Summer--Sad to See You Go

Yesterday I sent out a photo reel highlighting the summer's activities to my family. It was filled with joyous moments: Picnics, barbecues, fireworks, swimming,family weddings, parades and lots and lots of ice-cream. Except for the black bear that made an unwarranted trek across our backyard, it looked like a summer well-spent.

My youngest son, the only unmarried one who just started law school a couple weeks ago sent back a five- word reply: That made me so sad.

I completely got what he meant because I teared up too, looking at those memories.  But being three decades older than him, I see the changes up ahead, most of them welcome and some of them uncertain. At twenty-two, he has his entire future ahead of him, yet he shares the same melancholy as me. I guess that's why we've always said he has an old soul.

Two weeks ago marked the last first day of school I will experience as a mother. Just before my husband loaded up the car for the drive into Manhattan for his law school drop-off, we replicated the exact position of him standing beneath the (now larger) tree in front of the house, backpack over his shoulders, where he had stood as a kindergartener eighteen years ago. I swallowed the tears and smiled broadly.


As the youngest, he had the most quality time and undivided attention and that did not escape his siblings' observations.

Oldest daughter: Ma, you're not really making him lunch? He's in eighth grade. I made myself lunch in fourth grade.

Me: Because you wanted to...boys are different. And besides, you know he will just starve.

I enabled his need because I needed it too. We spent a lot of quality time together during his 'gap year' between college and law school, and I know as thrilled as he is to embrace the challenge of his future, I also know he won't turn down the leftovers I send back to school with him after the next visit.

I've spent some time wondering why there is so much lead-up to summer. We have Memorial Day as the introduction, sanctioning the cleaning of our grills left grimy from the barbecues of the previous year. Then we have July Fourth reminding us that indeed, for those who haven't yet had their first hot dog, now would be the ideal time while watching fireworks emblazon the sky.

Then we have a scant eight weeks until the closing bell of Labor Day. It's the last chance to catch the rays of sun as it rises later in the morning and sets earlier in the evening. Beaches close, even though temperatures in New York still hover in the 80 and 90 degree range as children ride airless yellow buses. 

Everyone is back from vacation and the serious business of fall and winter loom just out of sight. The Jewish calendar marks this time as the beginning of the year and I think they got it right. We are indeed shedding our frolicking at the pool and the balmy evenings as we hunker down to the serious business of getting back to real life. 

Nine months until the start of next summer....And counting... 

  

 



 

Happy Mothers Day

Sunday is Mothers Day; let the guilt begin.

There is no way we can really thank our mothers for their unyielding love in the face of everything we've subjected them to, but that's no excuse to not even try.

The ABC's of motherhood can be broken down into phases: 

The First Phase is keeping their children alive. Watching a baby try to climb a set of stairs and then subsequently hurtle itself off them into the air while subconsciously knowing mommy will be there to catch them is evidence of that. Toddlers are a challenge, too. They eat things that aren't actually food and then they don't eat food that actually is. I see the creative ways they try to off themselves daily and am grateful for my daughters' ever-present hand and patience and skill at keeping my grandchildren alive.

The Second Phase is that mothers lavish their children with attention, showing us the nurturing effects of unconditional love, true kindness and how to pick our battles. That last lesson is something that gets us through life in all its varied forms.

The Third Phase is realizing that our mothers are always there for us, no matter what time  we call or want to pop in, ready with a good piece of advice or a great piece cake. I take extra comfort when my children repeat back advice I've doled out when I thought they weren't listening, but actually were.
 

And last,even though the list is endless, they taught us the fine art of negotiation.
A good negotiator has everyone leaving the table feeling like a winner. I've pulled out these tactics with my own children, grandchildren and the occasional, difficult client who questions and prods and seeks the upper hand at every step. I smile as I think to myself, You have no idea what you're up against--I can handle you because I was raised by the best.

To my Mom and all those other women who are fortunate enough to have become mothers and to the women who are loved and influence others, I salute you.

Hugs and kisses to all of you. 

Enjoy your special day.

 

 

Are You Good At Making Decisions?

...Which is an entirely different thing than making good decisions.

I'm not trying to parse words (well, maybe a little) but it seems as if some people have a difficult time doing just that...making decisions, good or bad, hasty or considered. 

And one person in particular, Madeline Albright, the first woman Secretary of State thinks women voters have no need to make any decision at all. She thinks a knee-jerk reaction would be the way to vote for the only female running for President--duh, no decision necessary. Of course Ms. Albright, having literally paved Hillary's way would have her back. But since we are enough decades distanced from the feminist movement, why is she reducing us to the sum total of our female organs? Isn't the very premise of feminism that we be treated equal? Let the more qualified candidate whose issues ally best with our own get our vote. Leave the admonishments for misbehaving children and Presidential candidates acting like misbehaving children.

That's not to say it isn't a proud moment to have a woman running for President much in the same way as many black voters supported Barack Obama back in 2008 and 2012. However, it would insulting to assume that every single black voter cast their ballot for Obama just as it would be for women to blindly back the current female candidate.

I find myself truly annoyed when someone dithers over making a decision. Unless it's life and death, things have a way of righting themselves, I've always found. Get some backbone and confidence, I say. Just look at Donald Trump, one of the most decisive people I've ever witnessed in front of a microphone. Good, bad, or foolish, he lobs off authoritative missives with elan while Jeb Bush is still trying to decide if he should use his last name in his campaign ads. Really....

Years ago a good friend had been wrestling with a life-altering decision. She decided to take a leap into an unknown venture, which has since paid off amazingly well. At the time she had said to me 'There's something liberating about making a decision.'

Having always been a decisive person, I hadn't really ever wrestled with making a decision, which again, is not to be confused with making good decisions. So here we are back to where we started, and collectively wary as a nation of making a bad decision after years of disappointment at the last one we made.

And I find myself, a formerly decisive person, with her hands to her head in disbelief at the political landscape I am facing. Come November 2016, I'm sure I will have made up my mind when I cast my ballot. But until that time, I will continue to be entertained and dismayed and alarmed and undecided. 

It isn't a good feeling, but then again, nothing about the process so far has felt good at all.    

What's Your Value?

Today I had an interesting dovetailing of events.

I was making a design presentation for the lobby of a commercial space. The owners are a married couple and they loved everything I showed them until it came to the price.
I had gone slightly over budget, but the gist of it seemed that they had wanted a lot more 'stuff' for the money. 

I countered with the fact that they were getting quality goods that would hold up to the traffic the space would surely encounter. They countered by offering to take the custom window treatment I designed and hang it themselves.

 At least that was what they said to me. There were parts of the conversation conducted in their native language over the top of my head with 'dollars' being the only word left untranslated.
I felt like Elaine in the Seinfeld episode where she gets a manicure and is convinced the workers are speaking about her and laughing at her while they chatter in Korean.

On Sunday I picked up Mika Brzezinski's book, Grow Your Value from the library. There's a female in my life who I thought could benefit from her advice on how a woman could evaluate her work contribution and learn how to ask for commensurate compensation. Little did I realize that I would be needing the lessons in the book just as much. 

If Mika's last name sounds familiar, then you are 'of a certain age.' Her father Zbigniew Brzezinski was National Security Advisor to Jimmy Carter.  Her mother, Emilie, is a sculptor, and she is the cohost of MSNBC's Morning Joe, a political news show. In short, she is well-pedigreed and newsflash...she doesn't have all the answers.

Back to my couple. I stayed firm on my price, offering them the option of doing the project in two phases and left. I didn't tell them speaking about someone in another language while they're standing in front of you is rude, but I did tell them good work deserves fair recompense.

I'm still waiting for their decision to go ahead with the project, but either way I feel my design would add value to their space--and whether they recognize that too is up to them.



 

 

...And the New Miss Universe Is...

Okay, let's just get it out there, we've all made mistakes. But this kind, the live T.V. moment on par with John Travolta's mangling of Idina Menzel's name at the Oscars, wouldn't have had much traction if not for our schadenfreude delight at other's failures.And the free-publicity for the Miss Universe contest has been priceless. 

As far as I can parse things, the two women who got dragged into Steve Harvey's mega-sized gaffe when he erroneously announced Miss Colombia as the winner of the Miss Universe contest instead of Miss Philippines, have both come out well served. As an aside, does anyone else think that Miss Colombia is a dead ringer for Sofia Vergara?

Anyway, the benefit of this mistake is that we all now realize that silly things like beauty contests still exist. I guess you can say that the Miss Universe contest has now been re-energized and maybe Donald Trump, who had recently sold it for 'lots and lots of money' is now the only loser here because even with his name attached to the brand he couldn't manage to bring in this kind of attention. 

And just to put the proper perspective on things, even though all three principal characters here were humiliated, demoted, and elevated in breathtaking speed, at least we can look forward to the quick 'get' by the morning shows who have probably already booked both 'Miss' contestants, thereby extending their fifteen minutes.

So yes, Miss Colombia, you might have been 'robbed' but let me say you are exquisite, as is Miss Philippines. I only wish all the 'news' shows who reported the mix-up had at least shared your names to have truly made the misery worthwhile. 

And on another note, you guys have just squeezed onto the Years' End List of whoever makes decisions about the inane year-end lists, so Happy Holidays!!

 

Does a Female Protagonist Need to be Likable?

Recently I sent my book, The Art of Stealing out to an agent. Although she said she found it well-written and an enjoyable read, she was going to pass on it because the main character,Valentina, wasn't always likable. To which I thought...who is?

Literature has shown that flawed characters are much more intriguing and last longer in our memories. So what exactly was her issue? When Blanche DuBois enters the stage, the scenery practically catches fire from the electric currents she casually beams out toward anyone within her radius. She's a train wreck and we hold our breath in anticipation as she self-immolates.

The lead character, Karen Bixen, in Out of Africa, is based on author Isak Dinesen's years running a coffee plantation in Africa. She is complex, intriguing and so unlike the other white women of her upper class status that she is looked upon with great distaste by her peers. She views them the same way with little care about winning them over. Those of you who are unfamiliar with the book's character or the steely portrayal of her by Meryl Streep, do yourselves a favor and check it out.

If anyone is a fan of Shonda Rhimes, then they know she mostly writes outrageous female characters that pull off all kinds of crazy, raising the stakes with each successive week: Meredith Grey--self-described as dark and twisty
Olivia Pope--claiming to wear a white hat who isn't above taking part in a murder plot or deceiving the entire continent of North America to save her wussy lover from political doom,  Annalise Keating--possibly the most bizarre, practically bi-polar type character to ever bloom from the fertile mind of Ms. Rhimes who defies the law with aplomb even though she is a principal of the court.  And speaking of bi-polar? Carrie Mathison, anyone? Enough said.

These women are strong and unerringly put their own needs first.

Sounds like a flaw whose time has come. 

So I'm going to take another hard look at my female protagonist, Esmeralda,  in the book I am currently writing and I think I'm going to get her crazy on. 'Cause I'll take moxie over mousy any day. 

Flaws can be beautiful too.

Where is the Mystery?

In this era of transparency, what would happen if we didn't pull back the curtain and see that the Wizard was just a man?

In this past week's Sunday Times magazine  http://nyti.ms/1Pmxdy4  writer Jenna Wortham highlights visual artist Madelyn Beckles and other self-promoters of her ilk as they pull back the curtain on their internet searches revealing the dark data of who they really are when no one is looking. Is this a new concept? Teenage boys have been doing things when they thought no one was looking for centuries. And there are lots and lots of people who still do.

It's called Privacy. 

The same way we don't say every thought that comes to mind, most of us relish the fact that we have our own silent Walter Mitty-like fantasies that get us through the slog of the day. 

I find this 'share all conceit' off-putting to the say the least and probably bordering on dangerous narcissistic behavior. But the curtain of anonymity allows for all to be revealed without really revealing it all. Everyone is aware that 'reality TV' is no more real than a scripted show, and UnReal, Lifetime's brilliant, insider skewering of reality TV blazingly illuminated that.

But to all of these revealers I have one thought: Who cares? Apparently lots of people do, so I guess I'm in the minority on that because these screen shots of their haphazard and seemingly random searches will be displayed in a Toronto gallery and have been bound into an art book entitled "Babe."

The fascination here, other than the obvious one being that these internet searchers love themselves a bit too much is the dichotomy of what we project to the world and the down and dirty version of who we really are. We may think of ourselves as designer clothing and pearls, but our internet searches reveals bustiers and silk handcuffs is who we really are.

Again, sorry if I'm repeating myself but Who Cares? In the twitter-sphere of celebrity catfights and social admonishments by Lena Dunham and other peolpe with large numbers of followers weighing in on everything political or social, the whiny self-absorbed generation of relentless self-promotion is gauche and exhausting.

For those who think every one of their thoughts is worth sharing because they subsisted on reality TV growing up, I say stop...I beg of you, just stop. Of course it's childlike to wish for the naive days of believing in the tooth fairy but how about allowing for that natural process of discovery...that air of mystery? 

Isn't the most thrilling part of meeting someone new discovering the layers and facets of all of them? How interesting would it be if we all just handed each other screenshots of our internet searches and said Here's All of Me...um, yuck. 

Why don't we think that some things can be special or scared? Aren't we allowed to hold something dear? The best part about a crush is the secret of it...the delicious knowledge that the unreality of it will be way better than the actualization of it.

The best movie stars of yore...Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth...promised boundless possibilities with the raise of an eyebrow, a sway of a hip...call me old fashioned, but allow me a shred of my imagination to take me through the grimy subway rides and reality of life....sometimes the best way to get through a tough day is imagining you're someone else doing something completely different. The Wizard did more good before the curtain was pulled back, staying in the background as he allowed us to discover ourselves.

So please, indulge in your fantasies out of the glare of the public eye, and do us all a favor, and don't tell anyone about it.

Please!