Mother

This won't be so much an article as it is just plain old fashioned musings. My heart and head are in a different place today and I just feel like talking. I hope that is OK.

If anyone were to ask me what is my biggest accomplishment in life, I would't hesitate for a minute. It's being a mother. I am very proud of my mothering skills and actually most everything else I have done in this life. OK, there was that one weekend in New Jersey all those years ago that wasn't my proudest moment, but the the statute of limitations for throwing up in someone's car console was up a long time ago.

With Mother's Day just around the corner, it brings up so many memories and quandaries all at the same time. My kids will be asking what I want to do. They won't want me to cook so that means going out to a crowded restaurant. Ugh. I just want to be with them. I want to be with my kids, their spouses and their kids. But then guilt sets in. Two of my daughters are mothers themselves. Maybe they would just like to hang out at home with their families. It's a dilemma. It's not that I don't want to celebrate the day or be worshiped by my children, but I don't want to take anything away from my daughters.

It's kind of a bittersweet day anyway, since my own mother is now gone. The ads on TV and the emails in my mailbox suggest that we mothers would like some tulips or chocolate or one of those seersucker zip-up gown thingies to lounge around in. The list of gifts I would like begins with help to clean my garage and ends with tickets to see the Rolling Stones when they go on tour next fall. I am not your typical mother or grandmother.

I don't go to the cemetery to visit my mom. For many, the cemetery is a happy place for folks who have lost their loved ones. Not for me. My mom was just the right amount of crazy. She could have given Lucy Ricardo tips on how to get into trouble. I remember fondly when I was a kid and our local fancy-dancy gift shop had a counter full of wind up alarm clocks for ladies' bedrooms. This was a lot of years ago, so stick with me if you don't remember clocks that had to be wound every day. There must have been 2 or 3 dozen clocks on display. My mother picked up each and every one of them while keeping the sales staff at bay with her "just looking" comments. I didn't pay much attention to what my mother was doing. I was just glad to be with her. Later that day at a few minutes before 6 p.m., my mom called the gift shop and asked for some help with an alarm clock she had seen earlier. The call was transferred and my mom was connected with a saleslady in that department. As she began to talk, a couple of dozen alarm clocks went off at the same time. My mother could not contain her delight. She had set them all to 5:55 p.m. just for fun. I probably told you this story before, but it's one of my faves. She did that kind of stuff every once in a while. It recharged her devilish side and was always amusing. Those are some of the best memories of my mom. Or the time my dad took a nap in the afternoon and she painted his toenails bright pink while he was fast asleep. One year there were sparklers left over from the fourth of July and she lit them and stuck them in the Thanksgiving turkey when she brought it from the kitchen to the table. She made life fun, so to sit by her grave just doesn't give me comfort. To short sheet someone's bed would be a better way to honor her.

One of the saddest times of my life was when my mom was fading and I wanted so desperately to ask her how she made particular dishes. Her cooking was remarkable and she never measured or wrote anything down. I never could bring myself to ask her any of the recipes I loved so much, because I didn't want her to think I was asking her these things before she died.

I still struggle to duplicate her fine cooking. She never used anything pre-made or fake. I remember one time when she looked into my refrigerator and saw light butter, light mayonnaise and light salad dressing among other "LITE" versions of food. She was in disbelief and shut the refrigerator door immediately exclaiming that it was a wonder we didn't all just float away with all that light food. My mommy was a complete character with a lot of character. I am so her daughter in so many ways. I miss her.

My mother was always so proud of me. She raised me to have good manners and social graces. She sent me to Cotillion to learn the Waltz and Foxtrot and proper behavior in a social situation, but I loved her madly anyway. She made sure I went to the best private schools and was taught French. I can conjugate French verbs like a champ to this day, but it doesn't do me a lot of good living in a state that is 50% Spanish speaking.

I know she thought I would grow up and marry Prince Charles and that would be it. Somewhere the plan went askew and I ended up selling crotchless panties for a living. (By the way, Spell-check kept insisting I meant "toothless panties" and fought with me to change it. I won.) She lived long enough to see my LoveFifi dream come true. She was proud of me and often commented that Prince Charles didn't turn out to be such a great husband anyway. It all turned out well.

So to all my mothers and grandmothers out there, I hope you have plans for a wonderful day on May 10th. My day will be a good one and all my kids will be there, I am sure. The good thing is that they tell me all year long what a great mother I am and how much they love me. I am one lucky lady.

Elephantastic

I am preparing to leave on what I feel is a well deserved vacation. My sister, two of my best friends in life and I are all going on a one week cruise together. We have been paying for it for a year, so when we step on board it will feel good to know that the trip itself is completely paid for.

I pulled out my luggage to prepare for the tedious job of packing. It's so much fun to pack to go on a ship because most everything you wear is comfortable but there is also a serious fashion show that goes on among the women passengers. It starts for me weeks before we leave. I have to get myself ready, but I am also my sister's "stylist". Before she retired and came to work with me at Lovefifi.com, she wore a dark blue police uniform for a couple of decades. Now that she is free to channel her inner fashionista, she worries constantly about what she is going to wear for everything. It took me years to get her to loosen up and wear color. She has progressed to letting her hair down considerably and even has a bit of a funky streak now and then. I am very proud. The trouble is that she has no faith in her own taste and makes me yay or nay every item she plans to wear on the trip. Our vacation is only a few days away and sister is now in the packing stage. Thank goodness!

I have done so much business traveling that I am a whiz at packing. Packing for cruise is easy because there is no limit to how many suitcases you can take. The only challenge comes with trying to put everything away in a tiny little room, with an even teenier closet. Then you have to multiply that amount by 2 for sister's stuff. Thankfully the suitcases fit under the beds, but space is limited.

I won't lie to you, I am a heavy packer. I bring the absolute most I can and still manage to have places to put it away. I am not one of those people who brings exactly the same number of outfits as there are days with a few additions for night time. I don't know what mood I will be in when I wake up. I need to go to my part of the closet and have choices. I always bring home lots of clothes that I never wore. That's OK with me. I'm happy the whole time knowing I could go with most any fashion whim and change several times a day if I cared to. Unfortunately, my sister has learned this from me and usually we have enough clothes to stay for a month.

So, I don't pack light. Shoot me. I am not changing. I am, however, very smart about luggage. I don't believe that people put any thought into luggage when they buy it. Just look at the carousel at baggage claim the next time you fly. You will see a preponderance of black suitcases going around interspersed with about a dozen Louis Vuitton bags. The rest are often gray, brown or navy with only a handful of distinctive bags that are easy to identify. This is so stupid to me. As prestigious and expensive as the Vuitton bags may be, they still look alike. If you're intent on having a brown suitcase with initials, why not stencil your own damn initials on it? OK, your name is not French and probably won't impress anyone, but you will probably be able to find your luggage without a hitch. They don't check you at the door anymore to see if you have the right bag. What do you think is the most stolen item off of luggage carousels? Louis Vuitton.

It is a mystery to me why people buy black luggage, or even gray or navy. Some of it is very expensive and high end. What is the point in spending a fortune for luxury luggage when you have to hang homemade yarn pom pom from it show that it is yours?

I have been in the lost luggage booth at the airport many times. They always show you pictures of different shaped bags and ask you to point to the one that is most like yours. They ask you the color and if there are any distinguishing features of the luggage to make it easier for them to find it. Knowing full well that what I see at the baggage claim pretty much all looks the same, I set out years ago to make my life as stress free as possible when I travel.

I buy new suitcases every 5 or 6 years. When I shop I always imagine what it will look like going around in circles in the sea of plain dark suitcases. I like to shop online and find the most attractive set I can that will stand out in the crowd. My current set is very handsome, but I don't think there are a lot of people who truly understood it's unique beauty like I did. It's navy blue with a snazzy contrasting trim and it has Indian Elephants printed on every square inch of it. When I wave down a porter to help me with my baggage and he asks how many bags and what my bags look like, all I have to say is that they are 2 and that they are navy blue with elephants. The minute they come out of the shoot, my elephant print bags are rock stars among the rest and I am out of there in a flash. If, heaven forbid, my luggage never comes to the carousel, my time with the lost luggage people is short and sweet. Navy blue elephant print. My cases are never lost for long because they are easy to spot even if they went to Cleveland instead of Chicago.

Now, imagine instead of 250 people on a flight with luggage waiting at baggage claim, you are on a ship with a couple of thousand over-packers at the terminal baggage claim. My luggage is never where it is supposed to be but it never takes long to find it. Those sweet elephants never fail to find me, one way or the other.

So, the next time you are in the market for a set of luggage, consider buying something that stands out. They still sell my set on wayfair.com. It's called Budapest, by American Flyer and I won't mind if you have a set a too. I always get super excited when I pull out the elephant bags and get ready for a trip. My pretty little pachyderms give me style and flair and let me know that we are going on an adventure. And the best part about it all? No yarn pom poms required.

Stayin' Alive

As I hunker down in the bliss of middle age, there is one thing that has become extremely clear to me: I am very lucky to be alive. I have been babysitting my grandkids fairly regularly lately and though I figured that I was pretty good at mothering, it's a lot different now. I grew up in dangerous times and didn't even realize it until I became a grandmother. I raised my own children like I was raised. I thought my parents did a pretty good job with me, so I carried on their work with a few upgrades.

As I was strapping my 2 1/2 year old granddaughter into her car seat the other day, it all hit me as to how lucky I was to be walking this earth. I am pretty sure I didn't have a car seat or even seat belts when I was young. Oh, I take that back. I did have a seat belt. It was called Mom. When she had to hit the brakes suddenly, she would throw her extended arm across me to keep me from being hurled into the air. I don't think that kind of protection would prove effective in today's crash tests, but I am still here to tell the story.

When my grandson rides his bike or his scooter, he wears knee pads and a helmet. When I look back, I rode a bike and roller skated on the city streets without any kind of head gear or padding, I am astonished that I made it to this age. My younger sister skated too and she wasn't as good as I was and was prone to falling down pretty often. Obviously, Mom was ahead of her time in the field of childhood safety, because even though she never thought about protecting my sister's head, she started belting a bed pillow to sister's back side when we went outside to skate down the sidewalks. The pillow trick worked really well because my sister's butt was unharmed and is flourishing to this day.

Come to think about it, I am closer to being a senior citizen than a debutante, so how did I escape death when I grew up on white bread? I even ate Velveeta and Spam and I am here to talk about it. I don't eat it anymore, but I can assure you that in my youth I had my fill of gluten and trans fat. I am pretty sure that an Omega 3 oil never crossed my tongue as a kid unless it was found in fish sticks. Growing up, the closest I ever came to eating organic was when I decided to taste one of the mud pies I had created in the yard.

Thank goodness my brain was never corrupted from watching television in my early years. Although there was no such thing as Parental Control to block me from watching unfit things, there weren't actually a lot of unfit things on TV back then. How much trouble could Gilligan really get into to that I would need to be shielded from?

It's a miracle that I lived to be this old because I was spanked within an inch of my life for misbehaving. Kids today are not spanked or slapped anymore. Even if they try to touch something dangerous or run into the street, corporal punishment is considered wrong. Now parents discuss the wrong-doing with the child and make contractual agreements with 5 year olds about the consequences if the infraction should ever occur again. I was slapped on occasion, spanked from time to time and otherwise punished in addition to being put in solitary confinement to think about what I'd done. How did I ever escape childhood relatively unscathed?

And to think I played with cap guns, and pogo sticks and jump ropes. I could have been burned or impaled or strangled for goodness sake! I faced so much danger and yet... I made it.

I had mumps and measles and chicken pox and, except for the permanent little hole in my forehead from that spot I couldn't stop scratching, I came through all of it.

I feel very fortunate to have lived through so much despite the fact that I didn't have anything to keep me safe and healthy. I am one lucky lady.

Miss Fifi has yet another gift to be thankful for in this life... The privilege of getting older.

Senti-MENTAL Journey

I am writing this from this from Indialantic, Florida, which is right below Orlando. It is 6 o′clock in the morning and I am trying to put my thoughts down on this iPad from my guest bedroom without the benefit of coffee. I am here to help my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Micky and Alana, through a somewhat bittersweet process: selling their home by the sea and moving back to California, where most of the family resides. Their house is going on the market in 2 weeks or so, but before that, a giant estate sale had to take place so I came here to help, both physically and mentally. Just to clarify, I am divorced, but my ex-husband’s family is still MY family. Basically, they kept me and he got to have his girlfriend. I am the big winner in this deal.

“Estate sales are a very emotionally draining experience and it was up to me to be the voice of reason every step of the way.”

Getting ready for a move across country and downsizing considerably is very physically demanding even if you are 35, which we are not. Just setting up to sell a house full of stuff is a huge effort. I conducted estate sales as a sideline for many years, so I know the ropes as to how to get things sold. There is more to it than just the day of the sale. Before anything else can happen, you have to separate what is to be sold from the items that are keepers. This is where the real fun begins and why they really needed me. This is a very emotionally draining experience and it was up to me to be the voice of reason every step of the way. Parting with things you love can be so traumatic and can really mess with your head and heart.

I know from experience how hard this process can be. After my divorce, the family home was sold and I ran my own estate sale. I had lived in the house for 25 years and raised my babies there. I was moving into a place not even half the square footage of my house, so I knew I had to whittle down my belongings. Easier said than done. My poor sister had to be much more than "the voice of reason" with me. She had to perform an intervention on me every time she viewed what I was planning on keeping.

I couldn't imagine myself as a single woman living alone. I couldn't fathom not needing every mixing bowl, vase, platter and tablecloth that I owned. And what about the things that belonged to my loved ones who were no longer on this earth? And all the sweet gifts people had given me through the years? And my collections, for goodness sakes! I had been working on those for decades. My poor sister had to talk me down from the roof on every "treasure" that I insisted on keeping. She was an angel and was very patient with me. I know what Alana was going through and I was determined to get her through this sale with a feeling of relief from being out from under all her stuff and not regretting her choices.

I am the most sentimental fool I know of and my sister-in-law is not far behind me. I had to be gently persuasive when trying to get her to part with things and put them in the sale. She hadn't come to grips with the fact that many of the items she felt she couldn't live without were things she hadn't used in years. My dear brother-in-law, Micky, was no problem at all. He was in charge of getting rid of the endless tools, widgets, electronics, yard equipment and other "testosterone-ish" items that filled the garage and shed. He had way less attachment to his man stuff and was excited to turn them into cash. He kept out of our way and only appeared when he was needed to move something. Micky is a dream man. He made my job easier. Alana is another story.

She really loves and trusts me and listened to my reasoning. She let go of things she really wanted to keep and I was proud of her. I didn't even say anything when I noticed that some items had mysteriously made their way from the "sale" area to the "keep" room. When they go to pack it up, there will be another edit when everything doesn't fit in the moving van and yet another one when they find a place in California and discover they still own too much. It's the natural progression of things and it doesn't seem to end, at least not for me. I have lived in my place for nearly 7 years and I STILL have an ass-load of belongings to get rid of. So who am I to judge?

We held the sale for 3 straight days. We made a nice amount of cash and got rid of tons. Clean up was a breeze. Alana and I hauled an SUV filled with the leftovers to the Goodwill on the last day and she never looked back. Good girl!

This experience was a good one for all of us. I got to visit my beloved beach oasis one more time and be with people I adore. We proved that even old people can "Git 'er done!" with determination, love and a good amount of red wine.

I had such a good time, despite the long hours and hard work. And as a bonus, I get to have their fantastic curio cabinet that I have admired for ages. I kept all my little collections of Murano glass birds, my grandmother's tea cups, my mother's thimbles and so on and I will have a perfect place to display them. Boy, will my sister be surprised to see them again! Wink, wink.

Party On!

They say that postal carriers will brave rain, sleet, snow, and dark of night to deliver the mail. I just did that and more to deliver myself to a surprise party in Virginia last Sunday. One of the people dearest to me turned 80 years old. His beautiful wife gave him a fabulous surprise Sunday brunch at his favorite restaurant. It was an event that dozens of friends and family kept secret for many months despite the fact that many of us are over 50 and can't remember what we had for breakfast, much less remember to lie. You have to be really smart to be a good liar and sadly many of us tripped over our tongues a few times in recent weeks and had to think fast to cover up. Luckily, we made it through and he was speechless when he saw the smiling faces of the sixty people who traveled in the biggest snow of the year to be there. It was an amazing experience and I was honored to attend.

As so often happens with my crazy brain, I started thinking about birthdays. I think they are very exciting but a lot of people don't. I hate it when someone says that their birthday is "just another day". Are you kidding me? That's like saying that the Taj Mahal is just another building. Getting to be another year older should be one of the biggest days of a person's year. The alternative is being dead. I am not planning on doing dead for a long time.

I personally have my black belt in the art of the BIRTHDAY. You know how some people celebrate their birthday for a whole week? I celebrate for an entire month with courteous reminders to my near and dear weeks beforehand as to how many shopping days are left. I was born under the sign of Leo, so the minute the Zodiac goes into my sign on July 23rd, it is officially my birthday until we go into Virgo on August 22nd. My birthday is a big deal to me and so are the birthdays of the people that I care about.

Did you know that more people are born in August than any other month? And more birthdays fall on 0ctober 5th than any other day. February is the slowest month for birthdays. If your birthday is on May 22, then you have the distinction of coming into this world on the slowest day for births.

Do you know why we put candles on a birthday cake? You will know in a minute and if you are ever on Jeopardy! you will be ready if this comes up. The Greeks started the tradition of putting candles on a cake to honor the goddess of the moon, Artemis. The glow of the candles replicated the lunar glow. Pretty cool, huh?

I am especially fond of milestone birthdays which are 13, 16, 21,30,40,50 and 60. After sixty, the milestones come every 5 years—65,70, 75,80 and so on—according to the greeting card people. It makes sense since life becomes more of a craps shoot when you get up there in age. I'm all for it! Birthdays should be fabulous and if yours aren't, you need to make them so.

This article is dedicated to my darling Robert Kamel (yes, you say it just like the animal). You are such a star and you have proven that being kind, helping others, having integrity and a big heart, being a good father, husband and friend plus eating right and going to the gym 3-4 times a week pays off. Did I mention that you are also ridiculously handsome?

Damn, you are too young to be 80!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Bank Deposits

Do you know someone who doesn't ever cook because they don't like to clean up afterwards? I know people who never have parties because they don't want to deal with putting their house back in order when the guests have left. I even have a casual friend who only visits her kids and grand kids at their houses because it's "too much work and mess" to have them at her house.

Nobody really minds packing for a dreamy vacation. You put every item in your suitcase with thoughts of the good times you're going to have. Then you come home, what do you have? A heap of dirty clothes to be sorted, laundered and put away.

You can look at life this way or you can look at it MY way. I never mind for a minute the dirty dishes or pots and pans that come with cooking a great meal for my loved ones. I give parties and have get-togethers at the drop of a hat and quite enjoy cleaning up when it's over. When my grandchildren come and stay it takes me weeks to get back to normal after their visit. I find cheesy Goldfish crackers in between sofa cushions and stepped-on Crayons in rooms where no coloring went on, as far as I know. Finding these treasures brings me back to the days when my own babies were running around the house, and I always smile.

Here's how I differ from how most people operate. Whenever I am undoing "the doings" and cleaning up, I am as content as a pussycat basking in the sun. Why, you ask? Because when the fun was going on, I made a huge deposit to my memory bank. So when I'm scrubbing and sweeping or marching the beer bottles to the recycle bin, I am thinking about all that went on, who I got to be with and the memories that I now own and can revisit forever. It makes the work that goes along with having a full life absolutely painless. Enjoying cleaning up the aftermath only takes a good healthy deposit to your memory bank account when you are in the moment of all the fun. When it comes to getting down to business after the good times are over, you can make a withdrawal from your memory bank and clean up is a joy. I always enjoy putting my world back together as a good part of the whole experience because I get to relive and reflect on every bit of fun I had.

This weekend I am facing the Granddaddy of all clean up jobs when the good times are over. It's time to take down the Christmas decorations. I refuse to let it get me down, because taking all the twinkling lights out of my life for another year could be depressing, if I let it. But each time I take an ornament down from the tree I will think about where it came from or who gave it to me before I wrap it and put it away. Every one of my decorations has a history or a special meaning and I get to channel all those wonderful feelings as I put everything away. Throughout the Christmas season, my deposits to my bank of memories are big ones. I get to enjoy most of the people I love in person, follow our family's traditions and spend wondrous amounts of time taking in the joys of the season. My memories are rich and beautiful and I get to visit them again and again as I pack up my decorations until next year. I honestly don't mind the full day it takes to get it all put away.

Your memories are one of the most important things you own. Keep them safe and pure. Bank them and pull them out when you need them. My memories have gotten me through some rough times and always remind me how lucky I am.

Have a happy and healthy New Year to all my beloved readers.

P.S. Before I put it away, take a look at what Fifi's house looks like at Christmas. I can't wait until I am old enough (and crazy enough) to keep it looking like this all year long.

Hello, My Darlings...

By the time you read this, Christmas Day will be over and the last of the Hanukkah candles will have been lit. I hope your holiday was joyful and that you are enjoying these days leading up to the New Year.

I'm writing on this Christmas Eve Eve and the last of my expected Christmas purchases has arrived at the office. I will wrap it and get it under the tree tonight. I definitely have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. I am pretty proud of myself for having such a good attitude. Yesterday, I drove my oldest daughter, her husband and my 2 1/2 year old granddaughter to the airport so they can spend Christmas in New York with my son-in-law's family. I was upbeat all the way and only cried when I got back in the car. I came back to work only to learn that Joe Cocker had died. Very sad for one of his biggest fans. When I got home, I got a bill in the mail that threw me for loop. I could have let all this get to me, but I didn't. I reflected on the fact that I will indeed have Christmas with my children and grandchildren when my oldest one returns. We have postponed our Christmas, present opening and all, to the day after New Year's Day. It just won't be on the 25th, but it will be Christmas. I also remembered that I got to see Joe Cocker in concert about 7 years ago. He couldn't have been more amazing. And the bill? I will take a big girl pill and pay it.

As I get older, it takes more and more to make me distressed. One of the gifts of maturity is knowing how to manage and sort out things that don't feel good. At the same time, I have come to appreciate things that elevate my good nature and make me smile. A sweet friend of mine gave me the best present recently. She had given the same gift, a special handmade pair of earrings, to another one of our friends and I admired the gift greatly. I may have even whined a bit. I absolutely loved these earrings, so before long I had my own pair. They make me so damn happy. There is something about them that makes me forget when I am feeling sad or bad or conflicted. They are magical. I wore them today because I needed to and since they are really Christmas earrings, I am probably going to have to stop wearing them at some point and go cold turkey. I will find some more magic somewhere else. I always do. That's the trick to staying happy.

I will certainly wear my special earrings on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which will be very different for me this year. Because one child was away, I encouraged the others to spend time with the husbands/boyfriends family. Whatever happens, it is all good. I think I have this grown up thing down pretty well. It gets easier all the time.

Be happy, healthy and full of love.

Branching Out

For the last 10 days I have had the luxury of sitting in the passenger seat of a very fancy SUV and watching the world go by. My sister did all the driving from Atlanta to Cleveland, where we arrived a few hours ago. We took our time along the way and stopped wherever we felt like stopping. Our route took us through two national parks, miles of pastoral scenery, alongside placid lakes and rushing rivers. I saw a million postcard-worthy views of this beautiful country. I had time to get lost in my thoughts and come down from a life at home that is wonderful, but often crazy busy and jam-packed with stress. Every day has been both an adventure and a dream. The whole trip was planned out perfectly so all we had to do was show up to our next destination and enjoy the sights in between. We shopped, we antiqued, we dined at local eateries and we took in the points of interest at our own pace.

If all that wasn't blissful enough, sister and I got lots of time together in the car to talk. Between the oohs and aahs of appreciation for the exquisite scenery, we talked and planned and even schemed a bit. We kept the CD player playing our favorite songs and we snacked on goodies we don't indulge in often. Skittles never tasted so good. We got up in the morning whenever we woke up. No alarms, no wake up calls. We followed our whims and did what we felt like doing. After over a week of living like this I can truthfully say that being irresponsible is highly underrated.

This is a trip I will never forget for many reasons. I think my brain and my body have finally learned to truly relax. Sitting there and appreciating the wonders of nature while traveling down the road with no demands on my time has been so good for me. All I had to do was suck in all the beauty of my surroundings and let my mind run with it. And that's just what I did.

From the moment that we hit the road, I have marveled at the trees. It's fall, so the trees along the way were particularly spectacular. The more trees I saw, the more I thought about them. No matter where we traveled, the trees were amazing. I thought about how long it took them to grow to be so tall and grand. I thought about the significance of trees in our lives. They shade us from the heat, they give texture and beauty to every landscape, they make a brilliant playground for kids and squirrels and their trunks provide a permanent monument for lovers carving their words of undying love.

This trip has opened up these green eyes to so much and I am so grateful for the experience. I have even seen the true meaning of what Brenda Bettencourt wrote in huge writing on the first page of my high school yearbook. I was a little insulted at the time but now realize what a fantastic compliment she gave me.

"Remember the mighty oak tree was once a nut like you."

These words are now music to my ears. Thank you Brenda for likening me to something so awesome.

Minimal Husbandry

I don't think it's any secret that I am divorced. I take care of everything myself or at least that's what people think. My house is in good order. Nothing is broken or in disrepair. My garden is lovely. My car is well-maintained. My finances are orderly. How do I do all this and still run LoveFifi.com? I couldn't do it without my husbands. That's right, my husbands... plural. Yes, I am indeed divorced. I was married for a very long time to a good man who honestly was best at making a living. He couldn't fix a thing. He didn't know a socket wrench from a screwdriver and had no desire to learn, so I figured out early on that if something broke, it was my job to find someone who could do the repair and not cost a fortune. It was kind of that way with everything. He was very important, so I took care of maintaining our life. I also had a career and a truck load of kids to take care of but I am not complaining. Actually in a weird way, my marriage prepared me for being single and on my own at this time of my life.

Back to my husbands. When you are in charge of a lot of "departments" let's call them, such as when running a household, you have to have a team of people that you can rely on at a moment's notice. I was always on the lookout for honest and talented people who could do the things we couldn't. I asked a lot of questions, nosed around a bit, and before long, I had quite a repertoire of butchers, bakers and candlestick makers who could take care of our needs. It got to the point that I had a killer list of plumbers, electricians, gardeners, handy guys and more who were tested and had my seal of approval. I was Angie's List long before Angie ever thought of it. If somebody I know needed a dependable person to fix or build something, or a good affordable mechanic or a tree trimmer, they would call me. The one thing that I was always most grateful for was that even when these guys got super busy because of my recommendations, they always took care of me and my family immediately.

Then comes 2007. I get a divorce. I buy a place of my own in another neighborhood. I am alone. It's not like I was married to a handyman and went through "fix it" shock as I was now used to finding someone else to do it. It turned out to be a blessing that I was married to the unhandiest man in the universe and it was then that I realized that I held the key to a happy life as a single woman. So once again, as I settled into my new life and my new home, I found talented and reliable guys to take care of the things that I can't do or don't care to do. Once I find someone great, I add them to my list, but this time I don't share them with the world. What I do is take care of them. I always offer coffee, cold drinks and food when one of my wonderful workers is doing something for me. I turn sports on the TV in every room in the house. They like to fix things for me and make me happy just like a husband does. That's what I have been told, but I have never been involved with a man who could fix anything so I wouldn't know for sure. But in apple pie America, that's what I hear goes on in homes.

So I affectionately call these men my husbands. It takes a lot of them doing everything really well to make me happy. No one man could ever come close and it works out well. I have my Handy Man Husband, Pete. He takes his coffee with heavy cream and two sugars. He has a key to my house and if something breaks, I can call him from work and he can fix it when I am not home. Sometimes I don't even see him and whatever it is gets fixed as if by magic. My Gardening Husband, Carlos (black coffee or Coca Cola... I stock both), not only trims, prunes, fertilizes my flowers, he fills up my bird feeders and waters for me when I am out of town. I have a Mechanic Husband, Sandy, who'd really like to be my husband, so I play it a little cooler with him. I don't know how he takes his coffee and I never will. I am just sweet and funny and give him lots of smiles and gratefulness. He has a giant crush on me and calls me personally to let me know when it's time for my car to be serviced. He has rescued me many times and done miracles so I wouldn't be without a vehicle. Believe it or not, I have a Manicure Husband, Kenny. Yep, the person who does my nails is a man. His beautiful wife Eve does my pedicures, so everything is Kosher. I do allow my husbands to have real wives, as long as they treat us both well. I have a Dog Groomer Husband, Jason. He delivers my dogs to me at the house if I need him too. I am his favorite customer because I have brought him a ton of business and he loves my dogs. I have a husband for every task a person has to endure to get things done. I don't know what collective noun you would use to describe my congregation of husbands. Well, it's a gaggle of geese, a pride of lions, a flush of ducks and a pod of whales. A herd of husbands, maybe?

Anyway, I am very well taken care of and I take very good care of my guys. All I need now is a husband husband who can devote his time to loving me, making me laugh, kissing me, hugging me and I will gladly do the same for him. And the good news is that he doesn't have to do much around the house. My husbands are all happily married, so I don't think much will change.

Honestly, finding a real husband for me is easier than finding, let's say... a good electrician. But finding a real husband would entail dating unless things have changed. I hate dating. You know, I think I will see if Angie can recommend a husband husband for me. Her recommendation service has come a long way and you never know.

Junk For Joy

The big garage sale extravaganza is over. After 3 weekends of hard labor to prepare the merchandise and stage all of our glorious crap, the big day finally arrived. Sister and I took a vacation day on Friday so we would be completely ready to face the crowds of bargain hunters on Saturday.

We advertised this as "the garage sale of the century" and the bargain hunters arrived in droves. Sister and I were dressed in proper attire for the event. You have to be easily identifiable as the bosses if you're going to make the best deals and the most money. Sissy and I exuded an "in charge" vibe with a touch badass thrown in, if I do say so myself. We were decked out in jeans, old concert t-shirts, cowboy hats and fanny packs. Ok, maybe we looked more like tourists from Texas, but people got it that we were running the show.

The customers dove into our merchandise and had arm loads of goodies in no time. It was amazing. You'd think we were giving it away for free. Actually, that is a pretty close to what they wanted to pay. One of the hottest items were the dozens of extra-plush, nearly new, (freshly washed) terry cloth bath towels. These weren't ours. We have a friend who's aunts neighbor died and she had a closet full of really deluxe towels in different color palettes that she would change around to suit her mood. We agreed to sell her stuff and take a cut of the proceeds. Every two minutes someone would hold up a towel and ask "how much?". "Two dollars each", I would reply thinking about what a great deal that was for such nice towels. Anyway, the reply from the prospective towel purchasers was always the same. "One dollar" and it was a statement, not a question. I was advised by many customers that they sell bath towels at Wal-Mart for only $2.50, so our towels were overpriced. I have watch too much QVC to let them get away comparing those towels with our fabulous, luxurious, dead-lady towels. I sprung into action and held up one of our towels then wrapped it around me to show how large they were. I then challenged them to feel the sumptuous thickness. I had to do this demo a bunch of times during the day, but we got two bucks for every one of those damn towels.

Garage sale customers are a breed of their own. One thing you can be sure of when you have one of these sales is that you will go through a laundry list of emotions. You will feel charmed, annoyed, sentimental, pissed off and amused. The folks that come to these things range from those who truly need basic household items, to the swap meeters who resell your junk, to recyclers who love other peoples used stuff to nut cases who don't need anything but love bargains. It is that latter philosophy that got sister and I into our current situation. Oh yeah, there's also the scrap gold guys who come around, look at your costume jewelry through a loop and leave in a huff. Love those jerks. One man even asked me if there was any real gold on the table. He was too lazy to look! I couldn't resist; I told him, in my best blonde "Clueless" voice, that I had just sold the bag of stuff that had 14k on it to someone who was just here. He left in a double huff.

Then there are the people who pretend they don't speak English. I had one lady who brought me a pile of clothes, many still brand new, and wanted to know the price for all. I counted out 25 hangers that I took from her. I was calculating in my head and trying to be fair. Even though the tags were still hanging off much of it, this stuff doesn't fit us and neither sister nor I are going to slim down 10 lbs to be able to wear any of it. That was the original plan. "Twenty dollars for everything," I said with a smile, thinking that she would be over the moon excited about all those new clothes for so little money. "Too much," she said with a scowl. She then flashed all the money she had, $15, and tried to get me to take it. I could see that she was playing me, so I made her take out some items and I took her money. She came back later and bought the other stuff. I felt triumphant as a business person. Then she pulled out a bag with two items from the first round that she wanted to exchange. Who does that? I let her. By then I was exhausted. She won.

There were so many neighborhood residents who came and told us how amazing our sale was. We sold lots of things to locals who will give our treasures a good home. We made a lot of people happy and all in all it was a very fun day. We got rid of so much stuff. Was it worth it? Was it a success?

Well, we made an impressive four figures. The pile of garage sale inventory is infinitely smaller, covered up and ready to go for when we do it one more time next month. My sister has her garage back and her car is happy. I need to mention that the friend that was going to help us bailed on us and we had to hire a helper. Also, after three weekends of manual labor our old bodies were in pretty bad shape, so we each had a long massage on Sunday. We were too tired to cook, so we ended up eating out most of the time for the last three weeks. So, was it a success? Hell yes! We made a little money and got rid of a ton of things we don't use. Best of all was that the two sisters got spend time together. We didn't whistle while we worked, but we yakked up a storm. We talked about everything and everyone and planned out all the great fun we're going to have in this life. And don't tell anyone, but each of us got to buy some fantastic things that we couldn't live without. The dead lady didn't just leave nice towels.

Falling In Love Again

I am feeling dreamy right now. Come along with me on the ride. You will love where we're going... I promise. I am deliriously happy and exhilarated right now. I am admittedly high. Have I taken some kind of potion or eaten some kind of wacky brownies? No, no, no. It's October! It's officially FALL.

I am mad for this time of year. Everything about it is fantastic. Considering that I live in Southern California where summer and hot weather hang on for as long as they can, snippets of the fall season to come break through the heat to let me know that my favorite time of year is arriving. Although the temperature was in the 80s yesterday, there was a cool breeze wafting through, starting in the late afternoon. By early evening it had cooled down into the 60s. The night was clear and crisp outside when I sat on my patio after dinner with my last cup of tea before bed.

What is it about fall that intoxicates me so? Let me tell you... you know you can't stop me.

It's the crisp air. It's the delicious aromas of logs being burned in fireplaces when you walk the dog. It's the exquisite colors of the leaves turning and so much more. I am not a big fan of football but you don't have to ask me twice to go to a game with a group of friends. Fall is all about football and tailgating and having a great time. I am actually pretty good at feigning excitement at football games. Even though I never know which inning it is, I am usually eating or drinking something and looking happy. I have had my friends fooled for years.

Speaking of eating and drinking, the food of fall is amazing. Traditionally harvest time, the cuisine turns from summer salads to warm foods that are hearty and robust. Soups, stews and freshly baked bread. Love it!

One of my favorite things about this time of the year are the clothes. I have more sweaters than I like to admit and I just took the bins down from the storage shelves and visited with every pullover and cardigan I own. Soon I will get to wear them and I can't wait. My dogs will be able to wear their many sweaters, too, and they can't wait either. There's something about wrapping yourself in a sweater that feels so special. And pulling on a pair of boots only makes it better. You just don't get that feeling when you throw on shorts, a tank top and flip flops. I'm sorry, but you just don't.

With fall comes Halloween and pumpkins and all that. People are decorating the outside of their houses more and more and it makes me smile. I will be in Virginia this Halloween so I will get a big dose of fall on the East Coast of the United States. It doesn't get any better than that. One of my dear friends who lives on a huge farm is having us to dinner followed by a bonfire and after dinner drinks. Dreamy!

I do love Halloween and it will be fun to experience it so far from home. People who know me know that I am a crazy good gramma and are probably wondering how I could possibly leave my grand babies on Halloween. They are 2 1/2 and just-turned-7. I always buy them their costumes so they are all set. I have already earned my stripes in the Trick or Treating department years ago with my girls, so I won't be needed there. When they are out gathering up goodies, I will be sitting on my best friends back porch sipping wine and listening to Mozart. My babies will FaceTime me in their costumes before they go out with their parents. I will get a slew of fabulous photos of my own little Elsa, from Frozen, and Spider-Man and will be able to share these images with all of Virginia. Everybody wins.

I want to warn the über-intellectuals who read my columns that my next fall favorite might not make any sense to either of you. I love the new Fall Television Season! I look forward to finding new shows to watch on the regular networks. You can't watch cable all the time. I need some drama and comedy to intermix with my regular diet of real life crime and house flipping.

At the top of my list of why I love fall is that soon I can come home in the evening and light a fire. There is something about a crackling fire that soothes me and makes me so content. The only thing that could make it better is if I had a fireplace. Just kidding! I have a great one but I made you laugh.

Taking a Tranquil-izer

I just finished my third week of yoga and I really love it. It has been a pretty life changing experience for me so far. One of the life lessons I never learned was how to relax, so the prospect of getting to the point of being “at one” with myself and the universe seemed nearly impossible for this crazy girl.

I owe a lot of my positive feelings about yoga to my yogi, my teacher. Before I met her, my only knowledge of a yogi was the one who was a bear and had a sidekick named Boo Boo. She is an older woman who speaks in poetry and never hesitates or falters. Her words are seamless and flow in continuous perfection every minute of class time.

On my first night, I got there what I thought was right on time. It was 10 minutes before the start of class. I was surprised when I found the room and there were already 15-20 pairs of assorted Birkenstocks, sandals and flip flops all lined up. I knew I was in the right place until I removed my shoes and added them to the rows of discarded footwear. When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.

“When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.”

I entered the dark-ish room and everyone was sitting in what I now recognize as the lotus position. The teacher welcomed me and beckoned me to find a place for my mat. Easier said than done, I want to tell you. I have had more luck finding a parking place at Macy’s on Christmas Eve day than finding a space in the makeshift yoga studio. It seems that the room is normally used as the playroom for child care. It’s carpeted, but all those places were taken. All that was left for me was a space in the linoleum lined “kitchenette” alcove behind the teacher. At least I was alone and wouldn’t be bumping arms and legs with anyone. Even the cushy new yoga mat I had just purchased at Marshall’s couldn’t protect my old body from the hard floor. As she began her melodious instructions, I had a hard time paying attention at first because the man in front of me was taking up two spaces on the carpeted area and it pissed me off. I quickly got a hold of myself and paid attention, although I was finding great pleasure in plotting the carpet hog's death.

The hard floor made everything hurt but I listened attentively to her direction. “Cultivate stillness in your life”, she purred. “With yoga you have the power to break through that which holds you back”. I liked the sound of that and did everything I could to emulate what everyone else was doing. She had us lie down and asked us to “flower” our toes. It didn’t take me long to realize that there was a yoga-speak that went along with the yoga routines. I had to listen really closely because the sweet yogi lady spoke very softly and the boom box with the accompanying yoga music was right over my head on the kitchen counter. She then asked us to raise our knees towards heaven with feet planted on the floor. “Establish a friendship with the floor”, she prompted. She then took us from the tops of our heads, down the back, hips and to the feet with feeling our relationship with the floor. I kept thinking that the floor and I could have gotten off to a better start if I were on carpet, but I did as she asked for the next hour. I muddled my way through the first class and she had only praise for all of us and thanked us all profusely for allowing her to teach us. Thank goodness she couldn’t see my sprattle-legged attempts to follow along. I may not have made friends with the floor, but the kitchenette cupboards and fridge and I are very well acquainted.

The next week was so much better. I got there 20 minutes early and got the best mat space in the room. I close enough to the teacher to see and hear her. Even though this was described as a class appropriate for beginners, most of the participants were obviously yoga veterans. When it came time to do the pigeon pose, my teacher promised it would be a gift to the hips. My hips probably won’t write her a thank you note, but I did feel things I have never felt before and I liked it. By the middle of the second night, I had thrown my heart and soul into trying to do yoga. I was feeling pretty good about it when all of a sudden the teacher rose to her feet and started to roam around the class room watching us. Who do you think she sought out first? Me. Oh crap, I thought. She is coming to personally escort me to Special Ed Yoga. But no, she just wanted to “align” my movements. As she looked directly, but very nurturingly at me, she told the class to draw attention to the core of our bodies, the epicenter of all movement. She smiled at me like she understood that my core had quite a little tummy that went with it and not to worry.

I will tell you that when you get into to doing yoga you cannot be shy. You spend a great deal of time with your ass in the air and your legs fully apart like a human wishbone. None of my gynecological appointments ever made me feel as exposed or vulnerable. My biggest revelation is that even though I am a damn good dancer, I cannot coordinate yoga moves with breathing in and out. If we are supposed to be lowering our arms and legs on the exhale, you can be sure that I am on the inhale. But I am getting better and I must be really honest. Even though I am awkward and stupid when it comes to yoga, I feel fantastic afterwards.

Right now my favorite pose is Savasana, or the corpse pose. You lie down at the end of the session, close your eyes, hands at the side with palms up. You let your bones sink into the earth, allow your whole body to melt like ice on a sunny day and think to yourself “welcome into the world of bliss”. You get to stay like this and enjoy the peace until she gently rings little brass bells. It’s fantastic.

We all rise up into lotus, put our hands together prayer style pointed towards the sky and say Namaste. When I went home, I looked up the word and it translates as follows: Nama means bow; as means I; and te means you. I bow to you.

Your Miss Fifi is becoming “at one” with the world and it feels so good. Talk to you next week. Namaste, my dear readers, Namaste.

Health and Welfare

I went to the doctor a few weeks ago and prepared myself for the lecture about losing weight and getting more exercise. He’s like a broken record. No matter what I go to him for, it always gets back to losing at least 20 pounds and exercising regularly. I don’t know what he’s complaining about, I have lost 20 lbs... many times over. And I have actually been trying different exercise regimens all the time to try to find something that I like enough that I’ll stick with it. The problem is that his take on exercising regularly and mine seem to differ. He’s talking Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I have been actively searching for “cardio” programs more on the January, February, March kinda schedule.

So I was sitting in the examination room dreading his entrance, when in comes the nurse. Tell me, what is up with sending in a nurse beforehand who takes your blood pressure and asks you every freakin’ time what medications you are taking? You would think they'd know. "I take the ones the damn doctor prescribes", I was thinking to myself. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? But I didn’t want to make waves so I took out the little card I made with all my prescriptions and dosages and read them out loud so the nurse could make notes... AGAIN.

“Is your primary care physician allowed to call you a smart ass?”

Alone once more, there was a knock on the door. It was him. He always enters the same way. Reading my chart, shaking his head and mumbling. “ Miss Fifi... you’ve lost a pound and a half since your last visit”, he grumbled. Without hesitation, I exuberantly applauded myself for a job well done while he give me a very unkind look. Is your primary care physician allowed to call you a smart ass? Just wondering. He obviously wasn’t impressed with my weight loss, so I promised to work on it. And I always do work on it, but I also work on putting it back on with just as much conviction. He then asks me what I do for exercise. I knew this question was coming and I was prepared. “I started water aerobics”, I replied, hoping that would appease him. I avoided eye contact to try to keep the conversation from going any further. The truth is I actually stopped water aerobics the same day I started. I liked it except for the fact that I don’t like wearing a swimsuit and I hate getting wet. I did love it that I was the youngest person in the class, however.

“Water Arobics!” That’s not the kind of exercise you need!” he bellowed. “Listen to me!” he continued to bark. “If it were up to me, I would have chosen yoga for you!”. Was I dreaming? He would have frozen yogurt for me? When? Where? What flavors? Is this while I am exercising or after? It didn’t take me long to realize that he was recommending yoga. He felt that Hatha Yoga was something I would benefit from greatly, both in body and soul. I couldn’t disagree. I had dabbled in brief yoga sessions before on cruise ships and really did like it. Of course, heading to the buffet afterwards may have had something to do with it. I speak Yoga-ese enough to know that Hatha is the calming, stretching, get-in-touch-with-your-body-and-spirit kind of yoga. I almost got rooked into joining my youngest daughter for a yoga session a few years ago. I didn’t know about different kinds of yoga until she left a voice message reminding me about our date for “Pilgrim” Yoga. I called her back and inquired as to what Pilgrim Yoga was all about. It turns out that I misunderstood what she said and it is called Bikram Yoga. It involves doing yoga moves in a room that is heated to 105 degrees. I gently declined the invitation although my daughter insisted that I would find it to be a joyous and "freeing" experience. Bless her heart! All I could think about was what could be worse than exercise? Exercising in the DESERT, was my immediate thought. Whew! Talk about dodging a bullet.

My doctor and I discussed the virtues of yoga and I promised to give it a try. It couldn’t hurt me and it might even help my soul and my stress level. My appointment seemed to be going well and he was actually slightly delightful. I thought he was leaving, but instead he sat down, opened my folder and looked at the notes that the nurse had just taken. “So, are you still taking Sillystatin, Yadamycin and Gooberglycol?” he said with a straight face, making certain to include the dosages. It took everything in me to answer him calmly without affirming his “smart ass” diagnosis of me. I wanted to say “Nah, I don’t take them anymore. I just fill the prescriptions and what I can’t sell on the Black Market, I am able to get rid of in alley ways.” But I didn’t. I just smiled and promised to eat less cookies and look for a suitable yoga class.

I start tonight. I have a brand new yoga mat and I am waiting to see what everyone else is wearing so that if I continue, I have the cutest yoga clothes in the class. To be continued...

Vegas, Baby!

I think I mentioned that I just returned home from a 3 day buying trip in Las Vegas. They hold these huge trade shows for women’s clothing and underclothing. For anyone who has been fortunate enough to never have attended a trade show, it’s pretty exhausting and at some point it all starts looking the same. Not complaining.. We found fabulously fantastic stuff for LoveFifi, so it’s more than worth it. I can’t wait to show you what’s coming.

Anyway, let’s talk about Las Vegas. I go there often for business and because it’s only 4 hours away from me by car, I also go there to have fun. It’s truly a fascinating place and it’s changed so much. When I was a kid, my parents would go to get away from us kids. My mom would pack her fanciest clothes and my dad would take a variety of outfits including a coat and tie. They may have taken swimsuits, but all the photos they brought back were of them at different places all dolled up. It seems that they looked pretty snazzy day and night. Even in their shots at Hoover Dam, they looked casually chic. To us kids, their weekend trips to Las Vegas were very mysterious, indeed. We always surmised that there must have been some monkey business going on because they came back in a great mood and always brought us back really cool stuff. If they felt guilty, I didn’t care. My first cardigan with rhinestone trim came from one of their Vegas getaways. I had the only "bling" in my 5th grade class and I was the envy of every girl. I think even my teacher lusted after that sweater. Good times.

Now it’s a whole different story. People don’t dress up during the day at all. It's all shorts and t-shirts and flip flops for the most part. I was of gambling age when people still got decked out on trips to Vegas. Sequins during the day were perfectly acceptable. Considering how over-the-top everything is in that town, it’s kind of odd to see people dressed like they are about to wash their car. The place is so damn glamorous; the people should match the whole ambiance. Don’t you think?

I was of gambling age when people still got decked out on trips to Vegas. Sequins during the day were perfectly acceptable.

As everyone knows, it’s easy to get married in Nevada because there is no blood test or waiting period. There are 16 wedding chapels on or near the strip. Somewhere around 10,000 couples a month tie the knot in Las Vegas. I have never been to an actual wedding at one of these chapels, but one of my best friends had a renewal ceremony on her 20th anniversary at the chapel where an Elvis impersonator officiates. It was so much fun. I don’t think anyone stopped giggling throughout the whole thing. They played the theme to 2001 A Space Odyssey just like they did for The King when he entered the arena. “Elvis” walked my girlfriend down the aisle. She had gone to the beauty shop earlier in the day and had her hair bouffant-ed out within an inch of its life to resemble Priscilla on her wedding day. If that wasn’t enough of a shock, you should have seen the look on the groom's face. He had no idea what she’d been up to.

The Elvis guy was great and really looked like the older, fluffier Elvis. My favorite part was during the actual vows when he asked the groom "Do you, Benjamin Stern, you hunka hunka burning love, take this woman to be your wife for the rest of your life?" Ben couldn’t even speak he was laughing so hard. It was so adorable. These friends always celebrate life’s milestones with an extravaganza and this one was spectacular. Elvis then sang them out of the chapel with "Viva Las Vegas!". My friends just celebrated their 35th anniversary, so their Elvis wedding seems to b working great.

Okay, getting back to the way people dress in Las Vegas, there is one exception to the casual dress rule and it drives me crazy. Of course Las Vegas is a popular place with the young, over-21 crowd. They come in droves over the weekends to party down. I actually stopped staying at the Hard Rock after I saw a girl in a thong bikini bathing suit in the taxi line in front of the hotel. I had an epiphany at the moment that I was really too old to stay there. What if I had decided to go swimming? How could I ever blend in with the crowd in my one-piece bathing suit with the skirt at the bottom?

These young party animals are unavoidable, but they are pretty interesting species to watch in action. The girls have kind of a uniform for going out at night. The dresses are as tight and short as possible and the must-have accessory for all of them are the platform 6” stiletto-heeled shoes. These ladies are easy to spot. They travel in groups and few of them can actually walk in their shoes. I sometimes am stuck behind a gaggle of them heading out for the evening and fantasize about what if one of the ones on the end tipped over on the girl next to her. It would be a domino effect extraordinaire, and the best part would be watching them trying to get up in those dresses. I know... I am mean.

Sometimes these ladies meet up with their boyfriends and this is what really bugs me. The guys are never dressed up. Only the women seem to have a dress code for clubbing, etc. The women are dressed borderline slutty and their guys look like they are off to play basketball at the park. What has happened to fashion? I keep flashing on those snapshots of my parents in Las Vegas so beautifully dressed from years ago.

As it turns out, when I am in Vegas, my normal 9:30 bedtime gets extended into the wee hours. Those same girls are now plowed and it isn’t uncommon to see one bare-footed, holding her skyscraper shoes and throwing up into the casino’s trash bin. Very sexy. They all end up carrying those stupid shoes at the end of the evening. Not one of those females seems to be able to make it through the night, even the ones who aren’t drunk.

On this last trip, my sister ran into the cutest couple. She was complaining about her shoes and he started teasing her about it. All of a sudden he threw off his sneakers, gave them to her to wear and he put on her “pole dancer” shoes to prove a point. My sister asked if she could take a photo. I love Vegas, this would never happen anywhere else. I hope the couple doesn’t really believe that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. This article is going out to 50,000 of you, so that’s not exactly true. Take a look below. Pretty cute, huh?

Heartstrings

Usually, saying funny things is second nature to me, but not today. I have taken the death of Robin Williams pretty hard. My friend Laine posted this on Facebook and I think her sentiments are perfect. “I feel like I have lost a family member”. When famous people die, I think we all think about what they have added to the world and feel sorry for their families. But for me, this has been a tough year.

When Maya Angelou passed away, I was saddened because I really love her. She gave me so much through her writing. I took comfort in the fact that she lived a long, rich life and worked until her body just gave out. To me she is one of the greatest philosophers of all time. I quote her often and find constant strength in her words.

She is sitting on my shoulder when I write. I am in no way comparing what I write to what Maya has written... that would be like comparing Shakespeare to the guy who writes blurbs for inside fortune cookies. But she set me free a long time ago, to say what was on my mind, to be proud to be a woman with a voice, and to be kind. She also didn’t trust people who didn’t know how to laugh. But the best thing about Maya was the insightful way she viewed life. She gave the world so much. She gave me unmeasurable amounts of wisdom that are now a part of who I am.

“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel”. “I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles 3 things. A rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas tree lights.” - MAYA ANGELOU

Losing James Garner last month had a different kind of sadness for me. My daddy loved him. Watching the Rockford Files as a family was a big deal. My dad always said that James Garner was a man’s man and my dad was one too, so he would know. For anyone who saw his last acclaimed piece of work, The Notebook, Garner’s portrayal of a man in love with his ailing Alzheimer’s stricken wife was heart wrenching and beautiful. If you didn’t know, James Garner was married to the same woman for 58 years in real life. He also marched with Martin Luther King in the Jobs and Freedom March in 1963, when his acting career was in full swing and he had a lot to lose. And if you aren’t convinced that he cared about his country and its people, James Garner fought on the front lines in Korea, was wounded twice and was awarded two Purple Hearts. A man’s man and a woman’s man all rolled into one. His passing made me miss my father so much more.

And now Robin Williams is gone. From the very first time I saw him on Happy Days, I was in love. His wack-a-doo quirkiness as Mork was intoxicating. Robin was an incredibly funny stand-up comedian, but he gave something to acting that it had never seen before. Because Robin was such a genius ad libber, his prepared dialogue in his movie scripts was often abandoned because what came out of his mind and then his mouth was so much better. Brilliant doesn’t even begin to describe this man. He was a giver. He was one of the brains behind Comic Relief. The out pouring of love and heartfelt sentiments from the world prove what he meant to so many of us.

I was lucky enough to see him perform twice. About 20 years ago I was at the Improv in Hollywood and he stopped by to do an impromptu set. He was hilarious and adorable. But the best was when I went out to wait for my car at the valet; he was waiting, too. There were a dozen people there so I didn’t have to worry about making conversation, but it was exciting to be so close to someone I idolized. The second time was when I saw him perform live at a fundraiser a few years ago. He was on stage for over an hour and my face hurt from laughing for days afterwards. It was fabulous. From what I know, people always depended on him to help raise money for worthy causes.

It is hard not to think about how he left this world. He wasn’t almost 90 like Maya and James. He was in tremendous pain, emotionally. I have no idea what depression feels like, but I know what it looks like. I have a daughter who suffers every day from either being depressed, anxious or not liking the feeling of being on mood elevating drugs. She is working hard to overcome it, but it is extremely hard. She was the one I heard from first when the news of Robin was announced.

It is my hope that in his death, there will be a new awareness and understanding from people who don’t comprehend how overpowering the sadness can be for the people who struggle with mental illness. I hope great strides are made in his name and in his memory. For now, I am clinging to remembering him for being a comedic genius, stellar actor and unselfish humanitarian. I don’t have to say much because the tributes to him as a talent and a man are pouring in from all over the world.

Forgive me for not being funny today. I am just not feeling it. If you are still reading, thank you for sticking this out with me. I am going to Las Vegas on a buying trip. The big garment shows are there next week. When I come back, I shall be filled with humorous tales about Sin City. It’s the greatest people watching place in the world. And, lucky me, I get to go to a trade show on my birthday. I guess there is an age when your birthday is not a big deal, but I haven’t reached it yet. Have a great week.

After Midnight

I never thought this would happen to me, but I have become an insomniac. I go to bed after a long day, curl up with my doggies, and drift into a deep sleep. Then, somewhere around 3:07, I wake up. Not the kind of "wake up" where you look around, check out the time, and then go back to sleep. The kind of wake up when you get out of bed and unload the dishwasher. It's annoying.

I am so wide awake and bored. I turn on the TV and try to find something that will lull me back to sleep; I have to get up in the morning and go to work. The wee hours are filled with a lot of wacky stuff on television. I find the reruns of King of Queens and Everybody Loves Raymond hilarious even before dawn. The only trouble is... I find myself laughing out loud and that feels completely weird in the still of the night. And the worst part is that my dogs can't tell time yet and they think it's time to be awake and play. Before I know it, my day is in full swing and the sun is coming up. By the time I have to leave for work, I am exhausted.

This has been going on for months and it is messing with my quality of life. My doctor says that people over 50 don't need as much sleep. I need it, I'm just not getting it. I have tried taking a hot bath before bed and it works great. Until 3:07. Then I am wide awake. I had to stop watching QVC and HSN, because I think I need everything at that time of the morning. New make-up to brighten up my face? Yes, please. A 50-foot hose that shrivels up into a prune to make gardening easier? Count me in! Pots and pans that make cooking effortless and practically clean themselves? GOODNESS, YES! You can talk me into most anything at dawn when I can already feel fatigue setting in and the real day hasn't started.

The television keeps me company when I know that sleep is eluding me. I used to feel guilty and get up and start organizing a drawer or a closet. I would dig stuff out, discover treasures I hadn't seen in ages and then poop out in the middle only to wake up to a big pile of stuff that I would end up just putting back until another time. Sometimes I play casino games on my iPad and that helps make me sleepy. I just broke $200,000,000 on my slot game and if that were real money, I wouldn't have to worry about work ever again.

I have found that just staying in bed is the best thing to do, but it is important to be careful what I watch in the middle of the night. I used to favor shows like Forensic Files and SNAPPED, but those aren't the best going-to-sleep kind of shows for a woman alone. Being scared does not make for sweet dreams.

Speaking of scary, I found myself intrigued with an infomercial as I was scanning the stations a few weeks ago. It was nearly 4:30 a.m. and I was still awake. This blonde woman was thanking her millions of fans for being so loyal for so many years. She was obviously signing off, because she had stopped mentioning whatever the product was she had been pitching. She kept going on and on about all her years in front of the camera and how much she loved her devoted fans. I didn't have the vaguest idea WHO this woman was. I kept watching and listening to her and I wondering who in the hell this person was because I had sure never seen her before. She thanked her television audience one more time and then said the words that horrified me. The camera came in closer and she said "...for Yada-Yada Cosmetics, this is Suzanne Sommers. See you next time!"

Listen, I watched more episodes of Three's Company than I wish to admit, but what happened to my adorable Crissy Snow? The plastic surgery monster got her good, that's what happened. I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks.

I am still not sleeping great, but I will now wear the bags under my eyes with pride. I'm not changing a thing. Think I'm making a big deal out of this? Scroll down.