Snow Day or Sick Day?

There’s a raging blizzard outside. My bed is so warm and comfy. The idea of calling in sick is so tempting. But I can’t. I just can’t. Unless I’m having a relationship with the porcelain god (standing or sitting) or suffering from an intense migraine-the kind where it feels like 200 fraternity boys are having a keg party inside your head- I go to work. I go to work when I have a fever. I go to work when I have a sneezing/coughing/sore throat kind of cold. I go to work when I can’t talk and can barely breath. I won’t come in if I know I’m seriously contagious. That wouldn’t be fair to my colleagues ( I did 3 weeks ago-sorry you guys).

I’ve called in sick so infrequently that sometimes I amaze myself. This is retail for goodness sake. It’s not rocket science. It’s unbelievable the amount of employees that call in sick in a single week. Even when I was teaching full time I didn’t call in sick. It was too much of a bother to explain my lesson plans to a sub. Nobody wanted to sub in music. Too complicated. The only time I ever called in for a sub was when my child was home sick and then the following week I too would be miserable and sick. And working.

Growing up with a nurse for a mom we never were able to fake it. She knew. Even the penny under the tongue didn’t work. Now that I think about it, it’s a wonder I didn’t catch some kind of disease from putting a filthy coin in my mouth. Mom was never one to tell us you’ll catch a cold if you go out in the cold or stand in the rain. She’d hand us an umbrella or an extra sweater and say go. To this day I will argue ‘till I’m hoarse that you catch a cold from germs. Not from 20 degree weather or a monsoon.

I remember once, in third grade, we were scheduled to go on the best field trip: Circle Line boat cruise around Manhattan harbor with a visit to the Statue of Liberty and then the Empire State Building. It was kind of a rite of passage for New York kids. The night before the trip my mother took a concerned look at me and knew I was coming down with something. After confirming that with a good old mercury thermometer, it was decided that I would have to miss the trip. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next summer we went as a family on the field trip that I missed. It was the only time I really remember being so sick as to miss school for several days in a row. Yes, I had chicken pox, mumps, measles, rubella and all that. I was too young to really remember it. And then there was the time I had mono the summer I was 19….but that’s a different story.

And so, there’s a blizzard outside but I’ll set my alarm clock and hit the floor running when it goes off. After all, it may take some time to clear the foot of snow off my car.

Happy Blizzard everyone. Stay warm!

What's in a Number?

So I took the plunge. I joined AARP. Yes, indeedy. I even have my little membership card to prove it. My friend Cathy was horrified. I don’t care. I’m all about discounts. If I can save a buck here or there it’s all good. And I get a glossy magazine in the mail and online tips on everything from health and well being to recipes, fashion and money advice.

 

I’m not one to lie about my age. Sure, I’d like to be 30, 40 or even 50 again. Ain’t happening. There is no fountain of youth. There is no magic pill. Age is inevitable.

BUT…looking your age is not inevitable. My greatest thrill is when I ask for a senior discount and I get a wide-eyed look followed by the blunt statement, “you’re kidding, right?” I’m pleased I don’t look my age. It’s all about attitude, lifestyle and a great nightcream.

I’ve embraced my age. I’m not a kid anymore. But I’m young at heart as the saying goes.

And you know what? That little plastic card can go a long way and my wallet thanks me.

Here’s to a great new year!

Happy 2014!

When In Rome

Actually, I’ve never been in Rome. I know what you’re all thinking. What?! Yes, I’ve been back and forth to Italy many times over the years. Sometimes more than once a year.

I recently returned from my annual October trip to Trieste. Rehearsals, gigs and hanging out with friends. All and all in was a stellar time with the exception of the weather. Who knew it would be so uncomfortably warm in late October? Muggy, rainy, steamy. My hair had a big time meltdown.

But I must say. I am truly blessed to be able to experience Italy not as a tourist. Oh sure, I had a chance to do a bit of traveling to new exotic places…but it was off the beaten path. Places that Americans just don’t see.

Hallowed halls

University of Pavia

I was fortunate to attend the graduation of a friend at The University of Pavia. It was an incredible experience. No pomp and circumstance. Just a solo explanation of his thesis to a panel of professors. All about physics. I didn’t understand a word. It’s ok. If it had been in English I still wouldn’t have understood it!

 I also had a little day trip to the Italian alps.

Love those alps!

 Every twist and turn of the road brought another postcard view. Even in the rain, the Dolomites are stunning.

Dolomites

 Of course the best part of being in Italy are my friends and acquaintances. Sharing meals be it in a little trattoria or in a friend’s kitchen is always an event.

Pasta by Matteo

 Heated and passionate discussions about food to politics and everything in between is de rigueur. Italians LOVE to talk and LOVE to argue. What an American can say in 4 seconds an Italian will take 2 hours and a 4 course meal. Mostly I sit and listen and try to absorb. Comprehension is getting better.

Me, Sammy and Save having a coffee in Save's kitchen

 The dialects are still a bit mystifying. Italians take forever to get to the point and therefore everything takes longer. Mostly I’m OK with this. Sometimes it pisses me off, especially when rehearsals are involved.

So when in Rome…er..Italy..I go with the flow. Yes, there will be transit strikes (there was) and yes there will always be a canceled or rescheduled event (daily). Try not to take it personally. Shrug and smile and pour the wine. Viva Italia!!

Is a Picture Worth 1000 Bites?

Food porn is a big business these days. EVERYbody is taking food pics. Not to say that I don’t love looking at them. Some are totally mouth watering. Like I want to lick the screen of my phone or my PC monitor.

I too, am guilty of taking a pic of that oh so perfect plate of food. The right light coming in through my kitchen window. The sizzling food in the pan ready to hit the plates. Wait…don’t take a bite yet…I need to take a pic.

I have food porn albums in Facebook and in my computer. On Pinterest and Instagram. 

And so I said to myself: STOP. Enough is enough. Eat the damn food and just enjoy it. Savor each and every bite without worrying whether this gastronomic event is worthy of a food porn moment.

And so I stopped. In fact, I deleted most of the food porn pics from my Instagram. Do people really want to see the tofu stirfry or the poached salmon I had for dinner last night? Eh. If I really want to capture the moment I can do it and save it in my PC files for my own benefit. To remind myself that I made a stellar meal.

I’ll still take photos of meals with friends. But I think I’ll focus on the latter. After all, as good as the food is, the friends are what make the meal special.

Buon appetito!

The Fly In The Ointment

We recently received a book at my store called Mean Girls at Work. My friend Cathy and I browsed through it and realized that one of our co-workers is just that: a really mean girl. Or in her case, a really mean older woman.

This is a person that is so difficult to work with, that the rest of the staff is contemplating giving our notices if she doesn’t retire soon. We don’t complain to our bosses about her. It falls on deaf ears. They just brush it off as her being “just an old woman.” And so we grit our teeth and try to ignore her ranting.

This person truly believes we are dithering idiots who have no idea how to run a bookstore or for that matter have never read anything remotely literary. In fact, we ALL read. A lot. Several books a week. We run the gamut from classics to sci-fi. History, biography, quirky fiction (that’s me), mystery and new fiction. We read more in a week than that woman does in a year. She once admitted to never finishing a book. She reads the first chapters and the last, so she can recommend them to customers. Yeah. That totally doesn’t make it in my realm.

This person has told others (who tell us) that she is the only one who ever does any work. At all. Kind of amazing because if that were the case there would be no books on the shelves, but instead, packed in boxes in the already crowded stockroom.

This person has told me she knows so much more about music than I do because she lived in Cambridge (Boston) in the 1960’s. This person once came to a gig of my jazz band and then proceeded to make a list of all the songs SHE thinks we should have on our set list because she knows more about jazz than I do. OK. So I do my best to ignore her mumbling and nasty comments when what I really want is for a shelf of hardcovers to fall on her head.

This is a person who makes monetary mistakes and then blames the rest of the staff because she won’t ever admit to being wrong. Has left the store unlocked but blames others for it. Has been rude to customers. In fact, some of our customers have hightailed it out the door because this woman is so difficult.

And I think the worst remark that she makes quite often is that she looks so much younger and is so beautiful compared to Cathy and myself (she’s 15 years older than us). In fact she tells me the highlights in my hair are ugly and that Cathy’s tan is hideous. This from a woman who reminds us that people think she looks like Salma Hayek. Well, folks, if she’s Salma than I’m Audrey Hepburn. Or Giselle.

And so we take deep breaths and move on. At which point she complains that we’re ignoring her. It’s difficult to be civil to someone who makes you feel so miserable. We count the days until she goes on vacation or takes a few days off.

We remind ourselves that she’s delusional and more than a bit senile. Others have said tsk, tsk she’s just an old woman to whom we reply, YOU come work with her for one week straight and then let us know what you think.

I love our little store. It’s our little piece of heaven in an airport terminal. We’ve created it from nothing two years ago and now it’s a popular attraction. If it weren’t for one person it would be pure perfection.

And now, I’m going to take deep breaths and sigh in relief, knowing that in fact, she IS going away for a few days. Pure bliss!

Have a great week. I know I will!

Living Out Loud

Recently, as in two days ago, I connected with a long lost friend. Like thirty-nine years lost. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about her. I did. For a long time. The problem back then was black and white. If you didn’t have a current address or phone number, you were out of luck. Unless you hired a private detective.

Well, thanks to modern technology, I am my own Holmes. Over the years I searched Google, Facebook, linkedin and various other sources and niente. Until two days ago.

Great. Now what? What if she didn’t want to connect? What if she was hiding from the world? What if I was just being a pain in the ass stalker?

Turns out most of that was true. She didn’t want to connect for a long time. She didn’t want to live out loud. But now she does. And here we are.

Is it possible to start a new friendship from an old friendship? I absolutely think so.

Is it wrong to live out loud and share your life like an open book? No. I do it all the time.

I’m not shy about sharing my life. Look at Facebook. Look at this blog. I have things to say and I’m certainly not shy about sharing my thoughts. And yes, I put my foot in my mouth quite frequently, but whatever.

My new/old friend and I have so much more in common than we ever thought. I won’t mention her name because she is just starting to dip her toes into the social network of the world. We made a “playdate” for later this summer.

It’s never too late to make new friends or connect with old ones. We only have one life. 

Happy July 4th!

From the Inside Out

The other day my friend Cathy and I were talking about what constitutes beauty. Is it some standard that is set by marketing people? By cosmetic companies? Who decides what makes someone “look” beautiful?

Ok. Let’s face it. I don’t walk out of my house without some form of makeup on my face. Even if it’s just a quick run to the supermarket. I mean after all, someone I know might see me. Even if it means just throwing on some lipgloss, I can’t have a naked face. No one sees me sans makeup except for my immediate family and my band mates.

In today’s world, we are bombarded with expectations. Wear this product and your skin will look 10 years younger. Use this shampoo and you will have hair shinier than a newly minted penny. And so, we do. And does it work? Sometimes.

What if we didn’t? I mean what if we didn’t use beauty products and just went au natural 100% of the time? Would we, as women be chastised for not looking up to par?

For me personally, I know that I look and feel better when I have “my face on” as the saying goes. It’s kind of like that first cup of coffee. A jumpstart to what ever I have to do during the course of the day. As a fifty something year old woman I need to look my best in a world of twenty something and thirty something work colleagues and band mates. I don’t want to be the fading old woman. And thus, I completely support my local cosmetics counters.

I also know that looking and feeling good doesn’t solely come from a tube or bottle. Healthy eating, sleep and exercise are all components of the body beautiful. I know I’ll never be a Giselle but it really doesn’t matter. I’m me. I’m beautiful in my own right. Now where the hell did I put that tube of lipgloss?!

Have a beautiful week!