Catching Up: Spring Break & Easter Sunday

Figgy and me on Easter Sunday with Sis's sweet dog, Galena, aka Little Professor. 🍒🌸

Sorry to scrunch this all together in one post, but it's a constant push-pull. Do I have time to blog, which I love and miss, or should I Swiffer the dirty kitchen floor, feed the pansies and perennials in the garden, take a walk or send out story pitches? 

Load the dishwasher so I'm set up in a clean kitchen to cook another healthy meal or wait for Dan to get back and wade through that full counter and sink? (I'm opting for the latter today. But keeping up with an organized, usable kitchen cycle also encourages Punch, who enjoys cooking, with and without friends, including code name Romeo.) Yesterday I made a broccoli Cheddar quiche and still haven't cleaned up. If I have an assignment, I do focus on that first and foremost. After all, an editor is waiting on the other end. But in between, things get murkier.

Last week (April 14 to 18, including Good Friday) was Punch's high school spring break. It was Dan's idea to spend a couple of nights in a nice/splurge hotel in the city, where we could go to a Broadway show, see NYC sights on foot and P and I could get spa treatments. We took the NJ Transit train in and out of NYC from Montclair and the round trip cost (for each senior! age 62 and up) is only $8.10!!!! It was more comfortable than a crowded airplane, and the ride is under an hour. We enjoyed facials and pampering, and Dan and I saw "Oh, Mary!" on Broadway. Lots of laughs and wit, period details and a clever twist on Lincoln-era history. Cole Escola, 38, born in Clatskanie, Oregon, wrote and stars in the play. They are gifted.

Back in Montclair at 11:30 a.m. Easter Mass, I saw a single, beautiful white flowering branch on the altar. (My true friends at Bartlett's Greenhouses & Florist, a 100-year-old (+) family business in Clifton, do the Saint Cassian's flowers.) I saw pretty pink fashions on women--a mom and wife in flowy, taffy pink pants, the hems pooling over her high heels. A twenty something, with her boyfriend, wore an expensive sweater with subtle pinks and golds in the weave. Her brunette hair had a few copper highlights from the sun. I didn't spot a single Easter bonnet, but maybe I just missed them. I arrived late and didn't get a seat. Being old*, I had to go downstairs and sit a bit because unlike most Sunday Masses, Easter Mass was long, well over an hour. A long time to stand in heels. I liked the priest's white and gold vestment, the little girls in floral dresses, their well-dressed, well-behaved and attractive young parents, Dads in sweater vests, good shoes. I liked it all, that slice of Catholic life on a happy occasion. I thought of my own parents, how it must have been to bring four children to church. Wow.

Two nights and three days in a NYC hotel. Love that blue sofa.

I felt like we had a NYC studio apt. for that short time. Sunset was pretty. 

But I couldn't sleep the first night, Sunday. Trucks backing up, brakes screeching all night. 

Sanitation trucks? Mail trucks? I was up til 4:30 a.m. The second night, I slept like a baby.

 

Code name Romeo, Punch and Punch's friend in hotel room, 19th floor.

The friends bussed in and joined for one night. We had a suite.

Breakfast was included in the room rate. The lattes were everything I hoped for.

Sis and me on Easter, Branch Brook Park cherry blossom trees. 🍒🌸🌸

Now I'm back and I feel refreshed. And glad to have blogged again.

*I say I'm old in jest. I may be 64 but I feel like I'm 40. I don't feel old except when I acknowledge signs of old personhood, such as having to pee more often; owning deep frown lines and sun spots; and occasionally forgetting someone's name or an experience. Oh, and I like to be in bed by 10 p.m. latest, earlier if possible.

Of Loss, Resilience and Comfort Food

Born in the U.S.A., and it's still my sacred ground, no matter what happened November 5. Image copyright Columbia Records.

It's 11 days after the 2024 presidential election, and I only just now watched Kamala's full concession speech from Howard University. What a time, what a loss. I guess I've been taking things in slowly. Not all at once.

Between the daylight savings time change and the election results, I've been tired. It gets dark early. I lace up my sneakers to walk and then decide not to. That kind of tired. My Apple MacBook also died after seven years, so I had to scramble and buy a new one. You know that stress. Didn't have $1,000 lying around and don't use credit. I jumped on Dan's laptop early in the mornings and went to public libraries in Montclair and Verona, but you only get an hour at a time on the free desktop computers before you're knocked off.

Finding our way in the dark. Keep on keeping on. But this is America. The people spoke. I don't have to like it, but short of moving to Ireland or Scotland (dreams), I have to live with it. I will continue to speak my truth as best I can, to be honest and fair. I will donate blood. I will pray. I will contribute food for families who need it. I will believe. I will keep close my promise to be a good person in my own life, under my own roof, and out in the world. I will tell stories. I will write. I will help guard what I can. Figgy and I were talking about some ways to do that.

BTW, did you know Kamala's plummy pantsuit with blouse for her concession speech was custom-made by Tory Burch? (Thank you, Vanessa Friedman, queen of fashion reporters, reigning at The New York Times.) 

I made meatloaf tonight. I turned the oven to 375 and let it bake.

I filled a big blue glass pie dish with blueberries and topped them with a quick stir of raw oats, cinnamon, ground ginger, almond flour, toasted pecans, pinch of French sea salt and 2 T organic turbinado sugar, which is sweet and sandy, and maybe a tiny bit less deadly than full-fledged sugar might be for some. Known as raw sugar, it is less processed than the fully refined kind. Anyway, it was on sale at Kings so the bag hopped into my shopping cart.

Well, I have to try to talk some sense into someone and her friend upstairs at 10:28 p.m. on a Saturday night. Yeah, good luck with that.

Bees Sting, Owls Watch

Moey has three younger brothers, and this photo is by Ryan Cassidy, the son of her baby bro, Jimmy, born when we were in fourth grade. I hadn't seen Ryan in a while but last night, he showed us some photos on Moey and Ted's deck. He is gifted. It takes a close, patient and quiet eye to capture nature like this. LMK if you need a wildlife image. I will send you Ryan's contact info. Photo copyright Ryan Cassidy.

Summer stung like a bumblebee this year in many ways. But the details are too personal to publish. 

Still, pollinators are good, so maybe this sting can turn out to help our family somehow grow and reseed. IDK. Take the stinger out, follow a winding path to eventual flowers or dripping golden honey?

It takes great effort to step back and accept. Risky behaviors, unsafe choices. I hope and pray, but that only goes so far for me. It doesn't give me endless serenity and trust. I can't change the past--not my own flawed behaviors and certainly not the teenager's early god-given road.

So what can I do? I can apply salve (I took a bath with a luscious Dolly Moo bamboo & blue tansy bath bomb today, smells so good and clean and the color is so pretty). Even combed on a little black mascara, swiped on Prada lipstick, dipped into Bobbi Brown beachy nude cream eye shadow. I can take a peaceful nap. I can continue to love even when I do not want to, or think I possibly can. I can follow a code of tolerance and love. 

I can judge and criticize less.

Yesterday was Moey's bday. Dan and I went over to the deck for thin crust pizza, vegs and dip, chilled shrimp and to sing happy birthday. Her parents are 87 and 86 (ck); I can't believe it. When they had Moey 63 years ago, Mr. C. was 24 and Mrs. C. was 23. Ted was there (Moey's husband), their fun, smart son, Kevin, and Ryan Cassidy, their nephew. He is into wildlife photography. Look at that amazing photo above!

Well, I might watch another episode of "Emily in Paris" on my laptop now.

Good night.

I enjoyed Friday night with Figgy. I wish I had a good Spice photo 

but she won't take pictures with us too often lately. I sunk pretty Papyrus unicorn bday candles into this vegan Jeni's Lemon Bar ice cream for Figgy. I wish they had sugar-free, for me. (The website says $12 but I found it at Wegmans on sale for $6.99.)

Prom Countdown

"Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress" episode photo from "I Love Lucy." I doubt that will happen to Punchy but you never know! 

Punchy, 17, is going to Romeo's senior prom in Wayne this evening. I'm not allowed to post a photo of her in the dress yet. She tried it on twice. I guess you don't post the dress ahead of time now, at least in her case.

Mimi (her dad's mom) is driving up after work, for a photo window. Figgy plans to come after work, too.

It feels like a scaled-down wedding--by that I mean a focused and happy event, Dan and I coordinating car time to rush Punch to hair and nail appointments, purse shopping, the young man getting a jacket, etc., and that is good. We have ridden the crashing waves of many scary or sad moments in Punch's life sea but this is a joyous, "normal" one. I hope she and Romeo surf smoothly. Yet of course, I still worry--about after parties, alcohol, driving. I have already and will again address the matter with both teens involved.

The fancy manicure, two-tone with little rhinestones, was carefully crafted by a nail artist in her pretty at-home salon yesterday. (It took over two hours. Mimi funded it.) It's 12:22 and Dan is on a dash with Punch to CVS for silver hoop earrings and fake lashes, plus a purse at the mall. Starting at 1 p.m., pedicure, brow tint, hair trim and styling. She has to shower before all that. After hair, time for Punch to do her makeup.

Everyone is different. And while Punchy has a sharp, astute brain, she doesn't overexercise it for school. She is a capable athlete, but I have to twist her arm mostly to get her to the Y for a class or to the gymnastics place for an open tumbling session. But Punchy is a master at makeup. In a good way. Honestly, she is.

The nails....they are superlong, a trend these days. The family member who really digs them is our cat, Nina, whose green eyes dance and spin like saucers at the sparkly little jewels on teen queen's talons.

We picked up the pretty dress and shoes Tuesday after school. We did layaway at David's Bridal in Paramus, where Romeo's glamorous young mom has had a big position for years. She was very helpful, gracious and knowledgeable. As in, just the right shoes, black satin platform sandals with rhinestone buckles, which I wasn't inititally drawn to but love now. 

I have to go check my work emails. Hope to report back later.

Back from Eclipse Chasing

Punch + Romeo on the museum terrace, near Central Park.

The teens made fast friends with New Yorkers around them, 

from a retired teacher to a museum guard. 

I used odd "lasso" effect to encircle photo. I'd like to redo/perfect/play 

with it more, but I have to do my work.

Michael + Dan near Canada. Full totality.

Our threesome in New York, New York.

I was on the terrace behind the Museum of Natural History in New York, New York to watch the solar eclipse with family (and strangers, who became fast friends). We three, even our hard-to-impress teen girl, are glad we went. Romeo, Punch and I are tired now. Walked to cute old train station in Montclair, boarded 10:56 a.m. double decker to NY Penn Station, explored Moynihan Train Hall, bustling and fun, and took C subway to 81st Street/museum stop ($2.90 per person each way when I used my debit card at the turnstile, still a pretty good deal).

Dan and his close pal drove all the way up in Vermont near Canada to see the full effect and are stuck in crawling traffic back tonight. They couldn't find coffee or a bathroom on those narrow highways. Figgy and friend drove to Lake George and then another viewing destination in New York State. (Both parties left a day ahead and found lodging.) Punchy's school closed at 1 p.m. today for the eclipse (so everyone "could stay safe") and Romeo has spring break this week. So we let Punch miss the short school day. It was history. It was good. So cool to see that flat, perfectly round shadowy black skillet bottom glide slowly, slowly over the fiery cooking flame of the sun. We didn't see totality but all cardboard eclipse glasses on, necks craned, faces to the sky at 3:25 p.m. Eastern Time. No flash in the pan. Totally worth it.

Tough Day

Image from here.

And the forecast calls for another tough one tomorrow. But winds and weather can change. And also, umbrellas and rain boots do exist.

And I am taking care of myself, so I don't slip and slide in the storm.

Good night.

"Bye Bye Birdie"

Good and kitchy. Image from here.

Dan is working at a gig in NYC tonight and I toyed with watching an Oscar-nom movie I've missed, such as "American Fiction" or "Poor Things." But instead, I dove into a classic I've heard about but never seen: "Bye Bye Birdie" from 1963, all sixties pop color and dancing and high school. Ann-Margret, Janet Leigh, Dick Van Dyke, Ed Sullivan and Paul Lynde star. I rented it on Amazon for under $4.

Wikipedia says: The story was inspired by Elvis Presley being drafted into the United States Army in 1957. Jesse Pearson plays the role of teen idol Conrad Birdie, whose character name is a word play on country singer Conway Twitty, who was, at that time, a teen idol pop artist. 

Birdie is being drafted and appears on "Ed Sullivan" before he goes, so Bye Bye Birdie. Many swooning girls and grown women under his spell throughout the film.

In this 2024, post-pandemic teen world laced with vapes, weed, physical girl fights, vicious social media gossip and blackmail photos that can kill, I'm all in on a quiet, rainy Saturday night for over-the-top lore from 1963. Also, I see still innocent, timeless teen charms, like giggling, talking on the phone, asking which foundation color is right, hearing "Should I wear my hair like this?" on a video call upstairs, liking horse riding and new sneakers, having teachers and adults who see you and believe in you, even if you don't, and wearing a boy's initial on a chain, while he wears a bracelet you tied on his wrist. Birthday candles and friends, ice cream wishes. Lip gloss. And music you love, even if your parents don't.

Time to go watch the movie. Good night.

Update 11:45 p.m.: I love old zany movies, but this was too zany. Out of the park."Charming" and "joyous" are the descriptions on Amazon. But it is a "musical romantic comedy film," so--madcap dancing, etc. Maureen Stapleton as Dick Van Dyke's mother is...entertaining. She wears the same voluminous fur coat and sturdy black shoes in every scene.

Update morning after 11:23 a.m.: Car broke down on Dan's drive from NYC last night but he is fine (car is not). So I watched last 5 min this morning. The climax (Birdie on "Ed Sullivan") was redeeming but otherwise, it was too much dancing and silliness. Ann-Margret is so beautiful. I didn't know she was Swedish (Swedes are beautiful, like my friend Kim and her fam) or recall her Elvis fling. Also love 60s style: Ponytails, sneakers, shift tops, sherbet colors, wide belts cinching the waist, full skirts, low pumps, stockings. And "getting pinned." Wow, patriarchy, men branding women. It was a fraternity pin, but it's still a claim, like a diamond ring. 

Graces

I still believe in the power of a "Hail Mary" prayer, though did not say one today. 

It begins with "Hail Mary, full of grace." Do you pray? Image from here.

Grateful after school on this overcast March Thursday that:

• I talked calmly and openly to two teenagers, almost 17 and already 18, in my living room. (And BTW, I'm changing Punchy's boyfriend's blog name from GREAT SMILE DEEP THINKER, which is too long, to YOUNG ROMEO, shorter and more fitting.)
• I conveyed my observations and concerns about something involving Punchy that is possibly red-flag dangerous, but that both would be privy to, without my lip quivering, tears brimming in the back of my eyes or my voice wavering. In the past, I was less confident, would quake and shake when I addressed important issues of my heart and mind. My eyes still sprout tears when I make a toast to someone I love, because they mean so much to me, watch a graduation march or a funeral procession or walk back from Communion at a funeral Mass and pass the family in the front row of the church. When I asked for a raise at a magazine once, I fumbled, my heart raced, I said a prayer to my dead but dear grandmother Rosie--something along the lines of I want to make you proud, look at my job, and you came on a boat from Italy with little education--and knocked over the wastebasket on my way into my editor's paneled office.
• My heart didn't jump erratically due to sugar substances consumed in a frenzy of fear and anxiety. Of powerlessness. I didn't raise my voice, accuse or curse. For today, I did not need cookies, a brownie, donut, cake, candy, frosting or other sweets, the softer, the better--or salty, greasy Fritos--to fortify and arm myself against discomfort and worry. Or to soothe myself after the confrontation, which was much more this time like a rational discussion. A chance for all three of us to be seen and heard. To not hide. Although, I must say, teens can persist in their hiding. I am grateful for the exchange.
• I did not delay or procrastinate. I was proactive.
• I heard an observation from Figgy, her calm perspective when she returned from work on the campus. (The front door of our Dutch Colonial opens right into the living room.)
• I had prepared (pre being the key part) oatmeal and turkey chili and was able to grab a healthy, filling breakfast and lunch.
• I have a nice tall glass of ice water and am about to walk around the block. Two virtual appointments with Punch support team members today, plus this living room talk, required time, effort and energy. Water and walk should help replenish.

Have a good evening.

9:41 p.m. update: I once again did not walk, around the block or anywhere else. Tomorrow, tomorrow. But Dan and I went out for sushi, which was nice, and now we are watching The State of the Union on CNN.

Blogging Daily Is Addictive But Hard

I went to sleep after midnight. I usually go much earlier on weeknights. I did too much, which is better than doing too little, but my self-care then suffers. I didn't brush my teeth or floss. I was too tired. I had meant to change our sheets all day but hadn't.

My Brain & Life revise was due back to my eager and punctual editor. That involved reconnecting with two of my sources in California to flesh out anecdotes. The three-hour difference, in my favor this time, gave me a cushion. The workday in CA would go on longer than mine.

Since our car got a flat and the temperature gauge climbed dramatically high again, I had to Uber with Punch to her weekly therapy appointment in Paramus. We were 9 minutes late for the 5:30 appointment, with traffic. Thank goodness for Uber. It was a money stressor, but I was determined Punchy would do in-person, generally better for her than telehealth, the backup. And we just did telehealth last Monday due to logistics.

The Uber there was $34.08 plus $5.11 tip. But that was a work bonus, because instead of driving speedy Route 17 North at rush hour, Carlos calmly held the wheel. I brought my interview notepad to review conversations and quotes in the backseat. And I checked emails on my phone. In the waiting room, while Bobby Flay oversaw a bearded chef's cornbread and fried chicken on the TV, I caught a return call from California and got exactly the info I needed, to jot in my pad and weave into the article. I was grateful. The stars aligned.

To carry us home, the car cost $35.62 plus $6 tip, but we got to meet a man (our driver) from the country of Georgia, near Turkey, and laugh over American coffee being like "black water." Davit was used to the short, strong cups of his homeland, several times a day. I like that Punch and I got a mini geography and culture lesson as the wheels turned. It matters, and it bonds us, too.

But the point is, since I hadn't blogged yet for Monday, I wrote and posted last night by 11 p.m. I hadn't made dinner or touched base with Sis. Dan had eaten a veg burger and I had to send the revised article back. Also, under too much on plate, I really wanted to watch "Witness" again after the Amish visit Sunday. I need to manage time better. I loved the movie and Figgy made me the most delicious bowl, with kale, seared tofu, pepitas and homemade dressing. Stroke of luck, being in the right place at the right time. I didn't have to pan-fry the fresh salmon, a daunting task at night. But I have to today, or it will grow older and we will lose money. Same for the big pot of chili. The giant red pepper is aging and I have to use the ground turkey in the non-vegetarian batch.

So I blogged this morning instead. I hope you enjoy your day. And I will brush and floss this morning.

P.S. My personal reader (Dan) sent me this obituary of the poodle skirt creator. What a beautifully crafted story, every word so perfect, and what an enchanting invention. Personally, I want a poodle skirt.

Postcard from My Life

Dan and me last Monday in The Sunshine State. We flew down for five nights to attend the wedding of Florida Orange, our goddaughter. We stayed in Homestead, where the wedding took place. The drive to Miami was about 40 minutes. Photo by Punch.

I can't believe I haven't blogged since November.

On the other side of our Florida trip, I wanted to jot a few notes. We returned last Wednesday.

We packed not just our suitcases, with swimsuits, sunscreen, and wedding clothes, but also our complicated and wrinkly-crinkly personalities, of course. Dan booked on Travelocity and instead of the two lovely, chilled, carefully decorated and kitchen- and laundry-equipped Airbnb homes we splurged on the last two years (the first was steps from the beach), this was the Travelodge by Wyndham Florida City Homestead Everglades motel with a free hot breakfast. (Even so, it was about $1,000 total for five nights and every room was full, many with foreign tourists.) We also had to get plane tickets for three of us, etc. and not overspend. (Fig flew JetBlue and has rewards.)

We did relax, even though we shared one room with two queen beds. I tried to prepare myself mentally ahead of time for that togetherness. (Figgy spent three out of five nights with the bride in Boynton Beach.) We were busy a lot. A rental car means everything. We explored Key Largo a little; drove to South Beach, Miami and enjoyed the gorgeous blue water and the beauty of the breeze; attended the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Three of Dan's four brothers and two of my sisters-in-law flew down from Maine, and it was fun catching up among palm trees, also with the parents and brothers of the bride!

Figgy, 28, and Punch, on the cusp of 17, at the wedding. 

Torrential rain in the botanic garden outside, so Punch put on a sweatshirt.

My sister-in-law Martha texted this, saying Figgy's look 

reminded her of  the Portrait of Madame X painting 

by John Singer Sargent, 1884. 

I checked out the Robert Is Here tropical fruit stand, colorful and fun. It was under "Things to Do" on the couple's Knot website. I got a fresh mango smoothie with Splenda and had them add raw kale. That was healthy but the green hue not nearly as nice as pure sunny mango would have been on a rainy Florida day. I drove 15 minutes to a Sprouts supermarket, which I hadn't been able to find at home.  They carry the California brand Sweet Laurel's baking mixes (healthy, no refined sugar, also vegan for Fig). They only had the scone mix, but I scooped it up and tucked the pretty pink box in my carry-on.

Punchy did some good things. Florida Orange and Figgy invited her to hang with them and sleep over one night, so she took the train from the Miami Airport to Boynton Beach, responsibly and safely. Dan got her on the train and FLO and Fig met her on the other end. She also went back and forth to the Travelodge pool, sporting her sunglasses and a nice black swimsuit I got her. 

That afternoon in South Beach was pricey, as New York City would be for out-of-towners who don't know the place well. But we had the most enormous slices of pizza I have ever seen, just positively giant. We watched volleyball games with the sea as a backdrop. Driving back to Homestead, Punch and I drifted off into peaceful late afternoon naps after breathing in that beach air. That was a gift.

FLO and Eric tie the knot. Sweet couple. 

They crushed on each other back when; Eric is a friend of FLO's older bro.

Figgy and FLO before.

Figgy and FLO day after wedding.

Dan and FLO.

************************************

I stopped blogging because I wanted to dig in more to writing for pay, and I have. I wanted to stop spending day after day focused on a teenager's life, fielding calls from the high school, swinging at a curve ball with a ping-pong paddle. My efforts seemed fruitless. I was and am a caring witness but no one is equipped to fully fix things, not the trained staffers at a huge public school, though they tried, and surely not Dan or me. Punchy's out-of-district school placement since last March has helped greatly. I have six hours without phone calls and worries, without requests to come get her. She is in a safer place. We also consider her over-one-year relationship with her supportive boyfriend (blog name Great Smile Deep Thinker) helpful.

Still, even with the uninterrupted time, it's a bit of a crawl to make meaningful money. Publications like Brain & Life (about living with neurological diagnoses, from Alzheimer's disease to Parkinson's) pay five times as much as my lifestyle writing--which is called content production now, for the website of the golden Seven Sisters* magazine I will always hold close to my heart. But after 100+ years, that magazine has cut back from 12 issues a year to six. It's sad. Advertisers want instant clicks and purchases. They can't wait around for glossy print ads to grab a reader's purse strings. Everything is #rightnow.

I'm happy to say I've enjoyed all of the assignments. New skills. Anyway, here are three of my most recent articles:

• 12 Best Laundry Detergents of 2024, According to Cleaning Pros Good Housekeeping website
• Young Romeo & Juliet, Neurodiverse Production Brain & Life website and print magazine (subscriptions are free, and bilingual)
• Behind The Design: 5 Creative Questions With Sarah Sherman Samuel aspire design and home website

I'm broadening my horizons and it's great to be working closely again with one of my GH colleagues. 

But a funny thing happened.....just as writing about fashion eventually pumped up my style wanting and spending, even writing about CLEANING PRODUCTS has affected my buying of those. 

It's always been the case, the whole point of lifestyle writing featuring products is to make people want to get stuff. Turns out this can also work with the writer. 

I've now purchased Diptyque (pronounced DIP-TEAK) made-in-Paris wood and leather polish; Dreft baby laundry detergent in the pink bottle (I had a $3 coupon and after all, wrote "The rest of the family will also like the beloved 'Baby Fresh' scent that Dreft delivers," which I have found to be true when I could finally nab a bottle at my store) and reconnected with Caldrea, a brand I met on a Hudson Valley weekend 10 years back but hadn't encountered since. I also bought Safely detergent in a pretty colored jug at Whole Foods on Madison Avenue one Saturday when I had the car in NYC. 

These four purchases racked up a lot of spending but I think it's productive spending, as in cleaning our old wood and making the laundry smell lovely if I can. As Moey's mother, Muriel, wisely told me when I was a newlywed, getting a cleaning product that smells good helps you do the chore.

Good night to you.

*Seven Sisters can refer to a climbing hybrid rose, a cluster of stars or the group of women's (or formerly women's) colleges in the eastern U.S. having high academic and social prestige. It includes Barnard, Bryn Mawr, Mount Holyoke, Radcliffe, Smith, Vassar and Wellesley. 

For the magazine world, I like this Wikipedia definition:

The Seven Sisters is a group of magazines that has traditionally been aimed at married women who are homemakers with husbands and children, rather than single and working women.^[1] The name is derived from the Greek myth of the "seven sisters", also known as the Pleiades. A major force in 20th century American publishing, only three of the magazines are still published as physical magazines:

• Better Homes and Gardens (1922–)
• Family Circle (1932–2019)
• Good Housekeeping (1885–)
• Ladies' Home Journal (1883–2016)
• McCall's (1873–2002)
• Redbook (1903–2019)
• Woman's Day (1937–)

Check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Sisters_(magazines) for more details.

I Might Have Written

It is Tuesday, July 18. I might have written of nice summer nights or plunges in the ocean. I took two plunges in the last two weeks—a Wednesday evening one week and a Thursday afternoon the next—playing in the waves at Spring Lake beach on the Jersey Shore, feeling like a girl again. Saltwater, frothy ride, watch what's coming. Swimsuit, the scent of pretty suntan lotion. Wet hair. When you're in the ocean, good bet you are there for fun.

But one, I'm trying to save essays for spaces where I can earn money for them. I have feelers out. 

And two, many of our summer nights are not so nice but rather challenging and stressful, laced with worry and fear.

Fear does nothing for anyone--not for the worrier, nor the object of the worrying--but still, our old foe jumps eagerly to our side, her head coiffed with jagged alarm wires, not soft, springy curls.  

I/we used to think that the adrenaline jolt prompted by fear of missing an article assignment deadline (and displeasing our editor, not being successful) was just a fact, part of the creative process, that we did our best work then. But that is not true. That kind of fear can feed unhealthy habits and erratic behavior, short tempers with family, money wasted on takeout because we are working through dinner times. Instead, we can be organized and trustworthy, do our best work and hand it in on time but not in a state of exhaustion and frenzy. 

We can count on ourselves to count on ourselves.

Still, if only everyone would do what we want in life. We have to meet the goals and character perimeters we set for ourselves, and that is enough to manage. 

Acceptance.

I might have written about the coneflowers (aka echinacea, a native wildflower that draws butterflies, bees, and songbirds), now that Figgy is here and helped us fill the garden. Or about the angel hair pasta with zucchini "cream" (SmittenKitchen.com) that I made at 9:30 tonight, after my support group. (The most involved things about the recipe were mincing garlic and shredding zucchini. I couldn't use my mini food processor, so I used a box grater, and the zucchini was browned, not fresh green like in the photo. Oh well. Acceptance.)

I might have remembered refreshing showers or blueberries from a farm share. On the flip side, I may have written about a call from a Montclair Police detective received on the drive to Spring Lake (this time, not about our child). Or about dashed hopes, dashed in the moment, for now. Stay present. 

I might have written a lot more but that will take pushing Alarm Curls to the side. 

I might have written. 

I plan to write.

Good night.

Words of the Day: Walking in the Rain

Song from 1948. Image from here.

I propped my flowered umbrella over my left shoulder and did a loop at Anderson Park this afternoon, passing the plaque on the rock, the plaque that honors two championship-winning Montclair lacrosse coaches from the 1970s.

As I passed it, I wondered how it must feel to parent superstar kids, high schoolers who are champions and part of a team. Must feel so good. Do those kids have troubles too? (I doubt it.) Yet now as I reflect here, I see...I ran on the cross-country and track teams all four years during that same seventies window at Dumont High School. Some of the swiftest, strongest girls did have teen challenges: anxiety, lack of friends, mocking, body image and eating disorder issues, peer pressure, “reputations,” and more.

I walked on. Over by Parkside Street, I noticed the boyhood home of astronaut Buzz Aldrin--a shake of magic on a dull afternoon. 

Things seemed mundane....after the walk, buying ground beef at the supermarket. Another lady and I went through the motions. Sighing in our minds, not audibly, as we figured out dinner again, and on a budget. She had long brown hair and was younger than me. The ground beef was on sale. With resignation, we picked up the packages and put them in our carts.

Comrades at the meat counter and in life, without exchanging a word.

So much in life feels hard today. Accepting other views of important situations, when I believe my view is the right one, the only one. Trusting other people. Co-existing with teens, teens who make choices, a young Romeo and Juliet-like pair, and overhearing snippets of their conversation while they make tacos in the kitchen. That could be considered a blessing, too.

Did Romeo and Juliet make tacos? Enjoy frozen waffles for dessert? Haha, no.

According to reference.com:

What Foods Did Romeo and Juliet Eat?

William Shakespeare’s play, “Romeo and Juliet,” mentions in Act 4, Scene 4, “They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.” This is the only specific mention of food in the play resembling the typical diet of upper-class Italians in the 16th century.

Coming to terms. I am responsible for my behavior in life and cannot control what others do.

But it occurred to me today that maybe blogging here helps me sort and sift through life, like sifting through sand on Cape Cod, keeping the pretty scallop shells and letting the rest of the sand fall back into place. But how many times have I picked up a rock near the surf, a stone that shines purple, only to take it home and see it as ordinary gray once it’s dry and on my desk?

Do we need the sun to help us see things in a better light? The sun and the glistening sea? Do we need words to help us see things in a better light? In a softer, brighter, or clearer light?

In between writing about a lovely weekend apartment in the Mediterranean, asking about the fabric on the slouchy white couch, and who did the painting, and then inquiring about a Brooklyn Heights pad with brightly colored walls, and writing about money matters for a fintech site, I think blogging here helps. Writing about life.

It feels good to be home again.