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.

American Hair-itage

I was looking through some photos of myself the other day and marveled at the how I have evolved over the years. Of course my clothes made me laugh and I truly had some of those "what was I thinking" moments as I went through the pictures. Even though my outfits were a sign of the times and my weight varied from decade to decade, the one thing that remained basically the same was my long hair. I have only had short hair 3 times in my life. Once, when I was born and my nearly white hair was almost invisible. My mother used tape to affix a bow to my head on my first birthday, I am told. When I was about 6, my mom decided that the thing to do with my hair was to cut it short and give me a home permanent. The pictures of me in my poodle-do are probably the reason that I insisted on letting my hair grow after that.

As a young adult in the '70s and '80s, I ran the gamut from long straight locks parted down the middle to my Farrah coiffure to my long layered curly gypsy hair. But it was always long. I entertained the idea of a short hairstyle when Dorothy Hamill made news with her famous "wedge" haircut. She was really cute and I considered going that route for a short minute until I realized that what the world had fallen in love with is the fantastic way her hair fanned out when she was twirling around on the ice. I knew this "do" was not for me because unless I was planning on doing a sit spin in the middle of the conference room, this style would do me no good in the business world.

The third and final time that I had short hair was in the early '90s when my career was on fire and an image consultant told me that I needed to have a more business-like hairstyle, which translated into "shorter hair". I resisted, but when I looked around, all the really successful women had sleek, upscale haircuts that were perfect for their jet set lives. The only one that broke this rule was Hillary Clinton. If you remember, she had shoulder length hair and wore hair bands. And boy, did the press give her a lot of crap for it. Before long, one of those image consultant jerks must have taken her to the side as well, because in no time she, too, had joined the ranks of the short-haired "blow and go" professional women's club.

Even though I had considered chopping off my hair for a more executive image, I always hesitated and then chickened out. Then one day, I thought, maybe I come across too soft. Maybe a chiseled bob is what I need to look more powerful. It was a difficult decision for me as I was approaching my 40s and if I cut my hair now, would that be it for me? Would I then be one of the middle aged crowd with their look-a-like hair? As I grew even older would I end up as one of the blue-haired ladies with a teased-to-death Jiffy Pop hairdo? I remember being at a luncheon for women in business. I looked around the room and there were only 2 other women with long hair. Whether they were 35 or 75, they each had a short hair-do.

It was about 1993 and I decided to cut my hair. I went to one of those snooty patootie high-end salons where everything and everybody was too hip for words. I remember so vividly the conversation I had with Jean-Claude, my tres chic stylist. I told him I wanted something that was sophisticated but that would suit my bubbly personality. I wanted it to be easy to care for and have attitude. He suggested a very short close to the head style. He showed me a photo of a very angular rail thin model with the hair he was suggesting. I tried to be respectful, because he was the professional, but I have a face that's on the roundish cherub side and I could not imagine me pulling off a "pixie". It was a good call on my part because as the years have gone by, I have come to realize that only someone as beautiful as Halle Berry can pull of drastically short hair. Certainly not this girl with the Scooter Pie face. So monsieur decided that a "sassy bob" was what I needed. I liked the idea of being "sassy". It's kind of like sexy with a business vibe. I let him do it.

The third time for short hair was definitely not the charm. I left that salon un-sassy and fighting back tears. I had hoped to reinvent my image and look like a mover and a shaker in the man-dominated business world. Instead I looked like the mom on the Wonder Years. I hated it. I didn't feel powerful. I felt stupid. I have not had short hair since.

When I was raising my girls and even now, I have a mantra about hair. It's only hair and it will grow. When my kids did crazy things with their hair, I never said much. Even when my youngest surprised me with her royal blue Mohawk, I just let it pass. My kids have had purple hair and crazy haircuts and I just smile and tell them I love them. If I wanted to stop them from doing freaky things with their hair, all I would have to do is dye mine some unnatural Crayola color and it would all stop. I just might do it, but I'm not cutting it!

See below... what do you think?

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.

Driving Me Nuts

I am going through an identity crisis and I am not happy about it. One would think that by the time you hit mid-life, you would be pretty much evolved and know exactly who you are. Not so.

The time has come for me to buy a new car. My Jaguar just had her 14th birthday, and although she is still very pretty and has only a little more than 100,000 miles on her, she does not suit my life anymore. I am tired of laying out garbage bags on the leather seats when I go buy new flowers for my garden.

I am constantly shopping for my next car. I haven’t been to a dealership yet, but I notice every car (and its driver) when I am out and about. I feel no shame when I peer inside a car I am considering in order to see the interior when at a parking lot. Because I never drive very far, I keep cars for a long time, so I need to do a really good job of choosing Ruby’s(she’s red) successor. I also have to buy a car that my sister likes. I am always happy to use my car when we go somewhere, but I like it best when she drives.She loves to drive and I hate it. It doesn’t even bother me that when I throw her the keys she rolls her eyes and calls me Miss Daisy. Sticks and stones, baby. I even considered buying a pre-owned Porsche. She’d want to drive that all the time and it would be great. But I have decided against a Porsche out of respect for the Porsche Corporation and their reputation for fast, precision sports cars. There would be a lot of times when I would be driving it myself. I imagine that they would not want to see one of their cars in the slow lane, my favorite, or plugging along behind a truck, never passing, because I don’t do that.

There is so much to consider when choosing a car. A conscientious consumer like myself must think about efficiency, eco-friendliness and the practicality of the vehicle. And when I get done with that, there’s how the car looks, what color it is and how will I feel when the valet drives up in it and nods to tell me my car is here. I am not going to lie to you, I want a car that is sexy.

It’s not that I don’t worry about my carbon footprint, I do. I just don’t think an electric car is for me. I can’t even remember to plug in my cell phone to stay connected to the world, so an electric vehicle is really out of the question. And do I dare say it without offending? They’re ugly. I am at a place in my life where I can drive any kind of car that I can afford. Driving around in a car that is shaped like the business end of a Dustbuster does not appeal to me.

When it comes to cars, I have paid my dues, for heaven’s sake. Please... I drove an apple green Gremlin in the '70s because that’s all I could afford. I will never forget the smile on that salesman’s face when I drove off in that thing. It served me well, but I had no privacy. I could be spotted from the moon and people were always telling me where they had seen me around town.

When I got married and had babies, I drove vans. I could carry a gaggle of kids, a pile of sports equipment and still have room for an ass-load of groceries in the back. It’s what I needed at the time and I never gave it a thought. Some of my favorite photos of my kids are of them doing the luggage handling on top of the van for family vacations. I was always such an overprotective mother; my kids were amazed that I actually let them get up on top of such a tall vehicle. I was there to catch them if they fell and I didn’t give a crap about what happened to the car... it was a van.

Then the kids grew up and went off to college. My ex-husband decided that I needed a snazzy car for a change. He found this very beautiful Jaguar with every detail and extra they came with at the time and he insisted that I have it. He made me sit in it at the dealership to see what I looked like in the driver’s seat. Both he and the salesman had pretend heart attacks as I sat at the wheel. It was really cute and I experienced what it feels like to sit in a glamorous car for the first time. If anyone out there knows my ex-husband’s girlfriend, please feel free to tell her that story.

Anyway, I am so befuddled as to what to get. I don’t want a car that is too young for me and I don’t want one that has geezer written all over it. I don’t have to buy a giant vehicle that will hold a softball team or a certain one because I am Mrs. Somebody. I want to drive something that reflects the person I am now, but I just don’t know what that is. I am getting to the place with my car research where I now see cars on the road and mumble to myself what Consumer Reports had to say about it. I am ready to face the car salespeople. I am unafraid.

I am hoping that test driving cars is like trying on wedding dresses. It would be great if I just KNEW it was the one. All I want is a car that I can afford to drive that shines like a piece of jewelry on the outside and is sumptuous on the inside. My Jaguar has more polished wood than my dining room, so I am spoiled. I am terrified of buying something that I will regret. I have no trouble with buying a car that is “pre-owned and certified”. It doesn’t have to be new, just not 14 years old. The new cars all look like belly buttons these days. They don’t come in real colors unless they are bugs, Fiats, Smart Cars or half a million dollar sports cars. If I didn’t know what 50 Shades of Gray was about, I would think it was about the colors cars come in.

Now all I need is your help. If you are driving your dream car, tell me what it is and why it called to you. I am open to sedans, SUVs, jeeps.. you name it. Talk to me! Help me. Just one thing... no vans.

Mad About America

You have no idea how much I love the 4th of July. It is second only to Christmas in my heart. The way I spend this holiday has changed over the years, but the memories of the past only enrich the way I feel about it today. During the 300 years that I was married, we almost always gathered with the entire family at my in-laws. My precious father-in-law was a WWII war hero (he was awarded the purple heart) and he especially loved having his family around him on this holiday.

We would bar-b-que and everyone would bring something to add to the feast. The best part, however, was that the city where my in-laws lived still allowed the sale of fireworks. We would all pitch in money to buy the biggest, super-duper-colossal box they made. When it got dark, we brought the patio chairs from the back yard and created a makeshift amphitheater on the front lawn. My mother-in-law and father-in–law sat in the best viewing seats like the royalty they were. It was then the job of their 2 youngest grown sons (one of them was my husband) to put on a fireworks spectacular in the street.

You must understand that these are professional guys (a CPA and a Superior Court Judge) who are the furthest thing from being handy that you can be. They didn’t want to look like sissies or idiots so they both had to suck it up and appear oblivious to possible bodily harm if something should go wrong. They would set off one of the fireworks and then run like hell. The squeals and applause from their loved ones gave them a big dose of courage and by the end of the show they were fearless. It was so much fun and it made everyone so happy.

My beloved daddy-in-law spent his last Fourth of July doing this very same thing. He didn’t eat much that day, but he was all smiles when the 2 Stooges took to the street and began the fireworks show. It was a very special day for the kids and grown-ups alike. Six days later on July 10th, we lost him to cancer. Since then the 4th is still a favorite of mine and the whole family. The people in my world continue to celebrate this great country of ours to the max. My sister hosts the day at her house and we have spent weeks and months planning a day to delight. We are turning her front yard into a water park for the kids. We bought a good sized rubber pool, a Slip n’ Slide, a Water wiggle, squirt guns and balloons to fill with water. Everyone was instructed to bring extra clothes as not getting wet WON’T be an option. There will be amazing food and when it gets dark, we will pull the chairs onto the lawn and watch the magnificent fireworks above our heads. Sister knows how much I love fireworks, so she bought a house near Disneyland so I can see them as often as I want.

I am proud to be an American (and I love love love that song). I celebrate this day with all that is in me. Did you ever think about the things that are purely America?. There’s a pretty impressive list, so let me share some of it. How can you NOT be in total love with a country who is responsible for inventing Rock n’ Roll, blue jeans, multi-culturalism, bar-b-que, and the Internet? And if those don’t make you say WOW!... then try these. All are credited with being born in the USA.

Doughnuts

Harley-Davidson

PB&J Sandwiches

Religious Freedom

Antiperspirant

Jazz

Skyscrapers

Coca-Cola

Baseball

Cheeseburgers

Muscle Cars

Cowboys

NASCAR

Buffalo Wings

Country Music

And of course... Apple Pie

Dog Days

Just in case you're wondering, I have pretty much recovered from the plague I had last week. I was sick the entire Memorial Day weekend, but it wasn't bad. I had lots of good quality time with my doggies, who never left my side.

Unless you haven't been listening, you know that I love dogs. Dogs are everywhere in my life and I could not live happily without them. As you also know, we all bring our dogs to work, here at LoveFifi.com, and it is fabulous. We have a big, two story building and the pups are allowed to be wherever they want, with whomever they want. There are dog beds and water bowls everywhere. This is a world I created and I couldn't love it more.

I live a happy life at home with my two babies. I am never lonely because they follow me wherever I go. What's funny is that when you are at the stage of life when your kids are gone, your dogs become your kids. I can't believe I said that, but it's true. Nothing is too good for my dogs. They sleep next to me at night. By the way, 42% of all dogs in the US sleep in bed with their owners. I have little dogs that weigh 5 pounds each, yet they still take up most of the bed.

I know I am perceived by some as a weird dog lady, but I actually wonder at times if I am a little peculiar. I dress my dogs and they look adorable. Listen, if it were odd to do so, then why are there so many places to buy cute dog clothes? Huh? I not only buy my dogs Christmas presents, but I buy gifts for the dogs of my friends. Before you throw stones at me, just know that 80% of all dog owners buy their pets gifts for holidays. And half of that number signs letters and cards from themselves and their pets. So if I am crazy, I am in good company. Speaking of crazy people, did you know that rock star Ozzie Osborne saved his wife Sharon's Pomeranian by tackling a coyote and wrestling it until it released the dog? Ozzie may be a little whack-a-doo to some people, but he is a hero to me.

The most popular names for male dogs are Jake and Max. For girl dogs it's Maggie and Molly. Although there is constant competition for the smallest and the largest dogs, 4" Boo Boo and Giant George are pretty amazing contenders. The oldest dog is said to be an Australian cattle dog who lived to be 29 1/2 years old which is equal to a human living to 160 years old.

My dogs are fantastic company and I couldn't be more content. Oh, I still date from time to time, but the best part of the evening is usually when I arrive home and my two doggies are doing the Happy Snoopy dance and are twirling around madly in circles at my feet. What man can compete with that?

And speaking of men and dogs, let me share something with you that was emailed to me. Made me smile. Oh, by the way, don't smile any big toothy grins around your dog. They interpret a show of teeth as a sign of aggression. Just thought I would share. Grrr...

Anyway, my girlfriend sent me this and I think it's really funny. Don't anyone get offended on me now or I will have to make these articles squeaking Disney clean. Even though I talk to my dogs in baby talk, we are grown ups here in Fifiland. Enjoy.

How Dogs and Men are the Same

Both take up too much space on the bed.

Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning.

Neither one will ever tell you what's bothering them.

Both have inordinate fascination with women's crotches.

Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut.

Both fart shamelessly.

Neither understands what you see in cats.

Miss Traditional

It’s Thanksgiving evening and I am alone for the first time today. I am tired, and ready for a hot bath and pajamas, but first I thought I would write my article. I am filled with sentimentality and warm fuzzy feelings, so here I go.

Okay, I confess, I never really got the significance of this holiday on a historical level. The Pilgrims and Indians thing is way over my head. But a holiday that gets families together and includes pie gets my vote.

I hope you all had a wonderful day with your families. I did. In case you are curious as to what Thanksgiving like at my house, let me explain.

Do you remember the TV show “The Waltons”? Think back on how mom and dad Walton and all the kids worked side-by-side preparing the traditional meal. Every family member did his or her part with a smile. And to make it even better, Dad always had an inspirational story of Thanksgivings past to share as they worked together in perfect harmony. Got the picture?

Thanksgiving at my house is absolutely NOTHING like that.

Are we the only family in America who always has to send someone to the market at the last minute to get some vital part of the meal? You’d think after spending nearly $300 in the first place that we would have everything we need. But not us, we always forget something and find ourselves at the mercy of the only open market in town. Is $14.99 too much to pay for a carton of whipping cream? Let me know.

Dinner is always good, although no one in my family is very good at carving. They need to teach this at university level, because obviously it is not intuitive. It seems to also be a “man” thing, by the way. My CPA brother-in-law did the honors, and though he meant well, the pieces were a bit large to manage. I honestly could have done a better job by simply just backing over the bird with my car, but I didn’t say anything. It was a really wonderful dinner, and though I didn’t think it was possible to use every dish, bowl and platter in the house, we did it.

I wish I could tell you that we entertained ourselves after the meal with the men teaching the young ones how to whittle while the women worked on a quilt, but I would be lying. The truth is we watched football on television. However the most fun of the day occurred when my mother-in-law discovered that her grandson had pierced his tongue. Now THAT’S entertainment!

I am going to bed now. My heart is happy. I spent the day with many of the people I love, and the ones I didn’t get to see today know that I love them and that they live in my heart every day.

I am off to my bath and my bed, but tradition dictates that I swing by the kitchen and make a turkey sandwich. How else would you end the national day of overeating?

Goodnight, my wonderful readers. Goodnight, my precious family and friends. Goodnight, John-Boy.

Sweet Inspiration

You will not hear me whining about Thanksgiving. I really am looking forward to it. I just wish it wasn’t next week.

I am never ready for these holidays on time, but I am trying my hardest to get into the mood. I just watched a cooking show where the French chef made a roast turkey injected with a white grape reduction and glazed with Jerusalem oranges. It was gorgeous. I was so inspired by his creativity.

The thing that tickles me is that somewhere in America, some family will actually be eating that very meal. Someone watching along with me will be inspired enough to recreate that culinary masterpiece for their loved ones. I miss those Thanksgivings of the olden days when I would prepare the feast for my family. Cooking for my loved ones when they were younger was a whole lot easier. Now I have a vegetarian daughter, one that doesn’t eat fowl, one that doesn’t like turkey and a son-in-law that is dreadfully allergic to onions. I can’t cook without onions. So to make a meal for my grown-up children and the rest of my clan, I would have to make 2 versions of the side dishes, a turkey, a roast beef and a Tofurkey. Then of course there are the older relatives who have dietary restrictions. Just shoot me. We’re going to a restaurant.

OK, I got off track... back to the subject of inspiration. To be inspired is a miraculous thing. Inspiration is what gives us the wings with which we can fly and visit our dreams. Oh yes! I want to be inspired and fly, but I would probably get a middle seat.

All kidding aside, I DO get inspired by the world around me, and believe me, I am grateful. It doesn’t need to be complicated or fancy to warm your soul. Just think about pumpkin pie. Does it ever taste better than at Thanksgiving? Have you ever had a slice in July? It’s good, but not the same.

I am not here to deliver a heavy Thanksgiving message. I just want to remind you all about the delicious things in this world that cost nothing and feel so good. If something inspires you like a song, a flower, a sunset... share it with someone. And keep your eyes and ears open when others tell you what rocks their world. You don’t want to miss anything! It doesn’t matter if you are the inspire-er or the inspire-ee. It’s all good.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and don’t worry if you over eat a bit; I have a warehouse full of girdles, corsets, slimmers and sucker-inners.

Paper Princess

I am an admitted note and list writer. One of the greatest days of my life was when they came out with Post-it Notes. I can remind myself of everything anywhere I choose. I can stick up lists and “to dos” and unstick them when I am done.

I guess I just like the idea of paper. I have kept every greeting card from everyone who has ever loved me. I have a collection of tickets from all the concerts and special events I have gone to in the past decades. I have the Playbills from the plays I loved. Some I saw some on Broadway, some at community theater. I have the programs from all my kids’ graduations and sadly, I kept the memorial hand outs from the funerals of the people I love who are no longer on this earth.

I have all my love letters. I am old enough to have even received a telegram or two. I have all these treasures in a lovely old German cookie tin that looks like a treasure chest. It must have held 25 lbs of cookies, so it isn’t small. From time to time I love to go through everything and remember. I figure that my children will one day look through all this stuff and get to know me from another angle.

Did you ever see the movie “The Bridges of Madison County”? If you weren’t one of the 50,000,000 people who bought the book, you may have seen the very romantic movie with Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood. If you didn’t do either, it’s the story of a married but lonely Italian woman, living in 1960s Madison County, Iowa. She engages in a short but intense affair with a National Geographic photographer who is on location in order to create a pictorial essay of the lovely covered bridges in the area. The woman’s husband is out of town with their teenage kids. The affair lasted but a few days because she could not leave her family, but she wrote about it in her diary and the experience lasted her a lifetime. I don’t remember if they ever slept together, but they dined and danced and looked into each other’s souls. Her secret was not discovered until after her death when her grown children found her personal papers and mementos in her trunk.

Is sending a love text as romantic as receiving a note from someone who is falling for you?

When I die, there won’t be much to go through in my keepsake box that is very controversial or shocking, but my children will feel me every time they revisit the treasures I have left behind. I think they will smile when they see how dear their cards and notes were to me.

This is the way it used to be back when people respected paper. There were diaries and love letters and keepsakes. Tell me, how does this cell-phone crazy, tablet-loving younger generation fall in love? Is sending a love text as romantic as receiving a note from someone who is falling for you? How could an email expressing even the most profound love be as dreamy as a scented love letter? I can tell you that the gushy feeling you get after you read such a special piece of mail can be life changing. The emotions you experience when you ceremoniously put it back in the envelope for safe keeping until you read it again can never be outdone by receiving a romantic email and hitting “SAVE” so you can re-read it later. And where are the keepsakes? There are no longer plane tickets to keep recalling a beautiful vacation. Theater and concert tickets are being replaced by print outs on the computer. If that’s not bad enough, this young breed of computer brains will leave no yellowed photographs of important relatives or family events from decades before. There are no real photos anymore. All the pictures and memories are floating around in cyber space and can only be recalled on some electronic device. Goodbye to sitting around with the family and reminiscing over the photo albums.

I am not some old dinosaur that refuses to go electronic. I have an iPhone and an iPad. I text like a champ and do all sorts of things on my devices that I used to do on paper. But there are just some things that should stay the same.

I am not a big fan of e-cards. It is true that they are fun while you are looking at them, but after the music stops and the birds and the butterflies stop skywriting “Happy Birthday”, then what? You can’t put your card in your secret keepsake place to hold and enjoy all over again. Oh sure, you can store it away and revisit it later in your Documents. Now THAT’S warm and fuzzy.

In my humble opinion, I believe that we should get on board to "Save The Keepsakes". Just because something is old fashioned doesn’t mean it’s bad. Please... for me... please tell the people in your life to think about writing real love letters and thank you notes, keeping a diary, creating a photo album with real pages and sending paper cards to celebrate special days. Tell everyone you know. I did. I just posted it on Facebook a few minutes ago.

A Stellar Reputation

Do you have any idea who has the very best Public Relations people in the world? As you know, it is the job of PR people to keep their clients’ image clean and pristine and to always have them shown in the best light. So, obviously the answer to my question is not Brad and Angelina or the Kardashians. You can keep guessing, but you won’t get it. For every famous name that comes to mind, no matter how flawless their reputation, there is always something that tarnishes their perfect image. Give up?

Whoever was handling the publicity and creating an image for bunnies did an amazing job. I went along with my son-in-law and daughter to take my 10 month old granddaughter to have her picture taken with the Easter Bunny. ADORABLE! And the bunny was cute, too. It got me to thinking about the reputation of bunnies. I could not think of one negative thing that had to do with them. They are totally cutie patootie in every way. Besides, there is nothing softer on the planet and they don’t just walk... they hop. You can be “as cute as a bunny” or “as quick as a bunny” and it’s a compliment. If you pull a rabbit out of a hat, you have pulled off something extraordinary. My graphic goddess, Miss Nora, has a sister named Bunny. And yes, she is as darling as they come.

Bunnies make you go “ahhh”. I have zillions of little white tailed ones that enjoy nibbling on the grass at my house. There is not a time when I catch them that I don’t stop and take in their adorable-ness and smile.

It was not by accident that a rabbit was chosen as one of the icons of the Easter season. Bunnies are the epitome of cuddliness and completely irresistible with those ears!

The worst dancer in the universe can still join in to do the Bunny Hop. Anything associated with bunnies makes people happy and can make them act silly. See, you just can’t say anything bad about them. I even had a boyfriend in college who called me his “funny bunny”. I loved it.

Bunnies also have a very special significance for me. They remind me of someone I love very much. My middle daughter, Jenni, was always a hard worker in school and later in her career. She was always there to help and was forever putting pressure on herself to make sure she got everything done. When I would ask her, for example, how she was going to finish a project, go to class, finish her homework, and be done in time to come help me cook dinner for the family, she would always give me the same answer no matter how much she had to accomplish: “Magic bunnies, Mommy. Magic bunnies.” Somehow those magic bunnies always came through. Jenni rarely failed at anything and never disappointed. The heartbreaking truth is that we lost Jenni at age 24, in 2009. I have probably told you this before, so forgive me. I do share most of my life with you and this part is still kind of a blur at times.

Bunnies are dear to me for many reasons. I honestly don’t know why I just went to the “Jennifer place” in this article. You all so sweetly put up with my crazy meanderings about this subject and that. I started talking about bunnies and ended up here. Thank you for letting me ramble. And by the way, the next time you have to power through a million tasks and you pull it off like the superstar you are, consider that you might just have some magic bunnies in your midst.

By the way, if you are a mother or a grandmother, you need to buy a copy of The Runaway Bunny. It’s the story of a mother bunny and her baby bunny. It encapsulates everything you ever need to know about the infinite power of mother love. Here’s a little bit... leave it to the bunnies to get such a precious message across so beautifully.

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny,
“I will become a fish in a trout stream
and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,
“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny,
“I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you.”

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,”
said his mother, “I will become a mountain climber,
and I will climb to where you are.”

And so the story goes. No matter what the bunny becomes, the mama bunny turns into whatever it takes to keep her baby safe. So sweet!

This is a big week with Passover and Easter. Families will be together and it doesn’t get better than that. I hope you all have times to treasure. Speaking of treasures, check out my 10 month old, Lulu. It’s her first Easter. And yes, I am responsible for the mini ball gown. I am not only her grandmother, I am her stylist.

Stupid Cupid

Valentine's Day. Many of you are looking forward to flowers, candy, lingerie, and LOVE. It’s all so dreamy... or is it?

I hate to be blunt (oh, I don't really, but it sounds nice), but what if you don't HAVE a Valentine at the moment? I don't have to tell you that in life (and dancing), timing is everything.

It can all be pretty depressing if you don't have a "significant other" right now. It's not like you can escape the reminders either...

I was at the supermarket the other day. There were signs and banners all over the store with little cupids reminding me to remember my Valentine. Forgive my stupidity, but what token of my undying love am I supposed to purchase from the grocery store? Let me see... "Darling, I love you. I got you a rump roast."

So, maybe you are in between sweethearts. It can happen. What are you supposed to do? Go into a hole until Valentine's Day passes and all the cooing and kissing are over? I think not. And besides, there is too much good chocolate floating around right now to even think about disappearing.

Don't tell her that I told you, but my sister just dumped her boyfriend. I am actually not sure if she was the dumper or the dumpee, but it doesn't really matter. She’s in a funk.

As it happens, my Valentine is out of town on February 14th, so I am taking this opportunity to teach my sister that being Valentine-less is not fatal.

She suggested that I come over to her house and watch "Wheel of Fortune" and order a pizza. Well, as enchanting as it sounds to eat dinner from a cardboard box and be cooped up with an angry woman and Pat Sajak, I took a big pass.

We are going out to dinner, just sister and me. She loves the ocean, so I have made a reservation at a lovely seaside restaurant. We will dress up and look beautiful. I will make the effort to mention to her how small her butt looks in the outfit she is wearing. If I am struck by lightning as the words come out, it will be worth it to make her happy. We will laugh and dine and do wicked fashion critiques on every unsuspecting person that walks through the door. No one will be safe!

The best part is that since I am her date, she won't have to do her "eat like a bird" routine. Being able to order two desserts without guilt makes up for a lot.

When it is all over, we will have laughed until our faces hurt, eaten up all of our fat grams through the month of April, and spent an evening with someone we love. It doesn't get much better than that!

For any of you who have not yet purchased anything for your special someone, please don't run out and buy something stupid at Walgreen's to try to keep out of trouble. There is nothing there that can save you. What you can do is trust in Miss Fifi to save the day. Go find some decent looking note paper and write your darling one a love letter. In this world of texts and informal communication, a love letter is a rarity. Tell that person in your own words why they mean so much to you. Remind them of special times you've had together. Channel your most romantic self and be generous with your words. When you hand them the letter, tell them that the day belongs to them and you want to do whatever they want to do. No Valentine is better than words from your own heart and hand. Nothing feels better than to spend a day doing whatever sounds like fun. It would also be nice if you bought some lovelies from my site. Surprise her by sending them or surprise him by wearing them. It's all good and I am taking my sister to a fancy seafood restaurant and I could use the money.

Happy Valentines Day!

Seasonal Fortitude or Seasonal Reasoning

Maybe it's just me, but I swear someone pushes a button somewhere and makes the last three months of the year go into turbo mode. Where does the time go? Where does it escape to?

Here's what happens. By summer's end, the Halloween costumes and decorations dominate space nearly everywhere I shop. By the time Halloween actually gets here, we are besieged with everything Christmas.

Why does it feel like I have just disposed of the moldy jack o' lantern on my porch and the next week it is nearly Thanksgiving? Where does the time go? Where does it escape to?

Really, it was just Labor Day and, now, it is nearly Thanksgiving. This year it is coming as early as it possibly can on the calendar, and it sure came fast. I like Thanksgiving, but it also means that Christmas is only a month away. Yes, that joyous time of year is just around the corner... AGAIN.

I love this time of year, but as I get older and crankier, it becomes increasingly more difficult for me to get my butt in gear and keep up with these holidays.

Even though I always grouse about the retailers hauling out the Christmas stuff earlier and earlier each year, perhaps they were doing this just for me! Maybe if I didn’t blow off all these early holiday offerings as crass commercialism, I wouldn’t be standing in lines in department stores on December 21st huffing and puffing with anxiety and plotting the death of the sales clerk who always seems to be using the cash register for the very first time.

This year I am determined to get things done so I can actually HAVE a Christmas. I have always had such contempt for people who boast in mid-October that they have completed their Christmas shopping. Ugh...

In 2012, I am committed to being more organized and I am aiming to get most of my Christmas shopping done in November. This is going to be my “get it all together” month. I will ask for lists from my loved ones this weekend and that will be it. I am going to do it this year. Don’t laugh! I am woman, hear me roar.

No more stressing out. No more wandering around the mall doing what I call “zombie shopping”. That’s when you don’t know what to buy and you are so tired from looking you wouldn’t know a good gift if it hit you over the head. No more running around at the last minute. And absolutely no more wrapping packages with the 11 o’clock News Team. This year will be different!

How wonderful it would be to spend December just doing Christmas things. I want to bake things, I want to go caroling. I want to take my children and grandchildren to see The Nutcracker (even though they hate it). That’s the biggest reason for taking them, by the way. They will squawk endlessly about enduring a two-hour ballet with dancing mice NOW, but someday when I am dead they will tearfully tell beautiful stories about how I took them to The Nutcracker at Christmas. I will sit on my cloud in heaven and smile.

Although I am fairly well known for putting the “fun” in dysfunctional, I am quite sure my family and friends would enjoy not having Psycho Fifi around this year. I know I will love not being her. November is MY month to change the way I do things.

Why don't you join me in my effort to get it all out of the way this month? I know Thanksgiving will be even more enjoyable if I am not stressing about Christmas. Are you in?

And when my friends and family ask what I want for Christmas, I will make it easy as I have already carefully thought it out... I want crazy wild gypsy earrings and world peace. Come to think of it, I don't really need the earrings. I am a crazy wild gypsy already. And as for world peace? Yes, please.

Therapy Or No therapy... That Is The Question

I don't know if you realize this by now, but I find it completely comfortable and ridiculously easy to confess my "sins" and shortcomings to you. It doesn't seem to bother you that I may be a little loopy by other people's standards. Many of you write back to me and tell me that you feel the same way and do the same stuff that I do. I figure that I either have the most understanding and supportive readership in the universe or that I just naturally attract other wack-a-doos like myself. Whatever it is, it works for me.

You already know that I am a bit eccentric. I have not been shy about admitting my deepest secrets. My weaknesses are an open book to you, my darling readers.

You know that I love to dine and am always on a diet. In all fairness, my dieting would be far more successful if it weren't for one thing - I get hungry.

You are well aware that I am very fashion conscious. Would you trust my merchandise if I were not? Fashion is my passion. I am not ashamed.

...what I like most is for my world to be basically divine at all times.

You know that I love animals madly. I am proud that the LoveFifi building has as many doggies as people running around here. Some think this is crazy. I think it’s crazy good. By the way, I do not consider the fact that my dogs have as many clothes as I do a bad thing.

You have probably also learned that I tend to exaggerate, I talk a lot, I love over-doing, and I don't like to do or watch sports. I love lobster and champagne or hot dogs with sauerkraut and a good beer equally. I am not a snob, but I like what I like. And what I like most is for my world to be basically divine at all times. It's a pretty simple concept.

This lifestyle does not come without drawbacks, dilemmas, or for that matter, self doubt. Not all things fabulous come without strings. Sometimes staying in control is difficult and that's why I look to you for help when I think I might be going over the edge.

I want to stop denying an addiction that seems to be getting worse with age, not better. This situation is so multi-faceted and complex. It's way worse than if I were dependent on chocolate or gambling or wine for my highs. This is much WORSE and an intervention may be necessary.

They say that admission is the first step to recovery. So OK, I admit it. I am a "decor whore".

I am not feeling guilty about the items I buy for my home or office. These places are my domains and I cannot be Fifi without proper ambiance. Admittedly, I may go a little overboard on buying home and garden and decorator magazines, but I need the inspiration. But I can't bear to throw them away and end up with stacks of home and garden and decorator magazines that take up space. I did actually buy a self-help magazine that teaches you to organize your stuff, but I can't find it. Anyway, I spend lots of time at flea markets and garage sales, as well as furniture stores and auctions looking for just the right things for my personal spaces. In my own defense, this is the first time in my life that I have lived alone since college. It's not that my 1970s cinder block bookshelves or my grandmother's hand-me-down loveseat weren't grand; they were...at the time. I loved my little place, but now I am a woman and not a starving student. I have a few nickels to rub together to make my spaces pretty and I am proud at how it’s all turned out. Everything around me says "ME" and that feels good. This, however, is not the BIG problem.

Having your home reflect your taste is sexy. What might be getting me into trouble (I depend on you to be honest with me) is that I am an absolute fool for HOLIDAY decor. Whenever I go shopping, my feet seem to move, as if by magic, to the "seasonal" department of whatever store I am in. I just can't seem to do any of my shopping until I check out what's new for the next event on the calendar.

Don't worry, my obsession with holiday-themed goodies won't take me to the poor house but I am worried that the funny farm may be looking for me. I am prudent with my purchases. For example, I made sure that my Halloween decorations transition seamlessly into a Harvest Festival theme after October 31st. My fantastically orchestrated sprays of autumn leaves and twigs take me right through until after Thanksgiving. The witches and ghosts go away and the gourds and ears of multi-color corn appear. This is normal behavior, right? I am only asking because no one would say a word if I still had a house full of kids, but I live alone with two poodles.

This issue is heavy on my mind because the hardest time of year for me is here. Christmas decorations are everywhere. What actually inspired me to write to you for validation of my sanity was that the other night I was struck by a huge thought when I pulled into my garage. Is it strange that a woman who lives by herself should have more than half of her garage designated to holiday adornments? Granted, most of that is Christmas, but I have at least one bin each for the other holidays. I don’t do sports, so there are no golf clubs or skis to take up room. I have to fill my garage with something, right?

As I exited my car, I was still feeling guilty about the massive amount of holiday falderal that I own. Thankfully those thoughts were diverted as I got involved in carefully removing my new gold painted paper mache reindeer from the back seat. It was right there, at eye level, at my drug store as I waited to drop off my prescription. I swear he winked at me and said “take me home”. He will sit inside my front door and greet people with all his golden majesty during the Christmas season. I am only telling you this so you will understand that this purchase was a necessity and not an extravagance. I did it for my guests and besides, he is way too gorgeous to live another minute at Walgreens. Let’s just think of it as a paper mache reindeer rescue.

So, there you have it. I held nothing back. Tell me what you think. I can take it.

Before you decide, let me stress that the things I buy are beautiful and give me joy. I figured out last weekend that I wasn’t completely out of control when I walked by Christmas pillow cases, hand towels, and pot holders and winced. I had absolutely no interest. Who buys stuff like that anyway? None of it sparkles, for goodness sake.

You know, this whole love affair with holiday decorations might be my parents fault! When I was a little one, they always took me downtown to see the Christmas window displays at the big department stores. I would look through the glass in amazement at the brilliantly lit animated displays. There was always the sound of music box Christmas songs accompanying the magic. I stood there endlessly and wished I could live in that twinkly enchanted wonderland at Christmastime.

And now I do…

A Piece of My Heart

You have no idea what a rough year I have had. It is not easy being a Baby Boomer. Every time I turn around, somebody who was part of my life dies on me. Oh, I didn’t really know these people, but they meant a lot to me.

Let me just say, losing Don Cornelius and Dick Clark in the same year has taken its toll. I used to do my housework during Soul Train when I was a young bride. When the kids used to form an aisle and take turns dancing solo, I would do it right along with them, using my dust cloth to punctuate my dance moves.

And Dick Clark… the world’s oldest teenager… I started watching American Bandstand with my babysitter when I was very young. I watched the ball come down in Times Square with him on New Year’s Eve so many times. I was actually interviewed by Dick Clark in 2001, so I am doubly sad. What a darling man.

Richard Dawson kissed all those ladies on Family Feud. We never missed it at our house and my mom even bought the home game.

“It’s hard to be a Boomer and be strong in a year where we have lost a Monkee, 2 Sweathogs and a Bee Gee.”

Donna Summer’s early death really hit me hard. I had seen her at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles only the year before. She sounded the same as on her records and was beautiful. I have a special soft spot for Donna because my middle daughter used to sing along with her to the radio in the car. Do you remember her hit “She Works Hard for Her Money”? My 3-year-old daughter loved to sing along with Donna in the car. “She works hard for her mommy”, my little one would belt out. I never corrected her. I still sing it that way.

You probably think I am being silly, but it hurts when someone leaves that you spent time so much with. Let’s talk about Andy Griffith. I watched him as Sheriff Taylor, and I watched him as Matlock. We were together a long time.

The ladies up in Heaven must be looking pretty good these days; Vidal Sassoon is there now. My mom and dad wouldn’t spring for a Sassoon precision haircut back in 70s. It was $150 forty years ago. So my mother took me to get a Sassoon-ish haircut at her beauty parlor and had her stylist cut my hair. I was assured that everyone would think I had gone to Sassoon himself. Right... thank goodness there are no photos of that time in my life.

I don’t want to be depressing, but these past months haven’t been easy for me and I am hoping that you understand my pain. It’s hard to be a Boomer and be strong in a year where we have lost a Monkee, 2 Sweathogs and a Bee Gee.

To Don, Dick, Richard, Donna, Andy, Vidal, Davy, Horshack, Juan Epstein, and Robin Gibb. Thank you for the good times and inspiration. You made my life better. Rest in peace.

Queen of the Castle

I have been single now for 6 years and have lived alone for 3. After being married for so long and raising so many kids, it has taken me awhile to get acclimated to single life. On paper, it sounds very cool to be able to do whatever you want, whenever you want. But like everything in life, it takes getting used to.

During the whole period of adjustment, you can't really let on that the process affects you like a deer in headlights at times. Married people raising families are envious of your carefree existence and you have to keep the mystique going for their sake. The last thing you should do is complain or appear inept at being by yourself. You would never want anyone to know that you weren't as happy as a pig in poop with your single status.

I was never sad, but I really had problems getting used to things like grocery shopping for one. I have this race going on with milk and bread. In all the time I have lived by myself, I have never been able to finish either before they went sour or moldy.

Don't even talk to me about cooking for one. After cooking for 6 for decades, cooking for myself is so hard. I like homemade food and I like it fresh. My grandmother lived alone for the last 25 years of her life and kept everything in the freezer that she possibly could. She never put a date on anything and you took your life in your hands when you ate at her house. She boasted that nothing went to waste because she froze it all. I remember once asking her where all the bags of pecans came from at the bottom of her big Amana. She reminded me that her sister Johanna brought them back from her trip to Georgia. At that time, my great aunt Jo had been deceased for 3 years and her trip south was way before that. See what happens to women who live alone? I was not going to let this happen to me.

I loved my grandmother dearly but I don't want to be single and hoard antique food. It's because of this fear that I have forced myself to walk right up to the butcher counter and order one pork chop from the case.

“You can't really let on that the process affects you like a deer in headlights at times.”

It didn't take me long to appreciate not getting out of my pajamas all day on a Saturday or walking around the house completely nude. It would all be so totally liberating if I could do these things and believe that I was a hot single lady and not a crazy old woman. Lounging away your day in bed or prancing around your singles pad naked are instantly negated when you also talk to your dog. I am not talking about commands, or a "good doggy" here and there. I am talking about "Mommy has to go put some clothes in the washing machine, but I will be back in a minute and then we will have a treat. My baby will be just fine for a few minutes... I will miss you. Mommy loves her doggy so much!" It doesn't matter what you are wearing or not wearing. It doesn't matter that no one is there to hear. Crazy old woman, right?

Speaking of laundry, why do I have so much? You would think that with no kids or partner that my laundry life would be streamlined. Not so. When I began my life as a single girl, I got rid of anything that was so-so or average and kept everything fabulous for my new life. I still ended up with way too much clothing, linens, bedding, etc. I justified my abundance of fabulousness with thinking that part of being queen of my castle is having options. I could use anything I wanted any time. I could change my comforters and bedding to fit the season. I never had to wear the same outfit in the same month. You would think this lifestyle would have set me free and released my inner diva. Not so. I just have a lot of laundry. Fortunately, I live alone and have the time.

There is no doubt that when nobody is around, you tend to be different. I have already admitted to having long interpersonal conversations with the dog. That's not the worst of it. I have been talking to my plants since the '70s, so add that to my behavior. I also talk to myself.

I see things on TV and remark out loud that I think what I am watching is stupid. I go through the mail and critique each piece in my best on stage voice. "Junk, bill, junk, junk... oh look, Macy's is having a big sale!" Nobody ever jumps out of the woodwork and says "Great! I need some new towels... let's go!" Why don't I just think these things? Who am I talking to?

I look in the mirror and comment directly to my image in the glass on the state of my aging face like there is someone to hear my woeful complaints. I catch myself sometimes and imagine what it might look like if I were being secretly filmed when I speak aloud to no one but me. The word "loopy" springs to mind.

My neighbors are all older than I am. They think that I lead this fantastic life of a successful single woman with not a care in the world. I do admit that I lead them on a bit. I wave as I return from Saturday errands with my array of dry cleaning in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other as I close the car door with one sexy bump of the hip. I dash off inside leaving them to assume that my grocery bag must certainly contain imported cheese and French wine. They will never know what my bag really contained: some salad makings and one lonely pork chop.

The truth is that I have gotten used to the single life by being a legend in my own mind. I give off a little bit of a Hugh Hefner vibe and pretend that my life is a brilliant carousel ride filled with fun and excitement. No one ever has to know differently if you don't tell.

I am very happy. I love my life. It is only because I have sorted it out that I am able to be a content lady who lives alone. Here's what I have learned about being single later in life:

The BEST Things:

1. You don't have to tell anyone where you're going (the dog is optional).
2. You never have to state when you are coming back.
3. You have no one to please at home but yourself.

The WORST Things:

1. Nobody cares where you go.
2. Nobody is expecting you back.
3. You have no one to please at home but yourself.

I never promised you that life couldn't be bittersweet, but it is good.

Good Grief

I know this is going to start off like a depressing article, but it’s really not. Stick with me on this one, please.

One of the facts of life is that we all eventually lose people that are dear to us. They say that nothing is as certain as death and taxes. Both hit you hard, but at least with taxes, you can pay them off in installments. When someone that you love leaves this earth, the avalanche of gut-level emotion and unthinkable loss buries you.

I know, I know. I promised that this would not be gloomy and it really isn’t. Hang in with me a little longer...

I don’t think of myself as a prophet or a sage, but I am a sponge. I learn from doing and I always keep my heart and eyes wide open. If I didn’t think that I had something genuine and good to impart, I wouldn’t waste your time.

I have had more than my share of shocking, heartbreaking losses. Through each of these painful journeys, I have learned much. Every time someone close to me experiences the death of someone they love, I try to pass on what I know. If nothing else, I am proof that a person can go on and smile again.

I am no stranger to grief. My parents are gone. One of my dearest friends died of cancer way before her time. In 2009, I lost my beautiful 24 year old daughter, Jenni. And you are right, no parent should have to endure the loss of their child. It’s not right, but it happens. What then?

My father died when I was 36 and I was inconsolable. I actually sought out grief therapy. I was a daddy’s girl and I had no idea how I would survive without him. At my first session, the therapist listened and handed me endless Kleenexes as I sobbed. When it was her turn to talk, she said something that laid the groundwork for my ability to cope with my dad’s departure and the tragedies that followed. She told me flat out that I would NEVER get over my father’s death and that I did not have to. She then went on to say that how I conducted my life and what I accomplished from here on out would be my living tribute to all that he put into me. After my 3rd of 10 scheduled sessons, she hugged me and said goodbye. No need to come back. I understood what I had to do.

“I am no stranger to grief. It's not right, but it happens. What then?”

I took her words seriously and jumped back into life slowly but steadily. I felt my daddy’s presence and proceeded with his love watching over me. Only one thing could break me down, and that was when I had something to tell him and reached for the phone. There just isn’t a 1-800-HEAVEN. You can’t call when something good happens or when you need advice. It was hard, but I did officially grow up that year and I began the process of learning how to handle the hardest thing in life... death. There may not be a direct line to heaven, but there is definitely a way to keep those who now live there remembered and honored forever.

When you lose someone you love, you have to cry EVERY TEAR. No sucking it up, no back burner-ing or holding back. The most ridiculous things will make you cry in the most ridiculous places. After my dad passed, I was in the supermarket. As soon as I saw a Sara Lee banana cake in the freezer section, I started to cry uncontrollably. That was my dad’s favorite! Why was it sitting there next to the frozen waffles when it should have been poised on a velvet pillow? I pulled myself together before I drew a crowd, put one in the basket and kept going. You shouldn't hold back the tears because they will have to come out eventually. The sooner you can talk about that person without crying, the sooner you can tell the stories about them all the way through.

It's understandable to feel tremendous sadness and emptiness, but don't ever get caught up in the woulda, shoulda, coulda syndrome. Thoughts that you could have changed things if you had done something different will be the undoing of you and your family.

It is very important to remember only the good things about a person after they die. It is my opinion that when a person reaches the status of angel that all the bad stuff vaporizes into oblivion and the good stuff shines like a beacon for all eternity.

The best way to keep someone’s memory alive is to take on their most positive attributes as your own. If they were prompt, be prompt. If they were good listeners, be one too. My Jennifer could get along with anyone. She could find the good in anyone. Before I lost her, half the people in my life pissed me off. Since she has been gone, I am so much more patient and forgiving as a tribute to my girl.

Never avoid experiencing the things that your loved one enjoyed. Listen to their favorite music, eat at their favorite restaurants, visit places they loved to go. And if there is something that they didn’t get to do and wanted to, do it for them. It is the job of us who are left behind to do the things on earth for them. This one is hard, but once you start, it will bring you peace.

You are probably asking yourself why is she writing about this? After all, you read these damn articles of mine to be entertained and now I have taken you down this road, over Sunday coffee, when you were expecting to laugh. Listen, I let you all inside of my life and my head and like the song goes... you have to take “All of Me”.

I did it for 2 reasons. First of all, I did it selfishly. I have people that I care very much about who are struggling with different stages of grief at the present time. They read my articles every week, because I make them, so they will get my message in the gentlest way. I know from your emails that many of you have suffered losses, so it seemed like the right time to share what has gotten me through.

Secondly, I did it for our angels. They are happy and pain free and only have one concern as they float around in the clouds. Our angels worry about us. I hope my words will help you when you need them. And to those we love who have gone to heaven, you can now concern yourselves with just being beautiful angels. I think I have it handled down here.

As The Leaves Turn

This time of year is my favorite. I love it when the trees turn fiery colors and the air turns crisp. I am English, Scottish, and German and none of those nationalities have much to do with the sun. I am happiest in sweaters and fuzzy hats. I have the fireplace going every moment that I am home. I feel alive when the summer turns to fall.

Besides the fact that I loathe being hot, summer is really a lot of work for a woman. Think about it - you have to shave your legs and underarms constantly. I am pasty white, so I have to also slather my limbs with creams that have a hint of self-tanner so my blue-white skin doesn’t glow in the dark. You also have to take special care of your feet to look pretty in sandals.

I much prefer the clothing that comes with fall and winter. It’s so much easier to get dressed in the morning when I can cover my ample hips with a long cardigan. If my hair is wonky I can wear a cute hat. I can let the hair grow on my legs until it’s long enough to braid, if I felt like it.

I dream of the fall through June, July and August. Summer clothing is challenging for me. I like butt covers. You know... shirts and tops that are longer to cover up the ravages of childbirth and doughnuts. There are not a whole lot of choices when the weather turns hot. I tried the Hawaiian shirt route, but I always felt like a refugee from Margaritaville. I just can’t carry off that tropical vibe.

But fall has arrived and the smells coming from the pine trees and chimneys get me so invigorated. To me, there is nothing better than a home with a fireplace roaring and the scent of stew or soup wafting from the kitchen. You miss all of that in summer. Salads don’t waft.

So many things are better when it’s chilly... hugs, cuddling, and sleeping in, just to name a few. It’s going to pour rain all this weekend in Los Angeles. I look forward to staying home and watching movies I never got to see in the theatres. I have groceries in the house, so I am all set. It’s just me and my dogs and the sounds of nature outside.

It is also during the fall and winter that I double up on counting my blessings. I know that there are so many people who have to go to work in the rain and the snow. There are others who have a roof over their heads but no heat. And this time of year is especially hellish for the homeless. It breaks my heart and I do what I can to help.

I know you always expect me to be funny and sarcastic, but there is a very tender side to me and I am eternally grateful for the life I live. I never lose sight of how lucky I am. This time of year makes me particularly sappy.

I have never truly been down and out, but I know what it is like to dread the rain and the cold. When I was raising my children, money was very tight much of the time. The roof on our house needed replacing badly; even the lightest rain would come through the ceilings. We had no money to replace it and it was beyond repair. I hated it when the rains would threaten. My now ex-husband and I would go up on the roof and lay out sheets of bright blue heavy plastic and secure the edges with bricks and rocks. I’ll admit that it looked pretty bad and the neighbors gave us disapproving looks whenever we had to spring into action and put up the “roof condom” (as I called it affectionately). When we finally got the money together to put on a new roof, I threw the blue plastic and the drip buckets away in a private ceremony.

I always get so sentimental in autumn. A few weeks ago, as I left for work, I noticed that a gentle rain had left an amazing array of multi-toned leaves on the ground. I gathered up a gorgeous variety of different colors and shapes and brought them to the office to present to my graphic artist, Nora. I was a little fearful that she would think me strange to bring her leaves, but art brains understand other art brains, and she squealed with delight. She immediately laid the leaves out on a flat surface, covered them with newspaper and put a heavy board on top to let them dry. Yesterday we uncovered the dried leaves and made big plans to do something amazing with them. She suggested decoupaging them on a tray to use here at the office. We both squealed! Nothing gets artsy fartsy types wigglier than the word “decoupage”. When we finish the project, I will take a picture and let you all see it. Promise.

Also, the holiday season is here. I have to keep myself from getting into big trouble when it comes to buying decorations. I had to limit my time watching QVC because I know in my heart that I actually can live without most of the fabulous light-up, twinkly, musical Christmas décor that they sell. I want it all, but know I could easily end up at the Betty Ford Center if I don’t curb my addiction.

I will be going through my own Christmas decorations this weekend. Once again I will assess, as I always do this time of year, whether having 187 nutcracker characters and over 100 snow globes is practical at this stage in my life. As I un-wrap each treasure and remember when and where I bought it and how old my babies were at the time, getting rid of anything makes no sense at all.

Well, now you’ve seen the mushy squishy side of me. Now you know... my sharp tongue and snappy wit are tempered by a huge heart. I love animals, kids, and America. My family and friends are my world. I am a sucker for the underdog and will do anything to help another person.

That being said... this doesn’t mean that I can keep my mouth shut if something needs to be said or kick some butt when butt-kicking is needed.

Enjoy your beautiful fall weekend. Hugs!