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If the Mayans, the Politicos and the Media all have it right, we have a few more weeks until the end of the world as we know it. The Mayan Calendar reports the world will end December 21st on the Winter Solstice. But don’t worry. If it doesn’t happen on the 21st we are falling off a fiscal cliff into an economic abyss in the New Year. So, maybe I should just kick up my heels and not worry about paying my January bills if the world is coming to an end.  But wait…Wasn’t the world supposed to end with The Rapture on May 21, 2011? And

On Black Friday I ended the day with a vintage diamond and platinum vintage wristwatch, a ruby ring, a Louis Vuitton pouch and a diamond solitaire.  And I did not spend a dime. Instead, I cleaned out my closets and drawers and digging a little deeper than usual found buried treasures that I thought I had lost. The diamond wristwatch took the cake. Until this post I could never speak to anyone but my husband David about the sadness of having lost a treasured piece of jewelry that belonged to my grandmother Rose (I called her Mimi). I only wore it once to a black tie event

I grew up an only child with alot of time on my hands and a full imagination.  Learning to play by myself, work alone, and live as a single adult until my 40s is my DNA and what makes me an independent thinker and spirit. With no brothers and sisters, very few aunts and uncles, nieces or nephews the holidays were always a strange mishmash of “orphan”  dinners. You never knew who would be around the table. It was always an assortment of friends, newcomers in town with nowhere to go and – gasp- usually a single, eligible male hand-picked by my mother to meet her then-single daughter.  There were few actual

Hurricane Sandy struck the Mid-Atlantic and Northeast the evening of October 29th.  What happened in my New York City in the aftermath could be called A Tale of Two Cities. It was the best of times in some areas and the worst of times in others. Below 30th Street Manhattan turned into a dark desert island. Power was out; streets were flooded; people were walking around in a daze. All night flashing police cars patrolled the streets in the eerie dark. After the force of storm ended, the wind blew softly, and a light drizzle fell off and on. Inside my apartment it was dark

In the last several weeks I have traveled by plane, bus, train, car, 4 wheel drive and camel to exotic and bustling Marrakech, the calm toast -colored sands of the Sahara, a piercingly sunny, calm day in London, a chilly St. Louis, MO., sultry and humid Miami, the traffic jammed streets of Atlanta, colorful Asheville, N.C. near the Smoky Mountains and back the Hudson Valley just in time to witness the last of the Fall foliage. I’ve awakened to a brilliant sunrise, the sounds of songbirds, horns, kids playing, roosters crowing, dogs barking and the call to prayer.  Every place and every day has been unique. Yet, there are similarities. The people

On September 11, 2012, I woke up, went to the gym, took a train to a client, coordinated a few interviews, edited some materials and worked on two events coming up in the following week.  It was an average day for me, nothing spectacular. I presided over a Les Dames d’Escoffier board meeting that night and joined my husband for dinner at Eataly with a visiting colleague from South Carolina. My cell phone had one text message from a wine industry colleague. The message said “Peace be with you.” I responded “Thank you! How are you today?”  He responded “ALIVE!” The message

Last night, August 31st, was a Blue Moon. By definition, a Blue Moon is an extra full moon in a season. Usually there are three full moons, and a Blue Moon makes four.  It is an astronomical rarity that happens about 2.7 years apart. The last Blue Moon was December 31, 2009, and I was oblivious to it since I was in the throes of chemotherapy, a rare and hopefully one-time occurance that certainly made me blue and moon-faced with the pallor of wax and wan. The next Blue Moon will take place July 31, 2015, too far into the future to think about.  So last night,

Much has been written about the legacy of Julia Child, who would have turned 100 years old this week.  Many of her colleagues and admirers have posted their Julia recollections and tributes online. In my role as president of Les Dames d’Escoffier New York I have responded to a number of questions on what she meant to the food and beverage industry and to women who work in the field, which is significant.  People have shared their favorite recipes from her cookbooks, most notably Mastering the Art of French Cooking. But as someone with both a palate and passion for good food who professes to be neither

“Happy are those who have dreams and are willing to pay the price to make them come true.” This was my senior year quote in our high school year book and it is my mantra for how I try to live.  I truly believe anyone can take an idea and develop it into something if they work hard at it. The key is to have a vision of what you want to do, a mission statement on how it will work and how it will impact others, a plan  and timeline to make it happen and a passion to give it your all. I

Serendipity. It’s a word I have been thinking about alot, and for good reason. Sometimes, I truly believe that things happen in life due to serendipity. We can all be captains of our ships to a point but, like a vessel on the sea, when nature stirs things up in a maelstrom, you have to change your course. This past weekend I attended a “Woodstock Wedding.” It did not take place in the town of Woodstock in the Hudson Valley. It took place at the site of the original Woodstock back in 1969 in Bethel Woods near White Lake, NY. The bride and groom met through –

I just spent the last several days awash in Spanish Tempranillo. Two days after saying goodbye to Chance, I boarded an airplane for Madrid to join a small group of  wine industry professionals on a four day excursion to the fairly remote, hot, dry and historic wine region of Toro, two and half hours away from Spain’s refined capital. It was like going from Chicago to the Midwest wheat fields but with better food and wine and a seemingly endless nightlife at the final destination. I cried on my overnight flight, listened to music and drank more glasses of Spanish Tempranillo than I should to ease the waves of grief that came

I have been thinking alot about the term “letting go” lately. This week I made the difficult decision of letting go of my precious Chance. He was in pain and his mind and body greatly diminished from a nasal tumor that was slowing taking over his brain.  I wrestled with the idea of euthanasia and did not realize how much I truly hate the idea of letting go of a life, particuarly his. The doctors said it was my choice but to think of it as a gift to give him peace and protect him from more pain. In the end I relented. Chance died quietly in