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.

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.

Holiday Cheer

I love everything about Christmas. I was one of the lucky ones who had parents who made it into a big deal. My dad would do the lights and they were always perfect. My mother made custom strings out of the old fashioned big bulb variety by using only red, green, and yellow, in that order. All other colors were deleted, so the overall effect was that our very symmetric house with a central path to the front door, looked like a gingerbread house. The bay windows in the living room were the perfect stage for our perfect tree. It was glorious.

Now our tree was another matter. This was long before artificial trees started looking so life- like, so of course we had a real one. This was one of my favorite parts of Christmas, the tree hunt. The standard lots never had the quality of tree that my mother demanded, so we went downtown to the train yards where the trees came in from Oregon. There were wholesale lots with bigger trees than most homes can accommodate. If we didn't find one that was perfect from every angle that was already on a stand, my dad would hop into the train car and start picking up trees and twirling them around for my mother's inspection. It was such an adventure. I loved the smells... the pines, the sawdust on the ground, hot chocolate from the food vendors. I think about those days every year when I unpack my pre-lit Scotch Pine and put section A into B and both into C. It's not the same, but it is so much easier and my tree looks great.

On Christmas Eve, my dad would call us outside to see the blinking red lights in the sky and told us that it was Santa. He had a way of making us believe that Santa Claus was circling around our town just waiting for us to go to bed. Little did we kids know that it was just small aircraft viewing the Christmas displays from the air. We left cookies and milk, and carrots for the reindeer, and went to bed earlier than usual. I remember so distinctly hearing him on the roof. Big footsteps and the sound of bells above my head were so thrilling. God bless my daddy for climbing up the ladder and stomping on the roof and ringing those bells. I always pretended to be asleep when my parents came in around midnight and told us that they were pretty sure Santa Claus had been there. I was usually a little nervous on my way down the hall to the living room. Had I been good enough? Did Santa know about a few things that nobody else did? Would there be nothing there for me? I was always relieved and delighted to see lots of packages with my name on them. My family always opened our gifts on Christmas Eve as it turned into Christmas morning. It was the best.

I believed in Santa Claus way longer than most children. In grade school, when I would come home and tell my mom that some kid told me that there was no such thing as Santa, my mom would say that Santa doesn't come to those who don't believe in him. From then on I didn't mention it much in the play yard. I had a good thing going with Old Saint Nick, because I BELIEVED. When I graduated the 6th grade and was going into junior high, my parents thought it best to tell me the truth about Santa. It was one of the worst days of my life. I cried my eyes out. My mother held me close and told me that believing in Santa when you are growing up is the second most wonderful thing that can happen at Christmas. Second most wonderful? What is the first I asked? It was then that she told me that one day when I grow up and have children of my own, I will then make Santa come alive for them. She was right. That is the absolute best.

The traditions that families create at holidays mean so much as you travel through life. But what about the people who didn't have any of what you and I had? There are so many folks who really don't like the holidays at all. It is painful for them. They think it's all a lot of hooey and over-indulgence. I really believe that it is up to those of us who understand and adore the spirit of whatever holiday you celebrate to pass that along and try to impart some joy. Let's get this hooey and over-indulgence party started!

You can tell these Bah Humbug people from a mile away. They are the first to mention with disdain when the Christmas decorations go on sale in August. They grouse about the gross capitalization aspect of Christmas. They shy away from Secret Santa exchanges at the office and you'll never catch one of them listening to the 24/7 Christmas music station. They came from a different reality and I think it is our responsibility as people who love the holidays to do something about it. This can't be done overnight, but in little, baby-elf steps.

I am going to propose that each of us do one random act of holiday kindness for a Bah Humbugger. It doesn't matter if it's big or small, just start the healing. They hate the holidays because they didn't grow up like we did. They were left out and did without while the world was aglow with Christmas magic. There are lots of great groups out there collecting toys for underprivileged children. It is easy to buy a toy for a child who might not be getting anything. I do that too and so should you if you can. But it's not so easy to hand out a sweet dose of Christmas Spirit to someone who is a sourpuss because it's December. Find someone who wears being a Bah Humbugger like a badge of honor and wear them down with a kind offering. A small gift, something you baked, a bone for their dog, an invitation to dinner... anything that sends the warmth of holiday cheer.

Ok, I will let you go now. There's a lot to do this week. Get those cookies baked, packages wrapped and enjoy this amazing season. And in all the last minute madness, please find the time show some love to someone with a case of the Bah Humbugs.

My Darlings

It's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and I am all mushy and squishy with thoughts of tomorrow. I am not cooking this year, so it will be a relaxing day for me. I am looking so forward to it. I decided to write you a letter instead of an article this week. You all are so busy with stuffing turkeys and eating and shopping, you wouldn't even have time to read it.

It's that most wonderful time of the year when Black Friday and Cyber Monday are the bookends to 4 great days of shopping for crazy good bargains. I used to be out there at O Dark Thirty with all the other crazies, but I am an online girl for the most part these days. I never want these love letters of mine to sound like a commercial for LoveFifi.com, but I will say we have some great stuff at some stupid cheap prices. I guarantee you will have fun when you are not at the mall shopping for bargain undies IN your undies. Good times!

I wish you everything wonderful tomorrow and always. We should always give thanks for our gifts in this life and there is nothing that brings that home more than being with family and friends. It doesn't get better than being with the ones you love. I will get up when I wake up which is a luxury in itself. I will brew a perfect cup of coffee and sit with my doggies and watch the Macy's parade. It's corny, but it's tradition... and I love tradition.

We are going to a fine restaurant. We started doing this about 5 years ago and it has been great. It's not home cooking, but it is really good. There is no getting up at dawn to stuff a bird, no worries about timing all the side dishes perfectly, no dishes and no mess. There are also no leftovers, so I always cook a turkey breast and dressing at home. I don't buy a pumpkin pie for my house because that would not be wise. I would eat it all and never confess. Only my hips and bottom would tell the truth. I will buy the cranberry sauce with the whole cranberries in it. Nobody else in my family likes that one so now I can be a rebel and NOT buy the jellied one. So I will have turkey sandwiches, which is the best part of Thanksgiving food, if you ask me.

Have a beautiful holiday and get your shopping done. I will be decorating this weekend. I like my Christmas wonderland to be up for as long as possible. It takes me forever to put it up and it takes me even longer to take it all down. It really shoots the hell out of February.

Before I say goodbye for now, I think I will tell you a big secret about me. I may have mentioned it before, but it is certainly in keeping with the spirit of this holiday. When I was 6, my first grade teacher asked each one of us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Without hesitation, I answered "a pilgrim". My teacher smiled and never let on that my dream was pretty impossible. She then asked me why. Again, with great conviction, I told her it was because I liked their outfits with the stiff hats and the big buckles on their shoes. Isn't it ironic that I wanted to wear clothes that covered every inch of skin, yet I ended up designing and selling apparel that doesn't cover up much? My sister has always cracked up every time she thinks about me wanting to be a pilgrim. OK, so I wasn't a big thinker at 6 and it never occurred to me that this wasn't a real job. Still, my sister finds my early aspirations hilarious. This from a woman who wanted to be a mermaid.

A Loss Of Words

My panties are in a huge knot right now. Of course they are LoveFifi.com panties and they will be like new again after I have my say.

Here goes. I met a man at a friend's dinner party. He is attractive, accomplished, very well spoken and unmarried. We talked the evening away and there was truly a connection. It was nice. He asked for my phone number and email address and I obliged. I was surprised at myself. I have mentioned before that I loathe dating, especially that first one. I find going to my accountant for my yearly tax appointment more enjoyable than most first dates. But since the dinner party kind of got all that out of the way, I threw caution to the wind and gave him my contact information. After all, a handsome man with such impressive credentials, a sense of humor, the ability to speak knowledgeably on so many subjects may be the treasure of a man I had given up trying to find.

The next day I received a text message from Mr. Fabulous that said. "How r u? IMHO last night was GR8! I will call u tonight. xoxo PQ". I stared at this damn text in complete disbelief. How could so few words say so much about a person? "How r u?" Really? He is so busy he doesn't have time to write "are you". If he doesn't have time for four extra letters, could he have time for me? Now IMHO baffled me completely. It looked like some new medical insurance category like a PPO or an HMO, but that didn't make sense. Thank goodness for the Internet. I soon found out that it stood for "in my humble opinion" in texting-speak. I got the "last night was GREAT" part without looking anything else up. And he finished up his message by flattering my existence once again by referring to me as "u".

Did some 14-year-old skate boarder kidnap my my articulate and successful new friend, Peter Quigley, and is now writing to me in his stead as some kind of sick prank? This guy earned an MBA and owns a successful consulting firm. He obviously enjoyed my company because he stuck to me like glue and wrote me the very next morning. But this mish-mash of goofy acronyms and abbreviated words left me disappointed and completely bewildered as to how to write back.

I like the English language. I like communication. I don't want to have to refer to some new age cyber glossary to try to figure out what he is saying. I realize that he thinks it's young and techie cute to speak in shortcuts and acronyms, but it really put me off. There are enough acronyms already in our language and for the most part, they make sense. They were created for efficiency not laziness.

Acronyms like these below were totally necessary. Too scientific to remember the whole thing!

SCUBA Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus

RADAR Radio Detection and Ranging

LASER Light Amplification by the Stimulated Emission of Radiation

JPEG Joint Photographic Experts Group

ZIP (Code) Zone Improvement Plan

Acronyms like these are forgivable because they get the point across quickly and are succinct. Very efficient, I would say.

DIY Do It Yourself

ETA Estimated Time of Arrival

AKA Also Known As

TBA To Be Announced

ATM Automated Teller Machine

RIP Rest In Peace

I am not offended when someone asks for my ID, or wants to know if they can use my PC or complains that their car keys are MIA. All are acceptable modern additions to our language. But when some man tries to woo me in a short text by making it even shorter and requires me to decode what he has to say, it makes me crazy. This guy graduated from HARVARD with honors. It so distresses me that people don't realize that taking these shortcuts is not flattering to the person on the receiving end, unless you are a teenager. I am not a teenager and I am going to stick to my infatuation with whole words and complete sentences. And I would also like to mention that many school districts in this country are no longer teach cursive writing. No more handwriting; you heard me.

There is no rhyme or reason to this epidemic of whittling down perfectly easy phrases to type. OK, I can live with LOL. It's cute enough to stay. But if you want to thank me very much, please refrain from typing TYVM. I can guarantee that I put effort into what I did for you and I deserve better. If I made your day better, please don't text me YMMD. It wouldn't feel as good as you spelling it all out.

So what am I going to tell the man who so romantically refers to me as "u"? I wrote to him in a way that is the complete opposite of what he wrote to me. I emailed him for one thing. I started with "Hello Peter". I channeled my Emily Bronte self and wrote lovely, ladylike complete sentences without an acronym to be found. I signed it "Warmest Regards, Fifi"

I've gotten nothing back so far, but my guess is that he either won't "get" it or won't like it. Whichever is fine with me. If he replies to my email and sounds like the man that I met at my friends house, then there may be something there between us. If he sends me another one of those "too cool for school" abbreviations-from-Hell texts, I probably will not ever reply.

Whew... My panties are officially unknotted and I am breathing normally once again.

P.S. If I am ever lost and you are on my search team, if you see this from the air, please disregard everything I just said.

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.

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.

Vegas, Baby!

I am excited about this weekend. My favorite niece is getting married to the man of her dreams (and our dreams, too). He is a doll and we are thrilled to be going to watch the magic happen. These two kids fell in love 6 years ago and have been separated by 3000 miles for at least half of that time. They were each married before and their first responsibilities were to their children, so they suffered through a long distance arrangement and saw each other as much as they could. The stars finally aligned in their favor and they now live in the same city. Saturday is the wedding in Las Vegas and it is going to be fabulous.

They decided to have the wedding in Vegas because they wanted everyone to have a ball. They don’t want wedding presents; they just want the people who love them to be there. It’s going to be wonderful to see these two families become one big family. I will see friends and relatives that I haven’t seen in ages. Because it is Las Vegas, the fun and craziness will probably continue around the clock. You either love or hate Vegas. There is really no in between. I love it.

Las Vegas, Nevada is a pretty interesting place. Did you know that there are approximately 15,000 miles of neon tubing that light up the strip and downtown? Yep, and of the 20 largest hotels in the world, 12 are in Las Vegas. The largest hotel in the U. S. is the MGM Grand. It is also the 3rd largest in the world.

There are over 200,000 slot machines in Las Vegas. More than 60% of all gambling revenues come from the slots. I do my part, I can tell you. The largest slot jackpot ever won was at the Excalibur Casino and was just under $40 million dollars. Lovers love Las Vegas and have made it the wedding capital of the United States. The average number of weddings performed per day is around 315. Plenty of fun will be had this weekend. I can’t wait. There is nothing I like better than mayhem and foolishness. I will be a good girl as I am kind of a junior matriarch in this crazy family of mine. Although it is said that “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”, it does not apply to my family. Our motto is more like “what happens in Vegas will be posted on Facebook faster than you can say Elvis Impersonator." I will behave myself.

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.

Hot Mama

It is only May and the weather here in Los Angeles is already steamy. It’s pushing into the 90s and I am not happy about it. I am a pretty poor excuse for a California girl because I just hate being hot. Don’t misunderstand; I am hot in the sexy way, at least for someone in my age bracket. My dry cleaner and my veterinarian still think I am a hottie, but they are not that young either, so I don’t know what that makes me. Since I am not a 40 year old, the cougar train left my station years ago. If anyone knows the answer to this, please let me know. Anyway, back to the weather.

I am not a sun worshiper. Anything over 80 degrees is too hot for me. I love fall to spring, but then comes summer, which seems to start earlier and earlier where the heat is concerned. It is also the season for weddings and graduations. If you have never sat in the torturous sun waiting through 300 graduates until your nephew, Zachary Zimmerman, collected his diploma, you haven’t lived. And those summer weddings are a delight. The community church (built in 1925) filled to the rafters with polyester-clad friends and relatives radiating enough heat to launch a rocket. Good times.

My dislike for being hot has intensified as I have gotten older. Hormone changes, global warming and the fact that I have gotten crankier has made it worse. I sweat in places that are unmentionable. My baby fine hair makes every day a bad hair day. Any attempt to use make-up in the heat usually melts down to a look somewhere between a raccoon and Marilyn Manson by the day's end. And let’s not even discuss the time it takes for all the extra grooming! Shaving your legs and armpits, pumicing your feet and of course, you can’t run around looking pale in the summer; you must look tan! I am pasty white, so instant tanner is my only choice. Granted, these products have gotten infinitely better in recent years, but it’s just another step to getting ready that I don’t love. I am getting really good at putting one leg at a time on top the toilet seat and foaming each leg with instant bronzer and rubbing it on evenly. The effect is very natural and worth the trouble. I always remember to wash my hands immediately so I don’t have tan hands. I never do this job naked anymore, however, because I nearly had a heart attack several summers ago when I removed my nightgown one morning before showering only to see that both of my breasts had sinister brown patches on them. I was horrified! What terrible disease had I contacted? Upon further examination in the mirror, I remembered that I had put on “fake bake” the day before and now portions of my breasts matched my legs.

When I was a youngster, we didn’t have central air for most of my childhood years. There were two window units that you had to stand right in front of to cool off. And I did. I also ran through the sprinklers every day, all day. I slept with damp towels over my body with the fan blowing on me. We finally got AC throughout the house, but just as Scarlett O”Hara swore she would never be poor again, I made the same kind of commitment to myself as far as being hot. In the summer months, my home is “movie theater” cool all the time. I pay the power company extra all winter so that my summer air conditioning bills don’t kill me. The offices AND THE WAREHOUSE at LoveFifi.com are completely air conditioned. I made our landlord spend $20,000 dollars before we would sign our lease when it was discovered that the air conditioning stopped at the warehouse area. Nobody is going to be hot in Fifi’s world. Can you imagine that he thought it was OK for the offices to be cool in the summer, but not the warehouse where my people are schlepping cartons and pulling orders and doing the real work? It was not going to happen.

The perils of summer are not completely about the high temperatures, but also what happens when it’s hot. I have written before about my phobia of un-pedicured feet in sandals. I think there should be a law that makes it a crime to expose ugly calloused feet to the world. There are more affordable nail salons than there are Starbucks, so there is really no excuse. Pretty feet on women are a sexy accessory. The polishes come in amazing colors. Sandals are definitely one thing I really like about the warm weather. Summer is not only the traditional time for backyard parties and bar-b-ques (love!) it is the annual celebration of people that wear shorts who shouldn’t. You don’t have to be thin to look good in shorts, but if you have legs that have more dimples than the Osmonds or appear to have a road map of Texas tattooed on them, perhaps capri pants might be a better look. Let’s keep America beautiful!

For now, I look forward to going from my air conditioned building to my air conditioned car to my air conditioned house to beat this heat wave. Some relief should be around the corner soon. June Gloom, can you hear me calling?

BIG NEWS!

I recently lost some weight and everyone noticed, but not in the way I expected. It’s very different when you are 20-something and drop noticeable poundage. People assume it is vanity, or a big occasion or a reckless life style or a new man. When we get into our mid-30s through our 40s, we ladies fight the battles of a slower metabolism, hormonal changes, raising families and demanding careers that can pack on pounds. If you lose weight at this age, it can be credited to midlife crisis, finding yourself and making room for “me” time or being back in the dating game after a divorce.

Now if you are over 50, like yours truly, it’s a whole different ball game. I dropped some weight on purpose and the responses were so odd. A man friend who I have known for over 30 years, noticed immediately and gave me a congratulatory hug for my new look. But he ruined it all by adding that it will be easier for me to attract a man now that I am thinner. I was speechless. First of all, I was always proportionate and curvy. I am still built the same way only a bit smaller. Secondly, I have never had a minute’s problem attracting men no matter what my size or age. And to be brutally honest, attracting a man in my age group doesn't have as much to do with figure shape and beauty as it does with the ability to have stimulating conversations and enjoy common interests. And if a girl can cook and has ESPN, you are a virtual goddess.

I next encountered an acquaintance that threw her arms around me and whispered softly words that I never expected to hear. “Are you well, darling? I hope it’s nothing serious”. Good grief! She thought I was sick. She evidently has no idea how sick I would have to be to not be interested in eating. I am trying to think about that last statement and come up with an answer. Let’s see… how ill would I have to be to not want to eat? Unconscious is all I can come up with.

Only last week I ran into one of my neighbors who I had not seen for a while. She was quite surprised to see a smaller me. “Look at you! So how’s your business doing, honey?” she inquired with a concerned look on her face. Not “You look great”, or “You look younger” or healthier or anything close. She thought maybe I lost weight because I was so stressed out because the business was failing or I didn’t have money for groceries or some other ridiculous thought. “Everything is great. The business is doing wonderfully well, but thanks for asking”, I replied.

For the record, I lost weight for two reasons. My doctor nags me all the time about 15 or 20 lbs. I never hear the end of it. If I go see him because my knee hurts, it’s because I am too fat. If I am having trouble sleeping at night, it’s because I am too fat. If I have bronchitis, he tells me I’m too fat as he is writing out the prescription for Amoxicillin. It’s always the same no matter what I am there for. The second reason is that I decided it would be better for me all around if I lost a few pounds and actually fit into the clothes I own.

I have always been a curvy girl and I have always been happy with me. Maybe I was before my time, but I never felt compelled to diet into a size 6. The last time I was a size 6, I was 6. Been there, done that. Now I live in my size 14 world with great conviction.

I was something of a pioneer in my industry when it came to the plus sized body. I designed lingerie for the fuller figure decades ago. As you know, we have a fantastic array of plus size merchandise on LoveFifi.com. As a matter of fact, we are currently re-photographing our entire plus department on plus sized models. Yeah!

This girl has always been comfortable with being in the double digit size range my entire adult life. I have never been, or wanted to be, skinny and I have done a fine job of that never happening. There are times when I want to weigh less, but I preserve my curves and remain proud. When you’re beauti-FULL, as I call it, you have to have a thick skin to go along with your thicker figure. I don’t even mind some of the jokes. What is it called when fat people go skinny dipping? Chunky dunking… pretty cute, huh?

I am so excited about the new attitude and bold confidence of the plus sized girls in today’s world. They wear their fuller figures like badge of honor. They dress the way they want. They flaunt it and they know how to enter a room with panache like nobody’s business. They love their curves! One of my idols, Miss Mae West, was known for her hourglass body. Here’s what Miss Mae said on the subject. “Cultivate your curves-they may be dangerous, but they won’t be avoided”.

If you are not aware, there is a proud army of plus-sized women fighting hard to be recognized and counted with all the other beautiful women in the universe. There is a “curvy girl” revolution going on and I want to sign up for active duty. I say a big “BRAVO!” to those ladies who are true to themselves and fearless about their bodies. Whether you call it being self-assured, uninhibited or having swagger, it’s all awesome. I have to indulge once again in the words of my beloved Mae who wrote the book on how to “work it”.

“It isn’t what I do, but how I do it. It isn’t what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do and say it!”
~Mae West

Contact Information

I grew up in a very loving family that believed in hugs and kisses. My mother's arms around me, or my dad's pats on the head or playful tickles always told me I was loved. My family was very demonstrative and I am very grateful that I grew up in that kind of environment.

I recently went to say goodbye to a dear friend and realized halfway through our hug that this was not something she did very often. It was not an uncomfortable experience, but it made me think long and hard about how lucky I am and how much she had probably missed in life. I am a hugger and proud of it.

I believe in the power of touch so devoutly. It transmits wordless messages that say so much. For example, people have been shaking hands to introduce themselves for eons. Have you ever heard someone comment about a handshake they just experienced? I have. The comments can range from "firm and genuine" to "wimpy and limp". A message from human to human was sent in a matter of seconds that conveyed a message that might ultimately affect a relationship. For me personally, when a man shakes my hand and then places his left hand over mine so that my hand is sheltered by both of his hands, it tells me that he probably protects the women in his life. I am always impressed and I have to be careful not to swoon. This, of course, is not the litmus test for judging character in a man as I am sure there is probably an ax murderer or two who shake women's hands in this manner, but I do consider this an indication of a gentleman most of the time.

There are so many times that touch has amazing meaning. When I was a kid, my mom would stroke my forehead to soothe me when I was sick in bed with tonsillitis. To this day, you could not convince me that it was not her tender touch that cured me instead of the penicillin.

I am pretty sure that when some of you realized that this article was about touching, that your first thoughts were not about how validated or reassured you feel when your boss pats you on the shoulder for a "job well done", but to the romantic or maybe erotic side of touch. I don't ever want to disappoint, so let's go there. The best first kiss I ever received was when the man looked into my eyes and drew me towards him by very gently caressing the sides of my face until my lips met his. It was gorgeous and is permanently tattooed in my memories. To my gentleman readers out there... you are welcome to use it, but you need to write me a thank you note.

The most electrifyingly sexy thing I ever saw in a movie was in The Age of Innocence. Ladies, if you haven't seen this exquisite period piece, please do. Guys, you should try to watch it with her because it is beautiful and your woman will be very impressed at your sensitivity and artful soul. Granted, it doesn't have any guns, breasts, monsters or car chases, but your lady will be in a very romantic and loving mood when all is said and done. Okay, back to the sexiest scene on film. Daniel-Day Lewis is engaged to Winona Ryder, but he and her married cousin, played by Michelle Pfieffer, have a secret forbidden "thing" for each other. In my favorite scene, All three are at a gathering and there is a receiving line or something where Daniel is sandwiched between his fiancé and his lover in the line. Now remember, this takes place in the late 19th century, so in order to be received, ladies and gentlemen had to remove their gloves to present themselves. As Daniel and Michelle waited their turns, they were able to touch each other's bare hand for a brief, but provocatively explosive second made even more thrilling because of the danger of the fiancé standing so close. Believe me when I tell you that this was more exciting and sexy to me than any totally nude romp could ever be. I'm telling you, touch is everything.

Do you know who REALLY understands the magic of touch? Dogs and cats. Petting their heads, scratching behind their ears and rubbing them from stem to stern are all pure heaven to them. The moment I wake up, my little Beau rolls over on his back for his morning belly rub. This is even BEFORE coffee, so you know how much I love this little guy.

So the next time a friend surprises you with an instantaneous shoulder rub, be grateful for the gift of human touch. If you are not a hugger, get over it. You are missing one of the best things life has to offer.

I think you know me well enough by now to know that I am a big believer in the theory that the most wonderful things in life cannot be bought. However, so there is no confusion, I still believe that people that say that money can't buy happiness don't know where to shop. I'm just saying...

True Love

I want to thank you all for saving me so much angst and a whole lot of money all these years. You allow me to write about whatever is on my mind and often times you help me get through some really tough stuff. Many of you take the time to write to me and give me your two cents. Your two cents are worth a million dollars to me.

Why did I choose today to thank you so profusely? I felt that I needed to let you know how much you, my loyal readers, give to me... and I really need you right now. I had the choice of faking some light-hearted piece of fluff that would have been painful to write or I could tell you why I am hurting, which would also be painful, but honest and genuine.

I think you all know by now that at LoveFifi.com, we bring our dogs to work. There are sometimes more dogs than people. There are dog beds in the warehouse where we pack your orders and in every office where we create the magic. The dogs wander around and nap wherever they please. We take company dog walks in the park next door and the 2 employees who don’t have dogs of their own often take “dog breaks” and spend some time playing and cuddling any one of the doggies. The environment here is amazing for all concerned.

Today I had to go and pick up the ashes of my beloved Babydoll. I had been dreading it for weeks and just could not bring myself to go and collect her remains. I did it today because I knew everyone was in the office and they would support me during the unveiling. I have been a mess for weeks. I miss her so much.

The last weeks have be very sad for me. Babydoll was a character. She was a true diva in every way. She had more clothes than I did. Although those who didn’t know her well thought of her as a prissy dog, she was actually a pretty tough soldier. Five years ago, she was attacked by huge muscular dog who was not on a leash. He tore her nearly in half and if it were not for the efforts of my brilliant veterinarian, she would have died. To this day, Dr. K says that she was the most injured dog he had ever saved. She was in the hospital for over a month and had several operations. She survived, but was really never the same.

The fact that she was persnickety was probably due to me. When I would take her on walks, she would put one paw on the grass and if it were wet, she would draw her paw back and look at me as to say “I don’t DO wet grass, thank you very much”. I always cooked her food. She enjoyed a diet of chicken and brown rice or lamb and cous cous. I warmed it up in the microwave and if I ever tried to save a little time by giving it to her room temperature, I would get this puzzled look and she would walk right into the kitchen and sit in front of the counter where the microwave was.

She always had a “poof” of long hair tied with a ribbon on the top of her head. She was a fashion icon in the dog world. She honestly loved wearing clothes and it worked well because she had a huge scar that went completely around her body. My friends and family delighted in buying her girly girl stuff that included lots of bling. Her collar was solid rhinestones.

A few years ago I adopted a little boy dog that I call Beau, who had been severely abused. He was and is very shy and the polar opposite of an alpha dog. That was Babydoll. She ruled the world. If I gave them each a bone, she would plot and conspire as to how she would steal Beau’s bone when he wasn’t looking. She wanted both bones and Beau always stepped aside for the Queen.

In November, Babydoll’s breathing became very labored. She had a collapsed trachea after the attack which became more and more of a problem as the years passed. She was on shots and meds for years to help her breathe. Her abdomen had ballooned to an enormous size and the vet said it was because she was taking in air trying to breathe. He kept her for 5 days and then called me in. He felt that it was time to start thinking about putting her down. I couldn’t bear the thought of not bringing her home for at least a little while. It really wasn’t for me, but for her. She had spent 5 days in a cement cell without her family and I knew I could medicate her and care for her and keep her comfortable. Because my vet has known me for over 25 years and because he is very attached to Babydoll, he agreed.

As soon as she got her home she was really happy. She slept a lot, ate well and continued to torture her brother, despite the fact that she had trouble keeping her balance and was weak. We got through Christmas and she continued to come to work with me. I watched her constantly to make sure she wasn’t gasping for breath or uncomfortable.

Towards the end of January, over a weekend, she didn’t want me out of her site. She just wanted to feel my touch and sleep next to me. I cut off her poof so I could pet her head gently as often as possible. I carried her around in a papoose–type dog carrier so she could be close to me. On January 25th, she stopped eating and drinking and I knew it was time. I called my vet at home and he met me at his office late at night. I held her while she went to heaven. I had arranged for her cremation and urn weeks before, so all that was left was to kiss Babydoll for the last time and hug my precious vet.

It took me a whole month to go and collect her urn, but I did it today. I brought it back to the office and my dear ones at work opened the box. I had her ashes put inside a rock that goes in the garden. It was the perfect place for her because she loved to bask in the sun on my patio like the movie star she was.

For those of you who are not animal lovers, you probably stopped reading this article paragraphs ago. For those of you who understand, I know you are feeling me right now. I am trying really hard to concentrate only on the joy and smiles she brought into my life. The sadness of her absence is heart-wrenching at times, but the change in Beau keeps me focused. He stopped eating for a few days when she didn’t come home, but after a while he realized that he was getting all my attention. He’s liking it big time.

If you have read this far, I thank you for sticking with me through this whole thing. I was not feeling funny today. For all of you out there who are pet owners, please give Rocky, or Sophie, or Bruiser an extra dose of love today in Babydoll’s memory. And thank you again for helping me get through a sad time by allowing me to write about it. I am grateful for every time she wagged her tail when I asked her, “Who is the cutest dog in the world?”. I never really minded it when I stepped on one of her squeaky toys in the dark and scared myself. I am thankful for all the help she gave me licking my ankles dry when I got out of the shower. It surely saved me lots of time in the morning. I cherish all the times she made me laugh at her antics and all the times she fell asleep in my arms.

When life is hard, I often find strength in the words of the great philosophers. Today is no exception.

“Don’t cry because it’s over... Smile because it happened.” - Ted Geisel (Dr. Seuss)

Love And War

Sometimes people write to me and ask if I am REAL and if I actually write these columns and answer your questions myself. I have to laugh. I can’t even get my kids do their chores without nagging them, so it is unlikely that I could talk someone into writing a column for me. Of course, I am REAL. And you would know just how real if you had been here yesterday.

I love getting letters from my readers. I feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world because I get to know you through your words, just as you get to know me though mine. In this crazy fast-paced world, where people conduct their whole lives on cell phones, eat over the sink so they do not to make dirty dishes and drive-thru everything from the bank to their house of worship, I am flattered when you take the time to email me. I keep every one of your letters, by the way, even that mean one from the guy in New Jersey who told me that leopard print is OUT and that I use too much of it on the site. He is wrong, of course, and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. However, I am still not over the hurt of it all, but my therapist is helping me greatly.

Anyway, back to yesterday. I was going through this week’s reader mail, when I came upon a letter that took my breath away. With every word that I read, my heart thumped loudly and my eyes filled with tears. Incredible warmth came over my whole body. I just sat at my computer and cried. I cannot ever remember being so completely touched. I could tell you all about this fabulous letter, but better yet, why don’t I let you read it.

Hello Ms. Fifi,
I just had to write to tell you thank you for the wonderful lingerie you have sent. The quality is top notch, better in fact than many very expensive designer boutiques. I love the service I receive and have decided that I will entrust you with all my lingerie and delicates needs from now on. My husband is serving in the desert right now so I sent him your site address. He calls once every two weeks or so and one of the first things he says after I love you is "This is what I want you to get from Fifi's this time...” I get to shop and he gets to look forward to coming home to a whole new wardrobe of beautiful little things for me to model for him. I just had to write to tell you thank you. It is hard to miss him so much but now I'm not as depressed because I have a mission while he is gone. My mission is to transform my ordinary Army wife, middle aged self into a beautiful hottie, (for lack of a better modern term). Your lingerie makes me feel beautiful on the outside which makes me feel beautiful on the inside. My personality has changed from just having a ho-hum grin to having a beaming, brilliant smile. Every one has noticed and all I say is thank you and whisper "LOVE FIFI" to them and their wives. There will be a lot of happy soldiers coming home soon and thanks to you they will be returning to very beautiful wives and girlfriends.

Imagine getting to be part of some of the most passionate and intimate moments in people’s lives. We have learned from the many letters of gratitude we get from Military wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends and lovers that the first time couples get to see each other after being apart for so many months and miles is even more spectacular than any wedding night hoped to be. They are celebrating their love, but more than that, they are celebrating keeping alive and returning safely to each others arms. My goose bumps have goose bumps.

I know that many of our troops have come home, but many more are still in places like Afghanistan. Saying “thank you for serving” sounds so inadequate. Thank you for risking your lives, living away from the people you love and giving up all your creature comforts seems much more appropriate.

To our military men and women and your spouses, we at LoveFifi.com are so totally honored to be a part of what keeps your dreams alive when you are forced to be apart. But even better than that, to be a part of your homecomings is over-the-moon wonderful. We are so touched and proud.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Tina Turner asks a good question. Let’s talk about it.

Did you know that we are the only creatures who can laugh…and love? Even though you think your Schnauzer loves you, it’s not the same kind of love that humans experience.

With Valentine’s Day so close, I think we should really examine this LOVE thing. How do we KNOW when we are loved? It’s important to know it when it comes your way.

I was a bit spoiled in the love department when I was a little girl. My mom would do things for me like cut my sandwiches into shapes with cookie cutters so when it was time for lunch, I had a special surprise. She used to make pancakes on Sunday for the family and always made these little teensy weensy pancakes just for me. She called them “dolly” pancakes. And when I would run through the sprinklers in the summertime, she would greet me at the front door with towels right out of the dryer. These were all beautiful acts of love that mean so much to me. I often look up at heaven and thank my mommy for all the things she did to make me feel so special.

When I was 16, my boyfriend gave me his class ring. He was the first love of my life. I wore his big ring on a long chain around my neck so everyone at school would know that I was “TAKEN”. As cool as I looked, the dangling ring bopped me in the forehead every time I bent over. If it hadn’t been for my bangs, the world would have seen that I was too blond to remember to hold the necklace when I bent down. I only ever thought about doing that when the ring bonked me in the head. Love sometimes comes with a price to pay. He said “I love you” all the time, wrote me mushy notes and called me every night. I was sure that he truly loved me until some dumb butt spiked the punch at the Senior Prom and I threw up in the center console of his vintage Thunderbird. He never got over it and we broke up eventually. I seriously questioned boyfriend/girlfriend love for a long time after that.

When I was in college, my boyfriend never TOLD me he loved me. He was a starving student and worked two jobs. When I studied, he would change the LP’s on the stereo so I could concentrate. He stayed up with me many times and helped me cram for tests. I can honestly say that he loved me, but I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I broke up with him when I graduated and broke his heart. Peter, if you are out there, I am so sorry. You deserved better.

As most of you know, assistant is my sister. That makes her my assister, right? Sometimes I get so involved being Fifi that I can’t see straight. She will pop in the office and bring me a cut up piece of fruit or an 8 oz. glass of water. She used to bring me chocolate or chips but those made my butt grow. I still appreciate her sweet effort to please me. She is pretty busy herself, but always thinks of my needs. That’s real love.

Now that I am older I know that true love is not about just saying the words “I Love You” (but I DO still adore how they sound). Real love is not measured in gifts, or extravagances, although an occasional diamond never hurts to drive the point home. Love is better measured in things you do, like when I wake up in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Now THAT is love.

So, Tina... what’s love got to do with it?

EVERYTHING

Until next time.