn’t grow up in a house with a cleaning woman but many of my friends parent’s used one.  My middle class neighborhood was populated mostly by second generation immigrants from Eastern Europe, Italy and Ireland.  Perhaps having a cleaning woman distinguished them from their working class upbringings and signaled success in the new world. Either way, having an outsider come in and touch your stuff just seemed weird to me – just the way plastic-covered furniture that was off-limits to unreasonable activities like sitting, seemed…well, unreasonable.  Oftentimes, my friends would say that we’d have to play at my house because their mother needed to clean up before the cleaning lady came. Again I was puzzled.

But those same friends were deliriously happy to visit my home. They were in their own personal nirvana in my little mess of an apartment. My mother, God bless her beautiful but somewhat disheveled soul – did not inherit the cleaning gene.  Making up kooky poems, sitting on the floor cross-legged inventing games, or doling out salty or sugary snacks was her forte.  No one wanted to leave – and sometimes they didn’t.  Two of my closest friends actually moved next door to us after a time – I think just to be even closer to residing in our messy two-bedroom apartment.  

I loved my mother and was deeply proud of her warmth and joie de vivre. But as I grew older, I became a bit ashamed of our place with too many dusty tchotchkes, Christmas tree tinsel still embedded in the carpet in February, and unmade beds. So I learned to clean. Turns out, it’s definitely in my genes. 

Over the years I learned many cleaning tricks and tips from my late father. Boy, he was a maniac when it came to a sponge. No corner was left untouched. I remember once when he came to visit me at my current apartment and asked what I used to mop up damp spots on the bathroom sink after one had washed their hands. I had to reply, “uh…nothing, I guess.” It had never occurred to me. Now I have a lovely blue microfiber cloth by the sink for this purpose and think of him every time I un-dampen the counter.  

I’ve also picked up a lot of knowledge about more natural ways to clean your home and have eschewed many store-bought chemical-laden cleaners in favor home spun  solutions. For example, I now clean my tub and toilet with baking soda and I am still stunned by how much more it sparkles. F.U. scrubbing bubbles, you go nothing on me! Vinegar and water has replaced Windex (how can you ever trust anything that blue?) You have to get used the sour smell but it dissipates quickly. And I know that no one is breathing in anything toxic.

Is cleaning fun? No, not always, but it is satisfying and more than that, it brings me closer to what is mine and what is important. Karl Marx, always a personal hero of mine, wrote much about alienation from our labor in the industrial age. He worried that assembly line workers would no longer care about their products the way artisans and craftsmen did when only given a small abstract portion of the entire work. That’s kind of what I feel about my home. It’s mine because I do know each and every corner, nook and cranny and just how grimy, dusty or newly clean it may be. I know what’s in my closets. I know what’s in my pantry and what’s hiding under the bed.  I see what I have and I appreciate it as well.

And, as I dust along the baseboards I remember when my husband and I painted them now six years ago. We sweated and cursed. We spilled and ran back and forth to the paint store, but we enjoyed the process – because we were turning his white-walled bachelor pad into a colorful new home for us to share.

I have many dear, busy friends who simply do not have the time, the energy (nor the desire) to clean their own homes and that’s fine.  In fact, I’ve always admired the faith it takes to turn that responsibility over to a relative stranger. There are other ways to connect to your environment and feel a deep appreciation for it.  My mom made our house a home by collecting way too many mementos, by hanging up every scrap of paper painted by me and my sister along with our poems and stories, by having cookie   jars and candy bowls everywhere and by leaving our Christmas tree up for months.  This is what made her feel happy and safe and so I forgive her from messiness. Just as she forgives me as I surreptitiously clean her bathroom when I visit.

 My mom (right) has always preferred to focus on coordinating her outfits rather than  ridding her home of pesky cobwebs.

 

 

 

 

 

Buddy, Can You Spare Some Respect?

Often as I am writing these blog posts at my desk near the window, I hear the voices of eager young folks on my sidewalk below (the downside of a second floor apartment) beseeching passers-by to “take a moment” for Planned Parenthood or Save the Children or gay rights or animals.  After two or three hours of their philanthropic chanting, I need to muster all the tolerance I have not to drop a dozen organic free-range eggs on their well-meaning heads.

It’s not that I’m against fundraising – I’m not – it’s just that these kids give fundraising a bad name and I’m sick and tired of it.

I spent more than 25 years of my life raising funds for various, worthy non-profits in New York City. And perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this career was how woefully misunderstood , underappreciated and maligned it was. It’s weird, when you think about it. Why people would discount the efforts of a cadre of professionals trying to make a positive difference in the world. Not so weird, when you realize that their pocketbooks are affected.  Anyone who has worked with money – whether they’re a teller or a mortgage lender or a cashier – can tell you that people get pretty touchy when it comes to their funds.

I came into fundraising the way most of us do: I was a directionless graduate with good communications skills who wanted to help but didn’t want to get my hands dirty (so to speak.) Actually, I worked in the development office of my college as my work-study job as an undergraduate.  My job was to read the files in the corporate and foundation relations department and prepare a one-page summary. To me, each file was like a mini-novel, a tale of meetings and letters that led to buildings erected, professors hired and other lofty achievements. Much of the history had happened decades before my birth and the correspondence was typed on onion skin paper. I felt like a philanthropic Indiana Jones.  I could work in peace and quiet, practice my writing, but there were also swanky parties and receptions to attend. And I could be part of making the world a better place. I was sold.

So that is how I started my career. I wrote corporate and foundation grants that helped to fund rehabilitation programs for disabled men and women and feed hungry New Yorkers. Then I went on to learn how to throw tasteful reception for donors, craft an effective direct mail appeal, create mutually-beneficial cause-marketing campaigns, guide board members as they approached their wealthy and influential friends, ease donors into charitable estate planning, manage junior committees, design five-year strategic plans, build websites, establish facebook pages, while tending to the needs of my staff, my board, my bosses, my donors, the public, government officials and more.  And let’s not forget that ever-looming budget I was responsible for raising – the proverbial sword of Damocles -- hung over my head until the final day of the fiscal year.

Despite all the skills, expertise, experience, patience, tolerance and love needed to be successful in this career, I still received comments like this: “oh, you’re a fundraiser….my daughter does that too. She runs the bake sale for the temple,” or “fundraising, huh?  You must be on the phone all day. “  Or people would joke that they wanted me to raise money for their wallet, or they’d immediately jump to discussing one of the rare, ugly scandals involving non-profits. 

Sure it irked me, but it never stopped me. I truly believed in what I was doing and I still do.  It’s not easy to ask for money but that’s not what I thought I was doing. I believed that I was selling a much-desired commodity. It is my conviction that most people want to improve the world in one way or another: some want more art and music, others want to protect animals or children, millions want to cure cancers and other diseases or eradicate hunger. For those people, I have provided a way for them to be part of the solution.  I have ensured them that their funds will be used responsibly and safely to make the world better in just the way they want. And I have given them a nice way to take a tax-deduction and earn a bit more self-esteem. And, if there gift was big enough, they’d get some public recognition too. Not too shabby.

So this is why I want to douse those guerilla marketing pseudo-fundraisers below my window. They have taken the art and science of fundraising and turned it into begging and accosting – everything I have always feared  people will think it is.  But the problem is it works. And that is another thing I learned in my career: if it works, do it. Do you know why you get telemarketing calls at home? Because it works. Maybe not for you, but there are those who will sign up for whatever they’re selling on the phone. Maybe you don’t like direct mail appeals crowding your mail box but millions still send in a check this way (including my mother, God bless her!) Maybe you would never show up for a black-tie fundraiser, but they are still selling lots of $1,000 plates.

So the next time you get a call, or email or are greeting by a smiling young person on the street, I hope you will reserve judgment. But more than that, I hope you will think about the difference you can make in the world – whether you sign over your credit card to that young person, or join a walk-a-thon, or send a check in the mail or get your company to sponsor a charity.  Philanthropy is truly a beautiful American tradition and the folks behind it are – for the vast part – honest, skilled hard-working people.  

For those of you looking to support some great charities at this time of year I am happy to recommend the following:

City Harvest - rescues food that would otherwise go to waste and helps hungry New Yorkers

League of Conservation Voters - ensures that environmental issues are at the forefront of political campaigns

ASPCA - helps protect animals and sponsors adoptions

Brooklyn Museum - a vastly underrated but amazingly powerful cultural institution

Green Chimneys - pairs at-risk youth with animals that need rehabilitation in a farm setting

Gods Love We Deliver - delivers nutritious meals to people with AIDS and other terminal illnesses.

City Meals on Wheels - provides companionship and meals to elderly and frail New Yorkers.

 

 

Bubble Baths vs. Broccoli

Last Sunday, I posted something on Facebook that got more likes and comments than anything I’d posted in many moons. I wrote, “Today I achieved something I haven’t done in years, today I did nothing.” My friends, knowing me – or perhaps just knowing what it’s like to live in today’s world -- were very proud of me, inspired, jealous and enthusiastic. I received all these accolades just because I decided to rest and ignore my responsibilities for a day.

When you think of it it’s kind of a sad and scary statement about our lives, that such a simple thing to do to take care of yourself is noticed and lauded by a huge crowd of people. But self-care has become a rarity for many people I know (and millions I don’t.) And more troubling than that, self-care is a very misunderstood concept.

In fact, for many, many years I used to think I was an expert in self-care because I didn’t eat red meat, slept in on the weekends, walked my dog and treated myself to a spa day now and then and a cupcake when I deserved it (which seemed to be nearly every day!) But at 47 years old at the end of two of the most horrible, challenging years of my life, I felt achy and heavy, wasn’t sleeping well, was irritable and anxious most of the time and thought about death – a lot. It took me a long time to realize that I might have indulged myself and definitely cared for others but I had lost the ability to adequately care for myself.

Think about it, if someone asked what was involved in the proper care of an infant how would you answer? Well, you’d probably start with food. They need very specific food: breast milk or formula and then baby food. They don’t need a cronut or a diet coke – in fact, that will likely make them very ill.  Then you might mention sleep. Babies need a lot of sleep. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t learned to walk or talk yet – that will come in time. They don’t need to stay up just because that project isn’t completed. They need calm and quiet. They need warmth and safety. And they need touch and love to thrive. And, guess what, so do we.

But yet the beauty, fashion and food industries try to tell us that self-care is all external and needs to be purchased. Remember, “Calgon, take me away!” Almost every article you read in women’s magazines will mention the ubiquitous bubble bath as an example of self-care. Sure we all need to bathe, but a sudsy soak will never replace a nutritious diet, regular exercise, adequate rest, ongoing stress management and healthy relationships. Getting your nails done, a bottle of Merlot, or a shopping spree help won’t help really care for yourself either. This is pampering, not self-care. This is buying the baby a cuddly toy, not cleaning its bum.

I know this is an especially difficult pill to swallow for most of us – especially women and other caretakers. We would never consider ignoring our partners, children or aging parents. We have their health and well-being in mind all the time, but we love to put ourselves last -- just like I did during my annus horribilis. Unfortunately, sometimes it takes a crisis (health or otherwise), absolute exhaustion (mental or physical) or an external intervention to wake us up to the fact that we are abusing and neglecting ourselves – that if we were, in fact, caring for an infant the way we are caring for ourselves, child welfare would come and snatch that kid up never to return her to our home.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t turn around one day, put down the potato chips and become a shining example of health and serenity. I took it one step at a time, one day at a time. As I began to educate myself through the Wellness Certificate program at NYU, and now as a student at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition I began to learn and incorporate the REAL components of self-care. To keep it simple, here’s a list:

Sleep – at least 7 hours a night (I must admit I thrive on 9 hours). If you’re having trouble with this see an earlier post or message me.

Nutrition – Eat a variety of fresh fruit, veggies, whole grains, good fats and lean protein. Limit everything else.

Water – drink lots of it.  So many symptoms of physical illness and food cravings are actually just thirst.

Exercise – Make weight bearing exercises (either machines, free weights or your own weight) part of your weekly routine. Add cardio in between. Don’t forget to stretch. Aim for at least 150 minutes a week (hey, that’s just a bit over 20 minutes a day!)

Spirituality – carve out some time for peace and quiet, share gratitude, enjoy nature, meditate, pray, go to your house of worship…whatever it is, get out of yourself and feel connected to something greater than you.

Relationships – Make sure you spend time with people who love, support and appreciate you on a regular basis and limit the time you spend (including the phone) with what I call “emotional vampires.”

Fun and Creativity – all work and no play doesn’t just make Jack a dull boy, it slowly kills our spirit. Pick up an old hobby. Go play mini golf. Chase your pup around the house or park. Write that story that’s been knocking around your brain.

Feed Your Brain – Just like any muscle, if you don’t challenge it, it will atrophy. Try puzzles, watch a documentary, go to a museum or lecture, pick up a book on a subject you’re not familiar with – whatever makes you strain your gray matter a bit.

Take Stock of your Work Life: Are you happy, fulfilled and challenged? Do you like the environment or does it sap you of energy? What about your coworkers, boss and employees…do these relationships need work? What needs to be changed? Can you ask for help? Make a change? Can you leave (see me waving good bye to my thankless job in 2012.)

You can see why it’s impossible to do all of this at once if you have been ignoring yourself for a long time. That’s why it’s a good idea to pick one or two and try to see if you can improve that aspect of care on a regular basis, before moving on to the next one.

Just a year ago I felt old, worn out and sluggish.  I had difficulty switching positions in bed at night. I ate whatever I craved, whenever I craved it, but rarely got any joy from it.  I made a priority of getting my Will in order. I depended on solely my TV for fun and entertainment. I had lost touch with many of my favorite friends. I hated my job. I hadn’t written anything in years.  But yet, I thought I was taking care of myself.  A year later I can’t believe that was me at all. Today I have energy, enthusiasm and fun in my life. And I’m 28 pounds lighter, lowered my blood pressure and cholesterol as well!

Again, please contact me if you need help incorporating any of these suggestions for self-care in your life. I invite you to skip along on this happy road with me.

 

 

 

The End of the Affair

If you see me on the street, please be kind. I’m feeling a bit vulnerable and shaken. Last week I ended a relationship that spanned nearly twenty years. I left Time Warner Cable and switched to FIOS.

I can remember how the relationship started. I was a young woman moving to the big city full of hopes and dreams. Okay, I was 30 years old and moving into my studio in Gramercy Park. I honestly can’t recall if I had a choice in cable providers but that was ok. I was already in love. I was coming from a home where we still used an antenna and our viewing choices were limited only to the networks and their local affiliates. Now, I had myriad cable stations, I had HBO and I had what was to become my constant companion, NY1.

I miss you Pat!

Honestly, I start to choke up when I think about Pat Kiernan, Roger Clark, Roma Torre (and her ubiquitous crested blazer) and all the gang at NY1. I awoke to them every morning of my life since that fateful first installation on 22^nd Street. It was Pat Kiernan who broke the news to me that the first plane had crashed into the towers. I witnessed Roger Clark's triumphant weight loss day by day, month by month and then began to notice as the pounds packed back on.

NY1 was my subway guru, my weather – and subsequently – wardrobe advisor, my political insider, my protector (by alerting me to crimes and fuzzy videos of suspects), and even told me what other television I should be watching (I was a devotee to their “Watching Pictures On Demand” show.)

How could I ever give all of that up?

The truth is, no matter how much I loved NY1, my relationship with Time Warner Cable was an abusive one.  Over the years, TWC had done some rather unforgiveable things to me and I just kept turning the other cheek.

For instance, once my cable just died, out of nowhere, just stopped working. I called TWC and they tried to blame me by asking questions like, “is it plugged in, is it turned on?” etc. etc. They told me that I’d have to wait five days for a technician to come. I spent five days listening to music and playing old videos (the horror!) And when they finally arrived it turned out that a technician had turned off my cable (in the hallway) instead of a neighbor 's who had moved out. TWC didn’t send flowers, didn’t beg for mercy on bended knee. In fact, they fought me when I asked for a refund for those days without service.

Then there was the time when I had the audacity to cancel my “hotspot” because it NEVER worked. I had signed up to have my own personal wifi for my ipad because I was travelling back and forth to Palm Springs so often during my father’s illness, and needed to work and stay in touch constantly. When my father was actually dying and I was stranded in LA airport waiting for a connection I tried valiantly and the hotspot wouldn’t let me connect to try to find an earlier flight. I was helpless and TWC had abandoned me yet again – and when I needed them most.

One of the first things I did after he died, and I flew home was to call TWC. The customer (dis)service representative on the other line either had most of their frontal lobe removed or had been a Nell-like creature raised in the wild by something other than sentient beings. I went through my story, bit by bit and emphasized that this was a life and death situation – literally. And, besides that, the damn thing never worked. Not in doctor’s offices, not in homes, never. Therefore, I should be allowed to quit my contract without any fee. This female voice on the other end of the line refused and without any sort of empathy or remorse. I mean, how can you listen to someone tell a story of their father dying just three days before and not express some sympathy? It got so bad and so frustrating that I actually asked if she was a human being. She did not respond. Eventually, I spoke to enough people and made enough fuss that I was refunded the surcharge for termination – but it took months.

That should've been the final straw but it wasn't. I continued to take the abuse. There were outages for no reason; periodic pixilation during the Big Bang Theory; dropping the arts station, Ovation; capricious charges; constant billing increases; and; finally, the hubris of the CBS shutdown in August.

But still I wasn’t moved to switch. Like a spouse stuck in an abusive marriage, I just kept thinking it would get better – or at least not worse. I was reminded of one of my favorite sayings, “there are two things that people hate most: change, and the way things are!” That's why despite having consistently abysmal customer service ratings, TWC is still number one. Like others I kept asking myself, "What if I gave up Time Warner and my beloved NY1 and I wasn’t happy, what then? Would TWC take me back, would I have to pay some sort of fine, stay home for entire day waiting for them as a penance. And was I too old to learn a new channel lineup?"  The future was already uncertain, I needed the certainty that my cable gave me no matter the cost.

So, how did I find the courage to leave my abuser? Well, I didn’t. One of the great things of having a husband is that sometimes they’ll do for you what you can’t do for yourself.

One day FIOS was camped out in my lobby. I smiled as I walked by, like seeing one of those marvelously handsome naval officers during Fleet Week. Nothing would ever happen between us as long as I was in a committed relationship so why not smile. But my husband did more than smile, did more than flirt. He hooked us up.  

Loyalty and familiarity are hugely powerful, but so is money. When we realized that we could have a fresh start with a new suitor while saving $40 a month (not to mention the $300 gift card that should come in 12-16 weeks) things changed.

So last week, we hosted Mike, a very bright friendly FIOS technician, in our home for four hours. It was nerve wracking. Not so much because a stranger is untangling an overgrown ivy plant from some embarrassingly dusty cable wires and overhearing private conversations about my nephew, but because it represented my divorce from NY1 and from everything I knew about my television, my lover.

A week later, I’m proud to report that I’m on steadier ground. I printed out a list of my favorite channels. I’ve already memorized TLC, QVC and where the HD networks are. Heck, not bad for a 40-something, right? The picture is noticeably clearer, there are a ton more premium channels, and a local weather station. But no NY1.

Each day I wake up at the crack of 10 am (or 11 honestly) hoping to find out what’s going on in my world (because my world is NYC) and I’m shut out. I fumble around the dial trying to find something of substance and instead are presented with the Price is Right or the View. MSNBC seems to only have pundits talking about stuff I already know and not even that smartly. So I am forced to turn off the TV, read the New York Times on line, and then get to my writing or studying or house work or exercise. Hmmm?

Yes, I have found that without my friends at NY1, I get more done. I feel more productive and therefore happier.

But if you have NY1 and I visit your home, I hope you won’t mind if I sit down for an hour or five just to spend a little time with my old loves. ‘Cause breaking up is hard to do.

The Un-Complaint Bureau

Rich or poor, young or old, black or white there’s one thing all New Yorkers have in common: we all love to complain. This isn’t merely an astute observation it's fact. I remember my mother reading an article in the New York Times some 30 years ago detailing a study that showed that most New Yorkers met and engaged with strangers through the art of whining.

Think about it, it happens to us every day. You’re standing waiting for the train and they announce it’s going local (or express, whatever is most inconvenient.) You turn to look at the person next to you and you both roll your eyes and sigh. Soon after you’ll find yourself and your fellow train-taker explaining why this delay is especially disruptive or ironic to you, eg “I was going to take a cab…there was one right outside of my apartment. Now I’ll never make my doctor’s appointment.” Or, “My boss kept me late; I just missed the train before…how can this day get worse?” Chances are the kvetch-fest won’t stop there. By the time you reach your stop, you’ll have made a new friend.

In fact, a few months ago, a nice old lady was very concerned when an oblivious suit stepped on my sandaled foot and didn’t apologize. We began talking about how rude people can be, we got into New York City government (she asked if I remembered Mayor Lindsey, which I did) and by the time I got off at Penn Station she heartily approved of my politics and my choice of husband. We didn’t exchange numbers or become Facebook pals, but that person was a bright spot in my day and I will remember her for a long time.

Bonding with one another and breaking down the barriers of race, age and socio-economic status is great, but, for the most part, complaining can get out of hand. I invite you to try a very scary experiment: count how many times you complain in a given day. Congress, weather, your spouse, your neighbors, your friends, your boss, litterbugs, Time Warner Cable, Con Ed, the snooty waiter, the idling tour bus outside your window…whatever it is it can take up a large portion of our day and a lot of mental energy.

We call it venting but nothing really changes. According to Psychology Today, when we have so many dissatisfactions and frustrations, yet believe we're powerless to do much about them or to get the results we want, we are left feeling helpless, hopeless, victimized, and bad about ourselves. Obviously, one such incident won't harm our mental health, but we have so many complaints, this scenario happens many times a day. This accumulation of frustration and helplessness can add up over time and impact our mood, our self-esteem, and even our general mental health. No wonder why New Yorkers have the reputation for crankiness!

Sure, the city isn’t easy all the time, but it’s New York Freaking City for goodness sake – the capital of the free world! Anything we could ever want to eat, do or see is at our fingertips. Things actually run pretty well, when you think about it. We should feel privileged to live here. We should be walking around like Buddhist monks who have reached Nirvana.

So why don’t we? Personally, I think we are hard wired to complain and don’t really know how to break the circuits. I feel that we’ll also seem weak – an unforgivable transgression for New Yorkers – if we behave cheerfully or express gratitude. After all, we’re not granola-munching tree huggers from Vermont or Nebraska, right?

But when I do encounter that rare New Yorker that’s sunny and appreciative, I feel a bit chagrined. My doorman David is that kind of person. I happen to know that he’s a single dad with a long commute and a big extended family that come to him with their issues. But every day when I see him he has a big smile and asks about my day. I usually rant about the skateboarders who terrorize my dog or the BMCC students smoking in groups on the corner and he nods sympathetically. I asked about his life and he usually responds, “oh I can’t complain, things are good.” I look at my shoes with a bit of shame before I take the elevator up to my lovely, safe, clean home in the greatest city in the world.

The shame comes from wishing I could be as gracious and grateful as someone I know is facing tougher challenges than I. But that behavior is far from my instinct. But I can change that – and it seems that I have many reasons to other than being a pleasant person.

Researchers in the field of Positive Psychology report that having a positive attitude and expressing gratitude helps prevent (or reverse) a multitude of emotional and physical problems from anxiety to cardio vascular disease.

I decided that if I feel too proud and tough to express gratitude to my fellow New Yorkers, maybe I can just call it “uncomplaining.” Instead of bonding with a stranger over a rough commute or a long wait in a doctor’s office, I could share our good fortune over a smooth bus ride or quick checkout line at Whole Foods. If I say it with enough irony in my voice (like “this doesn’t happen often”) no one will mistake me for an enlightened yogi.

So here goes…

Today, as I was walking my beautiful border collie, I couldn’t help noticing the crystal clear blue sky, the gentle breeze and fluffy clouds of this picture-perfect autumn day. I realized that the past two months have been unbelievably beautiful weather-wise: August was warm, not hot, and September has been clear and breezy. Sure it rained here and there, but it seemed to do so mostly at night when we can watch the deluge safe and dry from our windows. As we near the anniversary of Hurricane Sandy, I realize how lucky we’ve been so far – ‘cause it could get worse.

Get it…that’s uncomplaining.  Some sun with a hint of doom. That should work, right?

No one can change overnight and New Yorkers are a pretty stubborn breed. So let’s try this exercise together. Turn to the person next to you at the movies when they show the 11^th preview and say something like, “don’t you love the smell of movie popcorn…so much better than the urine stench outside the theater.” Or when you’re tempted to unload on your mother about your husband’s forgetfulness you could swap it out with, “I’m so glad I don’t have to go through life’s crap alone anymore even if it’s with someone who can’t remember where we keep the scissors.”

 

I’d love for you to share your “uncomplaints” with me.

Escape Route out of the Rut

Recently, I was chosen to participate in a focus group on recreational activities in the Seaport area. Besides the fact that I think doing a focus group is possibly the easiest money to be made and they usually serve snacks, I was excited to do it as a very enthusiastically loyal resident of Lower Manhattan.

To qualify for the group, I was asked a multitude of questions about me, my lifestyle and my entertainment choices. Ah, there’s the rub. This is when I realized the serious rut that I’m in.  Here’s how the interview went:

Surveyor:  When was the last time you visited Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Me: Uh…where?

Surveyor: When was the last time you visited Governor’s island?

Me: Uh…I guess a year ago…no wait, it was before we adopted our dog…hmm six years ago.

My most recent non-restaurant night out
-- lots of culture, right?

Surveyor: Have you shopped at Century 21 within the last six months?

Me: Of course!

But the real death knell came when she asked: If you won an all-expense paid trip to any other city where would you go and what would you do? Remember, money is no object. I was stumped; totally stumped. Somehow San Francisco came into my head so I said that. Now, I keep wishing I said Buenos Aires (as if I was really being offered this trip!) And when she pushed for what I would do in this wonderful city I could only reply, “I guess go to a really good restaurant.” Pathetic. That’s all I could think of. I stammered for a bit and then added something about "seeing a show” (whatever that means) taking some tour (even vaguer). Perhaps even more depressing is the fact that three days later I still can’t think of anything else.

So there is my dilemma. Entertainment has boiled down to basically one thing for me: eating.  Sure, I hear music now and then – but only when someone else invites me. I have basically even stopped going to the movies. I can’t see the point of shelling out more than $30 for me and my husband when we can curl up on the couch and see that same movie for percentage of our Netflix membership a few months later. I haven’t been to the theater since I quit my job in fundraising. When you’ve gotten years and years of free tickets to Broadway benefits it’s painful to shell out triple digits for a ticket (well, at least for me!) When I was single, I would attend evening lectures at museums. That hasn’t happened in over eight years either.

I remember being super proud of myself and my husband that we played mini golf at Pier 25 on one of our rare "date nights" instead of -- you guessed it -- eating out. But mini golf is not culture...is it?

I live in a city that is often tough to bear. It’s crowded, dirty, very expensive, sometimes challenging to navigate, full of intense people darting through the crowd on their way to something very important or standing in the middle of the sidewalk completely oblivious to the world staring at their smartphone. But we stay because New York is a cultural mecca, right? Art! Fashion! Theater! Music! Ballet! Opera! Architecture! Literature! It's all here for the taking but I do not partake.

 

Last night I had dinner with a dear friend who complained that she’s behind watching all the “it” TV shows of the moment. She’s only up to season 2 in Breaking Bad and has way too many Masterpiece Theaters in her DVR. She explained that she’s out every night until 9pm going to lectures, doing pilates, seeing plays, etc. Having had the above epiphany just hours earlier I had to laugh.  I comforted her by explaining that she was living a 3-dimensional life and that TV was merely 2 dimensions. TV should be what we do when we have absolutely nothing else to do. She seemed to accept this happily until my husband came back from the restroom and asked her if she heard about the spin-off of the Walking Dead.

Well, I know change does not come easily but I am stating here and now that I want to change. I want to be as much a part of this vibrant cultural life as I was in my thirties.  Or at least get out as much as we did as a couple before we became doggie parents and decided a fun night was simply adoring the most beautiful border collie in the world. This photo is proof that we have been to museums -- even as far as Rome. I remember I liked it. Although I must admit I look rather jet-lagged!

Step one is that  tonight I’m taking my beloved TV-addicted husband to an off-Broadway show to celebrate his birthday  (for those who know him, his birthday was yesterday and it’s not too late to wish him a Happy Birthday!)

Step Two is enlisting YOUR help. I’m clearly not in the loop. So if you have ideas for outings let me know. If you’ve done something fun and interesting outside a restaurant or multiplex, please share it with me.

I know I’m too old and busy to be out there two or three nights a week. But I feel I can redeem myself if I do something cultural just once a month. So I implore you to send some suggestions my way.

Enjoy!