Jewels in My Pocket

Tender, paper-thin frozen crepes flown in from Brittany. 

The source: White Toque.

Pretty things that put sparkle and joy in my Thursday:

1. This former fruit avoider ate organic ruby-red raspberries tonight, wrapped up in a real French crepe flown to the U.S. from Brittany. Kings in Upper Montclair and in Verona both stock them in the freezer case, about $11.99 per pack. This getting of high-end brands is a big reason why I like Kings. Each crepe is 150 calories with a modest 6 grams added sugar. I rolled mine around freshly whipped organic cream and a sprinkle of pure, dark Valrhona cocoa for good measure. Antioxidants twice, between the berries and the deeply colored cocoa. Spice likes hers with Nutella, berries and bananas but I usually avoid Nutella because I might spoon through the whole jar. I brought this dessert up to the country once as a house guest (Dan F. and Suzy's house in Hudson, NY) and everyone loved it.
2. Went to America's Best Contacts & Eyeglasses for an eye exam and new glasses. Scored really nice Ralph by Ralph Lauren black sunglass frames on sale, to be fitted with updated prescription reading lenses. Same for another hip pair of reading frames. I got blue light protection for the first time (not sure I need it? Do you?). This America's Best is in a strip mall in Clifton but is clean, well-stocked and professional. And the cost of a thorough two-part eye exam by Lucy (sp) and then by a doctor, plus the two pairs of glasses, came to $192.95. I don't have vision coverage on my health insurance.
3. Wriggled into my cozy sweater and walked along Valley Road, down Macopin and up Nassau at about 6:15 p.m. Saw lots of perky yellow daffodils and ran into my neighbor and friend Beth walking back up the hill. We met when our girls were in kindergarten at the neighborhood school. We talked for a good while, pausing our walks.
4. Watching "Riding in Cars with Boys," the 2001 movie directed by Penny Marshall and starring Drew Barrymore as Bev, a Connecticut girl who gets pregnant at 15 in the 1960s. Lorraine Bracco plays her mother, Brittany Murphy plays her best friend, and they're great. So are the sixties hairstyles, clothing, furnishings and cars. The movie is based on an autobiography by Beverly Donofrio. Dan has been very busy this week working in Palm Springs, California and now the Boston area tonight, so I have the living room cinema to myself.

Also did my work on a magazine assignment and arranged a blowout for an upcoming job interview.

Good night.

New York Is Our Playground for Movies & Meals

Photo from NY Times review of the Irish documentary"Housewife of the Year," playing in the Village.

Illustration by Conor Merriman/Juno Films, Inc. 2025.

That glittery city, that gritty city. Its frissons of energy give our batteries a jolt. Its hard-boiled love runs deep. New Yorkers may seem to keep to themselves, but lose your pearl necklace walking around at lunch as a young woman or have your handbag stolen as the subway doors close, and watch people step up and step in.

Dan and I were young writers on those sidewalks, winding up and down streets and across avenues, chasing our dreams, wearing down the heels of our shoes. We were young believers, newlyweds, parents. We looked up to people--our editors, our writing and reporting peers and our idols (Tom Wolfe, Mary Cantwell, Helen Thomas), our parents, our friends, our siblings. (We still do.) We marveled at the city's gifts, free for the taking. The skyline. The Empire State Building. The Flatiron Building. The Village. The arch at Washington Square Park. Hot bagels, F train rides, Central Park, the day the circus came to town.

We are not young now, but if we somehow live until 95, then we are only about 2/3 through life. Time enough to chase more dreams. 

Lately, we did a couple of NYC firsts.

Saturday-night movie and late supper in the Village. Nothing on our many local NJ movie screens interested me this weekend. Dan, my entertainment concierge, discovered "Housewife of the Year" playing at Quad Cinema on West 13th Street. It's a documentary about a televised competition that aired in Ireland from 1969 to 1995. Check this NY Times review Dan found. I loved the film. The hairdos, dresses, skirts, shoes, stockings and jewelry the contestants wore; the glimpse at the husbands, how each couple met; the roles women were expected to play; the back stories; the talents; the toothy grins; the charming, wry TV host, Gay Byrne; the number of children each lady had (one with 13!!!!); and the dinners they made to woo the judges (roast lamb, fancy potatoes, custards, etc.). The way women's roles slowly changed with reproductive rights. The Catholic Church's strong clench, and slow release, on family choices. 

Surprise, the young, award-winning Irish director, Ciaran Cassidy, was there afterward, to field questions. So cool. I felt like a student again--and we were right near The New School, where we had gotten reacquainted in an evening writing class and started dating. 

Then we walked across the street to Da Andrea, a bustling Italian restaurant, for 9:30 dinner. We sat at the curved end of the small bar and Nelson took us in, between manning the cocktail shaker and pouring the wines. Warm, tender bread with olive oil, spinach ravioli stuffed with truffle mushroom and fluffy ricotta, then the perfect period at the end of the sentence, my latte and Dan's baby-size espresso with two tiny biscotti, a parting gift we ate with relish. Nelson poured us a glass of the restaurant's homemade limoncello, delicious, before we slipped out into the night. We plan to return to Andrea.

Dinner at The Waverly Inn! I'd been curious for years about this exclusive West Village hideaway co-owned by Graydon Carter of Vanity Fair editor fame. We wanted a nice place for Monday dinner on President's Day Weekend, to celebrate our February 17 wedding anniversary (34 years). The Waverly had a table at 5 or 9 p.m., so we went early. The truffled macaroni and cheese was well over $100, but other entrees were in reach. 

Looming larger than life: Legendary magazine editor Graydon Carter. 

Photo by Sasha Maslov for The New York Times.

The dinner opener delivered without question to your table, simple circle biscuits served warm with a ramekin of butter. Perfection. Recipe wanted. The Iceberg Wedge Salad was very nice with the crispy bacon on the side, since Dan is a vegetarian. I wouldn't rave about the rest of the food we had, but the ambiance--that provided the golden nourishment. This menu item caught my eye, for perspective: Aged Beef Tomahawk Rib Chop for Two, Black Truffle Butter, Choice of Two Sides 265. Yes, $265.

Roaring fireplaces, prominent mantels, a famous mural, cocktails, good people-watching. We were in close quarters with the in crowd. We had all ducked in from the cold, descending the stairs to an historic space. I won't lie, I did feel a little "less than," and that's not a great feeling. Even at the Plaza, Gramercy Tavern, the Four Seasons (only there once for Saturday night coffee and dessert, wandered in with Dan), Le Cirque, I didn't feel that way. Was that a gift of youth, that blending in and looking good? Does smooth skin and a svelte shape mean acceptance?

Anyway, next time, I will wear better shoes to a place run by the king of vanity publishing and Oscar fêtes. But one of my black suede Italian pumps went missing in my closet. (As a new college grad, I heard that Condé Nast interviewers look right at your footwear to evaluate style and substance. And the pretty raven-haired HR person did just that.) Mr. Carter lives a stone's throw away, so walking that neighborhood felt important. Two of his beloved vintage cars were (carefully) parked along Bank Street.

It was fun to get out of the suburbs. Holding a key to the city means we can always get a welcome jolt. 

Good night.

16 Sweet Gratitudes, Catching Up

1. New Prada lipstick in the house. I bought my first tube in mid-May at the Nordstrom flagship in NYC and used it down to the nub. The colors are so stylish. Prada is so stylish. A lot of lettuce, $50 plus tax, but very worth it. The counter guru helped me find two great hues in person now. But the matte is a bit drying, so best to put the Prada lip balm under or on top, or even dab on Vaseline.
2. Lunch with young MTM*, my colleague and friend, a couple of Sundays ago in Princeton. We ate on Witherspoon Street. MTM had a salad and I had the chicken pot pie. It was a beautiful day, and we had been talking about reconnecting for years. :)
3. Chef Lidia Bastianich at the Ferguson Library in Stamford on a weeknight with Sis and Diane. We soaked up Lidia's hints, such as how to tell if you're buying real Italian San Marzano tomatoes. If a food is made in Italy, the packaging will say PRODUCT OF ITALY, Lidia said. I used that rule when selecting prosciutto last weekend.
4. "A Wonderful World, The Louis Armstrong Musical" on Broadway. I went to the matinee yesterday with Sis and Edie. It was.very.very.good. I've played Satchmo's music today. 
5. Post-theater dinner two blocks away at Patsy's, a landmark Italian restaurant and celeb magnet on West 56th Street since 1944. Best shrimp scampi with spaghetti that I have ever eaten. In my life. The simple pan sauce was intuitively done, "broiled with butter, garlic and lemon," per the menu. Tender butterflied shrimp. And if I were still indulging in desserts, I'm quite sure the ones I eyed on the old-fashioned rolling cart, pushed by a waiter, would have been winning. Especially that fancy ruffled chocolate cake or tiramisu.
6. "Conclave" film about electing/selecting a Pope. Dan and I saw it on opening night of the  Montclair Film Festival. Very well done. The acting (Ralph Fiennes, Isabella Rossellini, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow) is superb as are the settings and secret rituals of selecting a Pope. Director Edward Berger was there at the Wellmont Theater and took questions afterward.
7. The New Yorker Festival. Drove into NYC with my friend Anne to see New Yorker Magazine editor David Remnick interview Rachel Maddow.
8. The cold opening of SNL last night, Saturday, November 2, with Maya Rudolph and the real Kamala Harris. (Thank you, Nan, for texting link.)
9. A hike in the Stamford arboretum woods with Sis and Galena.
10. Walks around our block and in Anderson Park and Edgemont Park.
11. Tea nightcap at Figgy's apartment the other night.
12. Dinner in a Dumont tavern with Moey and Tish.
13. "Godzilla" movie. Newest version, made by Japanese writer and director Takashi Yamazaki. 
14. Ina Garten's memoir.
15. Seeing my friend Rachy for late breakfast, another thing that's been put off for months.
16. Work clients, including two new ones. I'm grateful.

I just realized many of these are Italian--numbers 1, 3, 5 and 6. And 12 is famous for its pizza.

*Dan gave my friend Eileen the "young MTM" nickname decades ago, before she was married, when we went to a party she hosted in Weehawken in her pretty little Mary Tyler Moore-style apartment with a view of NYC's sparkling skyline across the river.

Gidget Goes New Jersey

The 1961 pineapple/surfboard classic, "Gidget Goes Hawaiian."*

Who knew I would see a surf lesson on the beach today? 

Co-star James Darren (Moondoggie to 

Deborah Walley's Gidget) just died this week.

 Image from HERE. 

My iPhone camera lens is cloudy/fuzzy so I couldn't take photos of the beautiful Spring Lake beach today. I went to meditate, ponder, pray, rest, recharge and fill my soul. Dan had an article deadline. I arrived at 4, stayed two hours and was home by 7:30 to make salad with a Jersey tomato from a farmstand down that way and homemade croutons, plus quick pork chops with rosy applesauce from a jar. (Finicky Spice actually ate the whole dinner, yay. I got the jar of Red Jacket Orchards applesauce, from the Finger Lakes, at Dry Goods Refillery, a plastic-free grocery shop in town.) 

The waves were calm. I counted 13 Sunday surfers in all, though they weren't getting much action. Then I saw a petite woman giving a lesson to another woman in the sand, the student on her stomach on the board, practicing the paddling motion. Soon, they were in the water. A happy sight. Empowering.

I studied the sea and went in up to my shins. The water was mild and I probably should have worn my swimsuit, but the air was cold up here. I folded up my wool sweater into a nice cozy pillow and rested, first on my right side, then on my left. I took in the lapping white foam, the rhythm. I prayed a little. How lucky I am to live on the East Coast, not far from the Atlantic Ocean. (It took 1 hour and 7 minutes to get there.) But as I looked at the endless glassy blue surface, considered its depth, I thought, It looks so pretty but underneath, it holds some unknown, unpleasant or scary things. Nothing is perfect. The sea is a wonder but I wouldn't want to explore on my own down there. I would sink quickly, spiral down, and possibly face sharks or jutting rocks that could make me bleed.

I'm trying to say, beauty can bring pain hidden under its surface. Life, like the sea, is a gift but with tricky parts. It comforted me to realize that, to put things in perspective.

I'm going to doze. Good night.

*I rewatched this movie on Tubi TV Friday night, while Dan was out working at a party. I love the cast, including Carl Reiner as Gidget's Dad. But as we fell asleep, I said, "Please remind me never to watch a 'Gidget' movie again. Everything always works out so well, all tied up with a ribbon and a bow." Parenting teens in 1961 looks much different than it is 63 years later. Some basics are the same, since teens then and now pushed parental boundaries. But sugar-coated endings are not real in many cases.

Drinking in Cape Cod Beauty & Joy

We left at 9 a.m. for the Sharks & Seals walk and talk at Coast Guard Beach, led by park ranger Valerie. It was everything we hoped it would be, and free of charge, of course, part of the Cape Cod National Seashore event schedule.

It started raining, we saw seals bobbing in the waves, Valerie passed around a shark's tooth and showed us a seal's skull (its sharp teeth can hurt when it bites). 

We met a lovely couple from England in the group, Patience and Simon, and discussed the merits of good English teatime. (Piping hot boiling water to brew the tea.) They live near the coast, the place you see in "Wicked Little Letters," that great English dark mystery comedy film Figgy and I took in last month at the Clairidge. It stars Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Anjana Vasan and others, a stellar cast.

Greg, Sis, me and Meggy on Coast Guard Beach after the Sharks & Seals walk.

We went out to breakfast and lattes at The Whisk in Orleans, a first for us, and good. Then stopped by Nauset (as opposed to Nauset Light) Beach, to look for more seals but didn't find them in the misty rain. Back home to rest and read, play Wordle. 

For dinner, we drove to Chatham and Sis treated us all to a splurge dinner at The Impudent Oyster, a popular, longstanding restaurant that my brother Will and Kelly love. It's the kind of place with excellent whipped potatoes, good wine, ample helpings of steak au poivre and halibut. I had bouillabaisse (BOO-yə-BESS, -⁠BAYSS), a traditional fish soup, with steamed Wellfleet oysters, mussels, scallops, clams, shrimp and lobster, and a slice of garlic toast on top to dunk in the rich fish broth. The dish came with a lobster bib and metal cracker. I had to open the big claw to coax the meat from the bright orange shell. The bread and butter for the table was not as divine (or warmed?) as I remember from rare visits 20+ years ago, but.....

The restaurant is right near my beloved Lilly Pulitzer store, a shrine to pretty fashion and accessories, where I bought beautiful summer shift dresses for both of our little girls back when. And around the corner from the adorable Candy Manor, a fixture with its signature pink awning and hand-dipped chocolates, but both shops were closed for the night. We stopped by the little white lighthouse, which never closes, its beam spinning in the fog.

Then 30 minutes to drive back home on winding Route 28, past water views, charming houses with white picket fences and hydrangeas, two historic windmills.

It is never boring here. There is always something to see, hear, do, read or eat. Breezes. Birds calling. The Cape Cod Times (now $3 at the Superette in Eastham!). Fudge in square metal pans. Donuts people line up for. Shellfish. Cocktails. Souvenir sweatshirts, some quite soft and pretty. And people who live and work here, workers, teachers, contractors and women who stand behind counters in candy shops and banks. Summer help, college kids serving swirled frozen custard cones, rolling them in chocolate or rainbow sprinkles. The handsome, helpful young man at the bike shop who has been there 10 years.

Well, tomorrow we clean and lock up the house, but before that we rise at 7 a.m. to get ready for the Early Bird Walk at the Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary, 8 to 10 a.m. Seems like things are going okay at home, and that is great progress compared to other years. I am much more relaxed being away with Dan at home. Fingers crossed, prayers in my heart.

I would like to write more but I want to rest.

More photos here. Good night.

Chatham Light, overlooking Chatham Bars Beach.

Sis at Nauset Beach.

New Yorker Film Screening in Tribeca

I drove our Toyota Camry through the Tunnel, past the Meatpacking District and over old cobblestone streets into hip Tribeca to see a movie called "Little Wing," released yesterday by the streaming service Paramount+. It is based on a New Yorker piece about a girl and her pigeons, a true story by the writer Susan Orlean (author of The Orchid Thief). I got to talk briefly to Ms. Orlean after. I plan to blog about this tomorrow. (Punch has no school for teacher conference. I aim to rise early and tackle my article, again, and then later, after other paid work, I can blog.)

I received the jolt of energy and intellectual and cultural sophistication I sought when I left New Jersey for New York City at 5 p.m. And I saw that glamorous skyline, the lights glittering in the dark like pocketfuls of white jewels suspended over a kingdom.

Good night.

Good Night, Oscars

America Ferrara, from People Magazine's prompt online report. 

Long live the "Barbie" movie phenomena.

Fun watching from home with Dan and Figgy. Dan lit a crackling fire and made popcorn in the kitchen. (I added butter to mine.) Fig and I loved the hairstyles, the dresses, the music, the men and that one pinstriped women's suit with sparkle on the pinstripes, the sheer, jeweled long sleeves on another lady winner's dress. We exclaimed over America Ferrara, bringing back memories of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants young adult books by Ann Brashares that we both read when Fig was younger and then the two movies based on the books, with America in a starring role. We fawned over Ryan Gosling and Margot Robbie (Ken, Barbie). All three of us liked the music, especially "Ken," and some of the audience shenanigans.

In spite of herself, I guess feeling too separate in her own way to join us in the living room and watch, though I invited her, I caught Punchy catching singer Billie Eilish onscreen. And when I noted from my stuffed chair that Al Pacino is old but has a new baby, she looked away from her group FaceTime call and bowl of cornflakes to sneak a peek at him, too, as she walked back upstairs.

I enjoyed a text thread with my friends Kim, Nan and Liz, who watched with friends and family in Brooklyn and Silver Spring, Maryland, and that was fun, too. Fast and furiously commenting! And earlier, Sis drove over from Connecticut to join for best Oscar Shorts 2024: Documentary at the Clairidge on Church Street. They were very good, with a social consience. My favorite, "The Last Repair Shop," was also the Academy's favorite. So good, such close observation and heart.

Good night. Monday morning will be here soon.

"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. 

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.

Amish Country, Another World

I bought this book (look at the cover photo!) at 

The Quilt Shop at Miller's, which my friends and I visited today. 

It is stocked with quilts big and small

hand-stitched by a total of about 30 women in the local Amish community.

We drove around Lancaster County towns* with names like Bird-in-Hand, New Holland and Intercourse. (I got Dan a gray T-shirt with that last name on it--a popular souvenir, based on the number in stock. I knew he would laugh, and wear it.) 

We saw families in horse-drawn black buggies heading to and from Sunday services. Somber and unadorned but for the prance of the workhorses, tails swishing, and the smile of a young blonde boy in one who helped hold the reins. 

My friend, a close observer of everything from baby turtles on Cape Cod to tiny birds skittering on the ocean, pointed out a meeting house. Many buggies were lined up outside, the handsome, responsible horses waiting like protective parents. Boys in black garb joshing energetically outside. Down the road, more boys near a barn, jumping on a mountain of spare tires. Drive a little more, three boys playing baseball, one lifting a leather mitt for a catch. 

A young woman (late teen?) on a bicycle. Women in head covers, dresses, sensible shoes. Absence of Clairol hair color. Coarse, steely gray at the temples can age a woman quickly and make the husband in black walking next to her look many years her junior. But more likely that was a mother and son, not husband and wife, walking home from Sunday services.

I did not spy any groups of girls playing or jumping, letting out pent-up energy, bouncing.

Many of the shops were closed on Sunday. But we peeked on a store porch and saw things we loved. A metal bucket painted sky-blue. Old shutters. Enchanting birdhouses with copper roofing. A stone bird statue to stand in a garden.

We found a coffee shop (a chain) that was open for lunch and many Amish/maybe Mennonite teens and families were there. A boy with blonde bowl haircut, he and his cohorts drinking bottles of chocolate milk in farm country, not Starbucks-style iced coffee drinks. Teen girls with white head covers and long dresses, chatting with peers, maybe checking their cell phones, just like teens in Montclair madness. Two parents and a child holding hands and bowing their heads to pray before eating their grilled sandwiches.

I saw a lot of beauty and peace in their lifestyle, a lot of thanking God for your blessings. I sensed grace, friendliness and a certain brand of positivity, independence. That's cool, and soothing. But of course, the restricted gender roles, the exhausting physical work, the narrow views and no Netflix or NY Times word games. No pretty or shapely fashions, sweetheart necklines or cute tights, right? No-nonsense, modest shoes. Simple bonnets. No salon blowouts or makeup, but if you're lucky, natural rosebuds in your cheeks from eating right, drinking milk and living a fit lifestyle. Woven baskets and net shopping totes (we overlap on that last one). No women as scientists or writers--no men either? IDK how the beat goes on when the modern world as we know it has changed so much. It seems like a secret cult and I'm sorry if that is insulting.

At the shops by Miller's Smorgasboard (since 1929), we saw pickled veggies and jars of jam, sweet shoofly pies and big blocks of Amish farm butter. Raisin bread, potato rolls, whoopie pies and giant peanut butter cookies. The old-fashioned foods live on. At the quilt shop there, we had to don white cotton gloves if we wanted to touch the quilts, and turn them in when we left. I bought a cheerful quilted baby book about farm animals for a special baby girl (and TBH, just as much for her young mommy), a gift for Sis, a quilted potholder with a bird in the design for Figgy's new apartment, a blue and green Christmas potholder for our kitchen and something I could not resist--a small red and green themed "mug mat" in pretty holiday fabric. 

I have long loved the images of candy canes and Christmas trees. Ever since grade school, they have been my favorite things to draw/doodle when I should be concentrating on something else. Candy canes, Christmas trees, packages with big bows and what Figgy calls "the lady" that I have drawn since sixth grade art class at Saint Mary's. 

I also drew her with young Fig on Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard when we were waiting for a restaurant order with Dan. Draw the lady, she would say. My lady has a V-neck top, knee-length skirt, belt with stylish round buckle, necklace, heels, wide eyes with lashes and fishnet stockings (for fashion and because I like to fill blank spaces with orderly patterns, like the stripes on a candy cane or a ball-shaped ornament on the tip of each tree bough).  I started drawing her when I wore the same school uniform every day for eight years: navy plaid pleated skirt, white shirt, navy vest, navy knee socks--and navy snap neck tie, I think? (How old am I that I waver on this memory?) I know Sis has the neck tie on in a school photo, but she is seven years older.

I want to watch the 1985 movie "Witness" again, starring Kelly McGinnis (as an Amish woman) and Harrison Ford.

We are back home now. Monday morning coming up next. It was good to catch up with my girlfriends, including five+ hours of car time.

Good night.

*Per nytimes.com: There were about 341,900 Amish people living in 31 states and four Canadian provinces as of June 2019, according to statistics compiled by the Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown College in Elizabethtown, Pa. About 63 percent live in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Indiana, the center said. Lancaster County, Pa., has the largest Amish population in the United States, with about 39,255 people, it said.....In 2019, three Amish children died in Michigan after a car plowed into the back of their horse-drawn buggy, underscoring an all-too-common danger faced by the Amish, who reject automobiles and other modern technology.

Glitterati, Literati--Rubbing Elbows with the Well-Read Crowd

                                    Image from https://s38490.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/splash-social.png.

My New York City born-and-bred mother subscribed to The New Yorker, which piqued my curiosity when it arrived weekly in our black metal mailbox in Dumont, New Jersey. But I didn't read it much back then. And though I'm proud that the Hearst Magazines dynasty has been my long-time employer (on staff and freelance), I never did fulfill my dream of also working at one of the glossy crown jewels at Condé Nast Publishing.

But now, the latter has The New Yorker in its deep duster coat pocket, so I figured a couple degrees of separation would have to do, getting me closer to cream-of-the-crop Condé at the 24th annual New Yorker Festival. I had never gone due to the high ticket cost, but this fall, I went to a free event on Sunday, October 8 at 12:30 p.m. I snagged a ticket for Dan, too, but we had just driven into Brooklyn to dear Kim's and F's for a cocktail party the night before, so he took a pass. Too bad.

From Montclair, I hopped on Grove Street to Route 3 East and the Lincoln Tunnel to attend a screening of part one, "JFK: One Day in America," a documentary series that will stream in early November. The footage of that fateful day in Dallas transports you. You are there, with Mrs. Kennedy in her carefully curated fashions, her pink pillbox hat and navy and pink suit. (How did I never see the navy part before?) With her when she is late for the hotel breakfast and then met with loud applause. With Mrs. Kennedy when her husband is shot in the motorcade. When she has a fleeting breath of hope that he is still alive because they ask what his blood type is outside the emergency room entrance. You are with the two Secret Service agents (now aged, and on camera), who did their very best to protect and save in the midst of shock. With a reporter who was on the scene. You breathe deep, you turn away. You know what is coming.

But there is also beautiful footage at the start, the family out boating with the children, and more. I'm a lifelong Kennedy family buff but this film has many details that had never been revealed. The very best documentary digging, tasteful and true.

The 23rd Street theatre was packed. I looked around in the dark--a college student, artsy city dwellers who looked like filmmakers and a kind of grumpy big guy to my right who ducked out before the lights went on and the panel discussion began. 

The panel was great, all four experts charming and smart. We had Amy Starecheski, the Co-Director of the Oral History MA Program at Columbia University; young, pretty, blonde, modest, British and quietly brilliant, not puffed-up* director Ella Wright; Peggy Simpson, who covered the JFK assassination firsthand as a young journalist; and David Glover, the co-CEO of 72 Films, which produced the series. 

 

I was lucky to get free (Sunday) parking right across the street. I did rush back to get Punchy to her community service stint in the afternoon at Toni's, the soup kitchen in town, but let's not go there right now.

I can't wait to watch the rest of the series next month. I love New York.

                                                                        Image from here.

Per Wikipedia: The New Yorker Festival is an annual event organized by The New Yorker magazine.^[1] It is held in venues in and around New York City, typically in early October, bringing together "a who’s-who of the arts, politics and everything in between."^[2] The festival was first held in 1999 and has since become "one of the buzziest cultural events of the year" as well as "the biggest consumer-facing event for the magazine's parent company Condé Nast.

*Hell no, Ella was not puffed up--you cannot elicit cooperation and important historical insights like these if you are a puffed-up film director in requisite black turtleneck, right? Please forgive my stereotype.

This “Scream” Novice Faces the Nightmare

“Scream VI” is from legendary Paramount Pictures. Although I enjoyed the film, 

I could not bring myself to put a photo of Ghostface here.

I surprised not just Dan but myself by wanting to see “Scream VI” at the movies.

I’ve long avoided slasher films. “Rear Window” or even “Psycho,” masterful Hitchcock thrillers, are more my taste. When I lived alone in my NJ apartment by the sea, where the breeze stirred my bedroom curtains, I would not have been able to stomach a real slasher film. I had nightmares there after reading The Stranger Beside Me, a paperback about detective Ann Rule’s relationship with serial killer Ted Bundy.

But we had been homebound, the weather was dreary, and Punch was out, enjoying her social life. 

By Saturday night, I had to get off the couch. 

“I’m antsy,” I told Dan. The most exciting thing we had done all day was laundry and dishes. Even popcorn prepared by a machine and packed in a red paper bucket (vs. by Dan in the kitchen, with real butter) seemed more exciting.

But there was nothing we wanted to see at any of our three local theaters. I finally read the New York Times piece about “Scream VI,” the latest in the iconic mystery/horror/chiller/thriller franchise, and the Wikipedia article about the storyline. I got interested. It also stars Dermot Mulroney (I've loved him since “My Best Friend’s Wedding” with Julia Roberts) and of course, Courteney Cox in her recurring role as reporter Gale Weathers. That was enough for me. 

“I think I would even be willing to see the Scream movie,” I added. 

“Okay,” Dan said. “It’s playing at eight o’clock.” He has long enjoyed horror films, though we started out our dating life on a softer note, loving “Murder, She Wrote” on Sunday night TV.

Off we went to the big screen, soon with “buttered” popcorn, pretzel bites and bottled water in hand. We tilted our seats back. The only ones left were in the front row, so we could not hide behind other moviegoers if it got too scary. We were vulnerable.

I loved it. I mean, the slashing scenes are gross, some more than others, and I did cringe and look away a few times when the camera showed blood and guts. But there is a lot to love:

• Suspense. On the edge of your seat, especially by the end.
• Escape. Enter a darkened movie theater and be transported to another place. Always.
• Audience. People behind us shrieking and calling out--our collective fear, and joy from the girls behind us (teens or twenties) who loved a romantic kiss.
• Courteney. Wow, those ice-blue eyes, that tightly wound character. Also, her wardrobe and some funny lines. 
• Setting. This time the movie is not in the suburbs but in NYC in a place modeled after the NYU campus. NYC, forever cool and relatable.  
• Twists and turns. Oh, how the plot turns. Things are not as they appear. I loved that and was still mulling it over two days later. Who did that voice on the phone calls? Still not sure I understand.
• Wednesday. Jenna Ortega, the 20-year-old who plays Wednesday in the Netflix Addams Family spinoff, is delightful. Spunky, smart, beautiful, fearless. So is Melissa Barrera, who co-stars as her older sister.
• Hayden. Pretty blonde Panettiere was everything. The camera loves her lines, carefully couched and precise. Her character is clear and calculated in the midst of terror.
• Wit. The references to other horror movies.

Now I want to start at the beginning in my living room with the original “Scream,” from 1996. Courteney, Neve Campbell and Drew Barrymore star. Coming late to the table, I want to see where the story thread begins.

Do you watch slasher films? I never thought I would join the club.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?” Dan said.

Exactly.

My Weekend Documentary Immersion

 Author and editor back in the day, above, and below, now. 

Images from SonyClassics.com.

I love a good documentary, strung together from close-up views, pearls of truth, about real life. And I love that our town is home to Montclair Film*, which runs the nonprofit Clairidge Theater on Bloomfield Avenue. Last night, when Dan was out with our friend Michael at an event, I slipped out to the 6:30 p.m. showing of “Turn Every Page.”

TEP explores the 50-year relationship between New Yorkers Bob Caro (now age 87, celebrated, diligent author of The Power Broker and the fat Lyndon Johnson biography volumes) and his editor, legendary Bob Gottlieb, now 91, who has edited John Cheever, Doris Lessing, Salman Rushdie, Michael Crichton, Toni Morrison, Nora Ephron and other stellar writers. (He was also editor in chief of The New Yorker.) The film is directed by Lizzie Gottlieb, Bob’s daughter, with a warmth, candor and permission to be curious that only a daughter can have with her dad.

I resisted the brownie bites from local Little Daisy Bake Shop and the rich, silken dark chocolate-covered almonds from Sweet Home Montclair at the concession stand, and slipped into my comfortable seat in the renovated theater. To see two geniuses talking about their crafts, immersed in their crafts, to actually see how they work and see their edits on the paper pages. SO GOOD. To learn about their backgrounds--what made them who they are. What shaped them. It is just delicious. 

It’s a tribute to the golden days of publishing, and to the old-fashioned, hard-driven craft of writing. (Caro still writes on an electric typewriter.) It is purely brilliant and, like the best documentaries, it peels back the velvet movie-theater curtains to show us what we really crave: true stories.  

And then, Sunday morning at the movies! I usually go to my support group or Mass, or sometimes both on a Sunday morning. Today I drove to the former and stayed only 25 minutes and went to the church of the cinema with Dan. We saw the 10:45 a.m. showing of the five Oscar-nominated documentary shorts, and we were blown away. The list included:

1. “How Do You Measure a Year?” (Dad interviews daughter every year on her birthday, from age 2 to 18.)
2. “The Elephant Whisperers,” about a couple who rehabilitates orphaned elephants in India. Click now to watch on Netflix. Required viewing.
3. “Haulout,” about the effects of global warming on walruses in Siberia, by focusing on a marine biologist who works alone in their midst.
4. “Stranger at the Gate,” about a man who killed many Muslims in the war and then lived in Muncie, Indiana with a shocking plan for the local mosque.
5. “The Martha Mitchell Effect,” about the blonde firecracker who was married to Nixon’s attorney general, John Mitchell.

I can’t say enough about these. But our favorite was the elephants....so, so good. Breathtaking subjects and breathtaking filming. And after that, it was Martha.

Such fun at the movies.

*Per Wikipedia: Montclair Film is a nonprofit most well known for organizing the annual Montclair Film Festival (MFF) usually held in late April, early May in Montclair, NJ. The festival showcases new works from American and international filmmakers, and has year-round events.

Notable advisory board members include J.J. Abrams, Jonathan Alter, Stephen Colbert, Abigail Disney, Olympia Dukakis, Chiwetal Ejiofor, Emma Freud, Laura Linney, Jon Stewart, Julie Taymor, and Patrick Wilson, among others.  

(I have seen Patrick Wilson getting healthy green juices in town and Stephen Colbert at Mass.)

Seeking Frothy Fun in a 1967 Movie

Movie poster image from here.

Parts of yesterday were v. hard and heavy.

It takes work to change, to recover after decades of living in a spiral of sugar. Imagine moving through pink or blue or white cotton candy, wound in a sticky cloud, a porous net, around a paper cone, on and off for years. Not much clarity at the heart of that. The center of the cone is empty, just air. The cone itself is flimsy paper, not something sturdy to hold one’s goals, hopes, dreams--and commitments to doing the right things on life’s road.

So after the important Thursday school meeting on Zoom with key players, including a v. difficult one who shall remain unnamed, and the doctor appointment right after in Verona for Punch (the young woman doctor is a gift), I felt drained and needed to nest. My self-care is improving. I had taken a bath and put on makeup and jewelry before the Zoom call, but had to rush at the end, squeezing my bare feet into black suede pumps without tights. Then the call went longer and I was discombobulated and with bare legs, rushed Punch to dr. It was cold, I forgot my warm scarf and had to make a phone call outside while we waited later for Latin food in Bloomfield. (Punch loves Latin food.) So, more self-care progress in store.

And I still had more reading and writing and accountability on deck for the evening. So I sat on our comfy chair and watched “How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying,” the 1967 film starring Robert Morse, Michele Lee, Rudy Vallée and other great character actors on Disney+ and read and wrote as I watched. 

This movie is like “Mad Men” before “Mad Men,” with secretarial pools and men’s executive washrooms and pinching women’s behinds and making passes....that last part made me cringe. We see colorful dresses and high heels, handbags, elevator buttons, the mailroom, the silver coffee cart and more. The songs are entertaining: a troop of secretaries put magnifying mirrors on their desks and do their nails and hair; the men line up at the sinks in the washroom; and men in suits are agog when a curvy, red-haired Copa cigarette girl (the boss’s mistress) shows up to work at the company as a secretary. Her silky suit has a peplum skirt and low-cut top to outline her breasts. Her behind twitches right to left as she walks, and the men follow her every move. They are reduced to stupid boys, wearing grown-up shirts and ties and eyeglasses but trailing her like dumbos.

It portrays #MeToo in mega doses, though at the time, the movie was a comedy. It still makes you laugh, it is entertainment. But I could not help but remember the serious truths under the fluff. In my office career, I have been told:

• by an an older secretary that she had been called into her boss’s office at a big NYC company and pushed to the floor, forced to have sex.
• by a curmudgeon editor that she knew a man who had hired a pretty young woman just so he could watch her walk by all day.
• that a successful female editor, who in fact was happily married, was having an affair with a male coworker based on their occasionally staying late to work on a project (biting gossip by other women to keep women down). 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But yes, the froth was good. I did not seek whipped cream ice cream caramel candy froth, but laughter. (I brewed a pot of organic caramel flavored coffee and enjoyed a hot cup with half and half.) Those colors, those fashions, the New York City newsstand, the young man trying to climb the ladder at work, the exec stashing his brightly colored knitting in his desk drawer (the craft calmed him, but he had to hide it). One’s mistress being the driving factor to hire or promote someone so they would not reveal the affair to one’s wife.

I remember going to see this movie with my family in the white Ford Falcon at the Wellfleet Drive-in on Cape Cod when I was six. I would have been in the front seat, between my parents, with John, Sis and Will in the back. I don’t remember much beyond seeing a man washing windows on an office tower and mistaking the redhead for Lucille Ball, whom I loved.

That family memory tickles me.

Movie Baby Food for the Soul--from 1961 and 1962 🎥 🍿

I was so tired Friday evening, after running Skippy around to appointments and obligations (gymnastics, home instructor four days a week for two hours each time, doctor appointment in pouring rain, CVS Rx pickup, soccer practice, orthodontist). Plus my own doctor check-up, which I didn’t relish, since I haven’t been taking such good care of myself. Dan and I share the daily morning and afternoon driving, on top of that.

I know a million parents do a million good things for their children and don’t get exhausted, but I do. I hope that changes as I take better care of me. I thought the Miracle Balm I bought at Jones Road Beauty (Bobbi Brown’s flagship store in Montclair) might energize me, but I was too tired to put it on until this morning.

I had the living room and our one TV to myself both Friday and Saturday night. This was the nursery food I chose:

The Parent Trap from 1961, starring Maureen O’Hara, Brian Keith--and Hayley Mills playing the twins. It came out the year I was born. I loved seeing what was happening in the world and on the big screen, though I know what I saw was WAY above my parents’ level of comfort living. This story involves a beautiful ranch in Monterey with horses, a ranch hand, a mission style home and modern furniture--and, for the other twin, a high-society life in Boston. You see housekeepers, a chauffeur, girls’ sleepaway summer camp. That was not in the cards at 187 Bedford Road in Dumont. I didn’t feel deprived, not really, but seeing this was such fluff and fun. And the fashions, oh, the fashions.

Joanna Barnes as Vicky, the gorgeous gold digger who wants to marry Sharon's and Susan’s handsome Dad--before they intervene. Oh, Barnes plays this role deliciously. Best treasure: In the 1998 "Parent Trap" remake, with Lindsey Lohan, Barnes returns to play the gold digger’s mother. 

Sharon and Susan. Or is it Susan and Sharon? Even their parents can’t tell them apart.

Beautiful Maureen O’Hara--the chemistry is good with Brian Keith. My Dad and I loved watching "Miracle on 34th Street" with O’Hara every Christmas season, so I thought of him a lot.

That Touch of Mink, 1962, starring Cary Grant and Doris Day. Omigosh, omigosh. Again with the fashions, the hair, the Automat, the men’s office empire, the trips to Bermuda. The home decor. AND this swinging, wealthy bachelor lets secretary Cathy Timberlake (Doris Day) go to Bergdorf Goodman and pick out whatever she wants, from a sexy black evening gown (in 1962!) to a mink coat. I love that one of the closing credits thanks "Bergdorf Goodman for being Bergdorf Goodman."

Also stars Audrey Meadows (Mrs. Ralph Kramden) as Cathy’s roommate Connie, who works in the Automat. That setting brings on all kinds of funny lunch jokes from behind the little glass doors. I thought of my parents bringing us to the Automat when it was closing (and probably before that).

Cary Grant at his wittiest and most attractive.

Bermuda in all its glory, from a horse-drawn carriage to a private apartment with a view of coral sand beaches . Did I tell you my mother won a trip to Bermuda when I was in fifth grade? She and Dad went. So I thought of them there, too.

The worst thing about watching "Mink" is that it was playing on some odd network and there were SO MANY DARN commercials. Now I see I could have watched it on Amazon Prime?! Honestly, I practically memorized the commercials for an online casino and for a drug that might help prevent HIV. I know the latter is vital but the ads were repeated SO MANY times. So the movie wasn’t really free--I paid with my mind space, infiltrated with those ad messages.

Anyway, those were two great movies. Good night to you. I will be joining The Neon Tea Party Crochet Camp on Zoom at 8:15 p.m. Making a sweater, lots of fun.