Monthly Archives: November 2017

Me, Myself and Eye

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Photo Eye Mask

I am not a movie star, but I sleep like one. To me, there is something glamorous about an eye mask. At bedtime, when I put it on, I feel like I am in an old black and white movie and having just put down my cigarette holder, I rearrange my silk dressing gown, slip under the silk sheets and after my close-up (in full hair and makeup, of course), put my eye mask in place and prepare to dream in Technicolor.

It’s a fact that when your brain senses darkness, it produces melatonin, the sleep chemical. Your chances of falling and staying asleep are improved when you block out the light. What I didn’t realize was that the eye mask has myriad uses.

I’ve been trying to sit still and learn to meditate and it’s helped me to concentrate a bit more. If I am tired and have a lot on my to-do list, a few minutes in the dark seems to revive me. If I wear it while sitting outside, I notice that my other senses become a bit heightened. My mask and I have traveled together and it’s never let me down on a flight; combined with my neck pillow (and ear plugs in case of emergency); I have been known to fall asleep before the plane even takes off.

What is it about that small piece of fabric and elastic that is so gratifying? I think it may be the human equivalent to turning something electrical off and then on again to get it working. It’s a way to reboot ourselves. Our lives are inundated with the sights and sounds of a nonstop world. Sure, you can close your eyes, but that doesn’t guarantee the total darkness that the mask provides. It’s just you, the mask, the darkness all-around you and a lovely feeling of well-being.

Lately, when I have something to sort out, my mask and I huddle together and in a few short minutes, I feel recharged. It’s my mind’s little clubhouse, a solitary refuge, and such a simple antidote to our complex life. It’s easy to find the humor that only an eye mask can bring when I suddenly strap it on during a family discussion that I do not want to participate in.

I propose we initiate a World Eye Mask Day where everyone puts on an eye mask at the same time, sits for a few minutes quietly and then sees things again in a whole new light.

 

 

 

The Patients with No Patience

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Photo Patience

The same nightmare haunted me. A patient was being pushed into an operating room, when the gurney came to an abrupt halt. The patient was told they would have to wait there, right in the middle of the hall, until the Director of Medical Staff Administration completed their physician’s temporary privileges.

That Director used to be me and temporary privileges were what kept me up at night. Even though there were 568 physicians on staff, there were times when an unusual or complicated procedure called for the expertise of an outside physician. Since the physician was not on our medical staff and therefore, was not credentialed, there was a protocol to be followed that involved license verifications and a criminal background check.

The problem was that everything was always last minute and I was in the middle; between the impatient inpatient, the guest doctor at our facility who wanted to get in and out quickly and the lengthy internal process that required accuracy. Frustrated, I would wonder to myself: wouldn’t you want to know if the doctor operating on you last practiced in the back room of a hookah lounge off the New Jersey Turnpike in downtown Secaucus? Apparently not.

Everyone involved in this scenario could be diagnosed with having no patience, which is defined as “the capacity and endurance to accept or tolerate difficult circumstances calmly without complaint.” When I think about it, do I even know anyone who is patient?

Except for the Dalai Lama (whom I do not know personally), it is hard to envision someone that goes through life grateful for the extra time for internal thought that standing on a line brings, that is thankful for the ability to view new surroundings when a detour takes them out of their way and that is appreciative of the new relationships made when having to call their cellphone provider every month to ask them to refund the same amount that is constantly being overbilled.

What choices do we have? We can either let patience get the better of us or we can realize that in this big world, patience will always be the slow boat to China while we are all be clamoring to board the Orient Express. Maybe we can meet patience somewhere in the middle?

Lately, I’ve tried to do just that. I’ve hoodwinked patience into thinking that the outcome was what I really wanted all along. I’ve resisted getting angry or upset when life zigs rather than zags and when I look back, those zigs made for some interesting experiences.

I’m not ready to go cold turkey and throw open the doors of my local motor vehicle department for the ultimate challenge, but somewhere in between there is the new me that can look a harried customer service representative right in the eyes, smile and say “…Oh, is it my turn already?..”

 

The Dickster

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Photo DicksterHad she missed the bus? I stood outside the movie theater with a view of the bus stop, waiting for JC* and watching the buses go by. She knew the stops and times by heart, so it was unlike her to have made a mistake. My thoughts were disturbed by the nagging horn of a new, shiny, black car parked right in front of me and as the passenger window automatically rolled down, I was surprised to see a smiling JC inside.

Astonished, I approached the car as she happily said “…This is Richard, He was kind enough to give me a lift…” I must admit, I liked him as soon as I saw him. It wasn’t just because he was trim and tan, with a well-coifed head of white hair. There was something about him that reminded me of my dad; he exuded an inner confidence, a swagger about him. I’m sure that JC had noticed it too.

I said a quick hello as she jumped out of the car and they said their goodbyes. After our usual greeting of a kiss on each cheek, she assumed we were going straight into the theater. “…Oh, no…“, I said. “…There is no way I can watch a movie for two hours without the quick version of what just happened…”

She smiled coyly as we found a place to chat. Last night, she had attended a Cinco de Mayo Dance with a friend of hers. Richard had asked her to dance and after a few dances in a row, stated assertively that he was taking her to dinner Saturday night. Always the savvy New Yorker, she declined politely, not comfortable going on an outing with a complete stranger.

After much conversation, Richard’s son intervened. He had invited his dad to the dance in the hopes he might meet someone and wound up to be the one who finally brokered the deal:  JC would choose the restaurant and Richard would meet her there.

After a few more dances, exchanging contact information and making their final plans, JC assumed she would not see Richard again until Saturday, so was surprised when her doorman said he was in her lobby the next afternoon. The giant bouquet of roses hid his smiling face and the light kiss on the cheek surprised her. She explained that she was on her way out and he offered to drive her to the movies.

From then on, her life was a constant soiree of cocktails and dinners at lovely restaurants, movie dates, afternoons at the race track, all commencing with a dozen roses. Just as I had done so many times in the past when I had a date, she would model her outfits for me and together we would choose just the right accessories.

It was Mr. Wiz* who brought us both back to reality. He had a devotion to my mom and always felt very protective of her, especially since my dad’s passing. The first evening that we double dated, he hardly spoke and I could see that he was taking it all in. The next day, he announced to me bluntly “… There is something about Richard that I do not like. He’s a con man…” Mr. Wiz was too good a judge of character for me to dismiss his opinion. And after all, what did we really know about Richard?

Fortunately, at the same time, JC was starting to have her doubts. As much as she wanted the fairytale to continue, she was too clever not to notice the red flags that slowly would begin to wave right in front of her eyes. Richard mentioned how he missed home cooking and hinted that dinners at home (her home) would be much more romantic. He suggested that if she purchased the racing channel, they could watch the horse races cozily at home (her home). He would allude to the fact that living together (in her home) would be the ultimate happy ending.

Some people are born with a certain magnetism and allure and create illusions that can carry them through an entire lifetime. Richard was one of these people. Seeing that his demonstrative performances were not working on JC, he set the stage for his reality. Yes, he did live in that condo in that affluent town, but he was only renting a bedroom from a millennial that constantly traveled. Yes, he was a crossing guard, but he did it for the salary and not to volunteer. Yes, it was his car, but it was leased and he could just about make the payments. And yes, Saturday nights, he did look like he had stepped out of a Polo Ralph Lauren ad, but that was his only dress outfit and he carefully took care of it.

Richard was perplexed. Why was his usual strategy not working this time? Little did he know that his scheme’s demise occurred when he casually mentioned that JC would have to share her closet with him when he moved in. No one gets between JC and her closet. If life were a chess game, his one last aggressive move of a one week deadline to make a decision was checkmated on the spot by JC’s response: she was not looking for a roommate.

And so, marked the departure of the Dickster, my nickname for the handsome hustler who chose the wrong woman to dance with on Cinco de Mayo.

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Girls Only: Nashville

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Photo Nashville

It was actually JC’s* Idea. Since Mr. Wiz* and Big A* would be totally absorbed in the Formula One Races in Austin for the weekend, she thought it would be a great idea to introduce my sister, Maria, and me to the Nashville she had fallen in love with on her first visit.

The capital of Tennessee, Nashville, seems to be changing its tune. Still known as the Country Music Capital and as Dolly Parton’s stomping ground, there’s now an energetic hum to the city.

It was one of seven U.S. cities to be chosen to begin a Google for Entrepreneurs Tech Hub Network. Innovative companies are finding its environs a less expensive, friendlier alternative. Foodies flock there in search of the next great new restaurant. New luxury hotels are springing up while historic buildings and neighborhoods are being revitalized. The city’s new slick sophistication remains in harmony with its long-standing southern charm and welcomes you with open arms.

We can’t wait to put on our cowboy boots and see the town, but it’s too early to check in to our hotel. We leave our luggage at the front desk and decide to reconnoiter in the lobby and plan our day. As we are chatting, we notice a well-dressed woman walk toward two of our suitcases, grab their handles and start walking out the front door of the hotel.

JC and Maria sprang to action! They jumped up and ran after the woman, who halted immediately when she heard Maria yell “…Hold it right there! …” There is something about a New York accent that means business. As little girls growing up in a suburb of New York City, we were trained to always be attentive to what was going on around us and to take care of ourselves. On our 18th birthday, our dad gave each of us Mace spray in the size of a lipstick container to carry in our handbags; an emotional right of passage that gave my dad great comfort in knowing that messing with his daughters would result in stinging eyes and being splashed with blue dye.

Apparently, I was the only one that noticed the well-dressed woman’s name tag. So, as the third member of this Keystone Cops comedy, I began running behind them to make sure that they did not tackle the hotel’s manager.

While it took us two days to be able to make eye contact with the hotel staff, our convulsive laughter set the tone for a great time together. Surprised, yet undaunted to find out that neither Maria nor I had any sense of direction (what other sisterly secrets would be revealed?)  JC took over the navigating and we were off.

We enjoyed a free outdoor big band concert at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center. We were startled by the sweet-faced youth of Johnny Cash while he was stationed in Europe during World War II in a special exhibit of private photos shared by his family at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Germantown, originally established by European immigrants, has the same vibe as New York’s Greenwich Village and we still cannot decide which entrée was our favorite at Henrietta Red: the braised lamb with pole beans and polenta, the scallops with pistachios, beets, Granny Smith apples, kale and couscous or the cauliflower steak smothered with hazelnut, scallions, shitake mushrooms and nicoise olives.

According to JC, there were two things not to be missed while in Nashville: a mansion tour and an evening at the Grand Ole Opry and she surprised us by planning both. How President Andrew Jackson progressed from a 14-year old orphan to a man of so many accomplishments made his mansion, Hermitage, even more impressive. Though built around the same time, its décor was so much more modern than the Victorian design of the Belle Meade plantation. Known for its horse breeding, racing and deer farm, the original 5400-acre estate became a tourist attraction. So much so that on occasional Sunday mornings, the lady of the house would sneak out and post a hand written closed sign on the front gates for some needed peace and quiet. Touring the homes, then having the time to walk the grounds made the docents’ stories come alive.

It was a Tuesday night and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house at the Grand Ole Opry. A new band, Lanco, was introduced and we wondered how they felt playing for the first time on that famous stage. We tapped our feet and sang along with Trisha Yearwood and Kelsea Ballerini and were surprised to see all 4 foot 6 inches of special guest, Brenda Lee “strut her stuff” around the stage.

One of Nashville’s biggest draws are the country music honky-tonks on Broadway. While many cities have an area where bars and restaurants line the streets and the musicians play loudly on a stage, open to their patrons inside and to the street, Nashville does it with a style all their own. It’s more fun than seedy and everyone from families to seniors to bachelorette parties and every age group in between share in the revelry.

We seemed to be drawn to Nudie’s Honky Tonk daily. Named after Nudie Cohn, a famous clothing designer (think Elvis’ gold lame suit), the historic building houses many of the costumes Nudie designed, rare music memorabilia and Nudie’s $400,000 Cadillac El Dorado hanging from the wall. But, it was the music and the great bands that transfixed us. We danced and sang at night and then found ourselves back during the day. By the way, each time we’d arrive, JC was quickly led to the dance floor by another admirer!

Only in Nashville can you be sitting on a park bench one minute and then see Kenny Rogers ride right by you in a golf cart the next. We agreed that was a great way to end our visit. We chalked up our newfound feeling of relaxation and our mother/daughter/sister bonding to all that dancing and to singing “Sweet Home Alabama” multiple times together at the top of our lungs. Those southerners really know how to have a good time.

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.