Life As We Know It

How many of you remember the “Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say on TV” by the late comedian, George Carlin? I was still an adolescent when his album came out but I remember the words to this day: shitpissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfuckertits. It’s amazing the things that stay with you when I can’t seem to remember my passwords to my online bank accounts or even LinkedIn these days. I’ve decided to create my own list of Seven Words I Never Want To Hear On TV or Anywhere. I feel these words are, in no particularly order: overused, misused or abusive. Here you go: Retarded: This

I once wrote the lyrics to a country music song, “Love Don’t Stick To My Teflon Heart.” It’s about dealing with love and rejection and how your broken heart may be fried like an egg but it will never crack. I hope it sells one day and makes me Platinum. (Dolly P., Nashville, are you listening??) The terms “Teflon” and “Tar Baby” have been around in politics for awhile. Ronald Reagan was called “The Teflon President.” Criticism never seems to stick to “Teflon” people.  The term “Tar Baby” has generated criticism for its racist overtones even though it originated from the Tales of Uncle Remus which I read as

Wherever I go, whatever I do and whenever I am faced with major decisions, I rely on two soul sisters. One is the Per-Sister and the other is the Re-Sister. They are a lot like the Doctor Doolittle’s Push-Me/Pull-You, except, in this case, one pushes me forward to pursue my dreams, and the other pulls me back in line when I am about to make a misstep. Together, they give me the balance I need to navigate the course of my life. The Per-Sister is tenacious. She’s like a terrier with a toy that she won’t let go of. When there is a goal in mind,

New York City, where I live, lost a great man this week, native son and former Mayor, Ed Koch.  First a lawyer, then a Congressman, he idolized his city, and as Mayor, led New York through, and out of, some of its darkest days. Even after he left office, he remained an upbeat voice for the city throughout the rest of his life, an ambassador unequaled for the people, the causes, and ideals he believed in. Koch was known for asking people “How Am I Doing?” It did not really matter how anyone responded, because Ed Koch possessed an abundance of confidence, and he believed he was doing just fine. I often

How many times have you complained about the size of your thighs, that extra few inches around your waist or the wiggle under your arms? For many of us after the holidays this can become daily commentary. I confess, I am one of those self-absorbed who is constantly scrutinizing my looks, always attempting to improve and frequently exercising restraint over the dinner plate while ramping up exercising in the gym. I have been that way since childhood for many many reasons starting with being an ugly duckling as a child, taunted as a school girl and then growing up to be a societal- and self-styled Type A

I woke up this morning unable to speak. What little voice I have is coarse and scratchy; my head is spinning and and my body aches. I realized after a few attempts at talking to my husband even in a low tone, it was not worth the effort. I opted to spend the rest of the day being quiet. It is a rare occasion to find me speechless, and it made me think of other ways to express myself. I could have spent the day curled up in bed lost in my thoughts and body aches. But a little voice inside of me said: “Get up and write. Speak out.

Many of us have annual traditions this time of the year. They usually involve special celebrations with friends and family, unpacking treasured ornaments for a tree, and bringing out dog-eared pages from magazines and cookbooks to prepare holiday dishes. My tradition is pulling out a diary that records the year and my perspective of it. I write down where I spent Christmas, New Years and my birthday, who I was with, how the world was doing and how I was doing in general. I have a small library of diaries, five to be exact, recorded over two decades. I have

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