Slowing Down?

My husband sent me an article about a new study that finds workers over 60 are just as productive as young workers.  As one, I can tell you honestly that I don’t have the stamina of colleagues half my age in the office but I do have the decided advantage of lots of experience, so I can be pretty efficient and fast when I need to be.   (The only thing that still completely flummoxes me is that whole hash-tag social media thing.)

So why, you ask, is he sending me this article?  Could it be he never wants me to retire?

My husband thinks retirement will be a one-way ticket to long term care for me.  I know he worries about my sliding into dementia if I don’t have at least 15 things to do each day (3 meals to make plus lunch for my daughter, 2 dog meals and 3 dog walks, plus a load or 2 of laundry, never mind the human interaction stuff…and this is before I even think about using my brain!).  

But here’s the thing:  I know how to fill a day.  The following is a blow-by-blow recreation of a typical Friday when I don’t work…which my husband calls my “vacation day.” 

6:00-8.30am:  Get household up and at-em, including Mrs. Sedd and daughter.  Chauffeur child to school.

8:30-8:45 am:   On the way home, stop at the nearest Starbucks.  Stand in line while waiting to get a vente iced Decaf Americano, no water.

9:00 am:    Arrive home.  Turn on computer with coffee at the ready.  Get online and do office email, read papers, write blog posts.

11:45 am:  Think about lunch then eat it.

12:30-2:30 pm:  Conduct errands, e.g., get gas, money, groceries, dry cleaning, birthday presents for daughter’s friends (complete at least 3 tasks in that timeframe).

2:30-2:45pm:  Walk dog and provide treat for performance (“good dog”).

3:00 pm:  Get daughter; wait in pick-up line at school for 3:30 dismissal and play “Subway Surfer” on smart phone.

3:50 pm:  Arrive home; review mail and debrief on dinner preferences with daughter.

4:10 pm:  Feed dog.

4:15 pm:  Place load of laundry in washer; fold laundry in dryer.

4:45 pm:  Plan dinner; communicate with husband regarding his ETA at our castle.

5:00 pm:  Pour glass of wine

Elapsed time:  11 hours

Yup, I sure am slowing down.

Happy weekend, everyone. 

 

My Digital Darlings

As someone who advises clients about how best to communicate the value of their organization, their corporate brand, or their ideas to a variety of different kinds of audiences, I naturally try to stay current on trends and so forth. 

In fact, my home sometimes serves as a mini-laboratory for validating or revealing multi-generational patterns when it comes to information consumption.  My husband (mid-50s) likes his social media, his cable news talking heads, his Kindle and his “old media” car magazines and newspapers; my tween daughter LOVES all things digital -- and their habits are quite different as you might expect.

Or so I thought.

Recent research shows that our kids’ digital media usage looks a lot like their parents.'

·         52% of tweens (ages 10-13) have mobile phones

·         28% of tweens have tablets and 16% have e-readers

·         Everybody texts these days – it is the most common way of staying in touch.  Sadly, it is also is the end of basic spelling as we know it (“you” becomes “u” and “K” becomes “ok,” etc.). 

       P.S.  I fear for the future of speech itself! (Remember, we’re still evolving, people!)

·         67% of tweens would rather get a device than a toy. (Duh)

·         7 out of 10 tweens are doing something else while they’re watching TV.

·        74% of tweens are more excited about driving a car, going to college and making their own money than going to parties and dating. (Say whaaaat?)

Source:  The Intelligence Groups’ Cassandra Report, Winter/Spring 2013

Of course, I don’t necessarily agree with the findings about tweens being more excited about college, cars and making money than parties and boys (my daughter is definitely into parties even if she’s not quite sure what she really thinks about boys – and she loves spending my money, not her own).  At the same time, though, her multi-tasking capability is breathtaking to behold; she can text, carry on a phone conversation and have a pretty good idea of what’s unfolding on her favorite Teen Nick show, while also wagging her finger at me to get her a snack!  Wow. 

When one stops to consider how much our technology tools and media consumption patterns have changed in just the last 3 or 4 years it boggles the mind that we’re still at the beginning of the digital revolution.  I can’t even imagine what it will all be like when my daughter is 20 and I’m…gulp…68.  But I’ll leave that to my “meme” to figure out!

Thank god it’s Thursday.  Cheers.

 

 

 

In Praise of Bob

He’s played more shows than Springsteen, the Stones and U2 combined.  He’s written some of the most wonderful, bizarre, memorable and poetic music of our times – from albums like Freewheeling Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde…to Time Out of Mind and Love and Theft.  His great songs are too many to name here, and his voice too distinctive to be successfully imitated.

I am here to sing the praises of Bob Dylan who, as today’s Wall Street Journal points out, has performed more than 2,500 performances since 1990.  To underscore the enormity of this accomplishment, Dylan sings more than 120 different songs a year in concert without a teleprompter and nearly half of those songs are not his own.  He is 72. 

I can’t remember my grocery list!

My husband and I have seen Dylan in concert twice:  Once in 1999 when he toured with Paul Simon (not an intuitive coupling, but it worked somehow) and then 5 years later when he played the Patriot Center at George Mason University.   Because the first tour was a showcase for Simon, too, it was hard in some ways to appreciate how energetic Dylan’s sound remained as he aged.  The concert at George Mason, on the other hand, was a revelation:  Backed up by a talented, three-man Texas-swing-style band that was not stuck in that or any other genre, Dylan played with the passion, athleticism and stamina of someone half his age.  He dipped deeply into his catalogue, playing Masters of War, Tangled Up in Blue, Love Sick, Like a Rolling Stone, All Along the Watchtower and more.  Jack White’s sideline band, The Raconteurs, opened up the evening with an earsplitting set– but the kids (and their parents!) wanted Dylan, who delivered with the power of the younger Jack White but also so very much more.  The kids in the audience raised their fists and swayed to the music and Dylan, looking gnomish in his cowboy hat and dandified western shirt, growled with pleasure like a very happy cat.

From time to time when I’m bored with what passes as serious pop, rock or blues music today (which is often), I turn on Dylan and the Beatles to bring me back to that golden age of my youth when the music was freeing and the lyrics seared your soul.  I sing and tap my foot and move my upper body, nodding my head to the rhythm, lost in the sound.

“I’ll look for you in old Honolulu
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know
But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass, in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go…”

Thanks, Bob and congratulations on your truly "never-ending tour."  You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go, so don't, okay?

Ornery

Some days I’m just ornery.  
I had a lovely beach weekend with my daughter and my BFF but came home (as one must) to the reality of my usual, work-a-day world.  A full if uneventful day at the office…a husband unusually hungry for dinner…a missing ATM card…an early morning business call the next day that I had failed to bring home my computer for…and yes, I was ornery at the end of my day yesterday.

So ornery that when my husband demanded to know when we were eating dinner – and what -- when I had been home just 10 minutes and I’m already in the kitchen flipping his omelet(!), I let fly with a few choice words.

So ornery that my daughter asked if I was mad about something and I snapped, “No!”

So ornery that my husband said I shouted out in my sleep last night, “Hey, hey, HEY!!!,” clearly angry at someone in my dream.

That ornery.

I do tend to get especially testy on the first day of reentry after a lovely weekend (or week) away from a normal routine.  (There is a record of past behavior to support this observation, trust me).  Also, lack of sleep when I’m away from my normal bed and world can contribute to general ornery-ness for a day or so until I’m caught up again in my usual rhythms of living.

Whatever happened in my sleep last night, however, seems to have cleared the cobwebs in my head away today.  I woke up feeling like…Happy, not Grumpy.

And then, the heavens opened.  My husband gave me $60 because of my missing ATM card…which my daughter found 10 minutes later in my orange cross-body bag in a pile of her clean clothing left over from the beach, lying on the top of her dresser (a preferred storage technique for my tween).  My husband laughed at me when I returned his $60, waving my ATM card, and he gave me a kiss, too…implicitly making fun of, and forgiving me for, my bad humor of the day before.  I kissed him back.

Next time though, I hope he gives me at least 20 minutes to get his dinner prepared.  (I’m just saying….) 

 

 

Old Friends

"Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be 70."

--Paul Simon, Old Friends

I met my best friend in the 6^th grade during that epochal transition from childhood to teen known as “middle school.”

My father was a school teacher, and hers was about to become one.  We both had stay-at-home Moms as was customary in the mid-60s, and we were both, by anyone’s definition at the time, children of the lower end of the middle class. 

We clicked immediately.  I can close my eyes and remember the first time she visited my house, eating petit fours (a gift from a wealthy, elderly aunt) and drinking pop while we played Monopoly at my dining room table.  Although our circle of shared friendships would grow through the years – many of them from wealthier neighborhoods of our small and class-conscious community on Long Island, which presented occasional challenges and disagreements, too – we remained hard and fast friends even as other important relationships of that era drifted away.

“We may have been the kids from the unfashionable part of town, but we were the real brains of the operation,” my friend said with a laugh, as we talked about our high school circle while we spent the weekend with kids in tow at her beach home on Fire Island.  It had been 3 years since we’d seen each other and a lot had happened to both of us.  We’ve both done well in life, but we’ve each faced some significant trials and disappointments too.  Her children are now grown and she is making big changes as she looks forward to a new and exciting chapter, including retirement in the next year or so.  I’m the late bloomer of the two – married late, a mother even later than that -- so I have more of a focus on my daughter’s teen years and all that comes with that.  Though these different circumstances mean very different personal choices and opportunities, we continue to see the world with the same gimlet-eyed humor and honesty.  Regardless of how life redirects our attention, that fact alone ensures we remain deeply relevant to each other.

Plus, nobody can out-talk us.  Nobody.

So here’s to my dear friend and the godmother of my child – Cindy, so beautiful at 60 that I look at her and still see the self-effacing girl I knew so very, very long ago.  One of the sweetest pleasures of my life has been the joy and endurance of our friendship. 

I look forward to that park bench at 70 if I know she’ll be sharing it with me from time to time.

 

Come Fly with Me: Summer Travel Preview

I don’t need a survey to tell me that people don’t like to be seated next to, near, or even in the same airplane cabin with crying children.

However, a recent poll claims travelers were even more judgmental about being seated next to those afflicted with…how to put this delicately?  B.O.

Public education – maybe an e-mail to ticket holders before they leave for the airport – can help remedy the “stinky traveler” problem by pointing out both the social and personal hygiene benefits of a shower, strong deodorant or some decent perfume (but not too “musky,” please!) before boarding a plane.  But a kid is a kid is a kid, and they tend to cry a lot when travelling, especially during take-off and landings:  Their ears hurt.  They sense their mother is terrified of flying so they are too.  They’re hungry.  Or bored, and they want you to know that they’re as tired and cranky and unhappy about being on that plane as you are.

The flight from Hong Kong to Dulles Airport outside of Washington, D.C. is just shy of 17 hours long.  That’s a lot of movies to watch, time zones to cruise through, drinks and meal carts to wait for, magazines to read, memos to prepare. 

When we brought our daughter home from China, she cried the entire trip home.

That's right. 

Everyone in our cabin hated us. In fact, no one on that plane had any empathy for us or our distraught child.  Fellow travelers glared at me, but they especially disliked my poor husband, because he walked up and down the length of the plane for hours – literally -- trying to quiet our daughter.  He failed.

And if you've ever traveled a lot, you know that these most recent survey findings reveal just a few of the basic truths about air travel in the 21^st Century:  Babies cry.  Parents sulk.  Talky seatmates are a nuisance.  Business travelers drink too much.   Flight attendants are rude when treated rudely. Economy seats are too small, especially when you’re seated next to someone who is obese.  Business class is too expensive.  Holiday travel is the worst. And airplane food (even if you have to pay for it) still stinks.

Personally, I’ve got to hand it to the person with B.O. because he or she probably doesn’t really give a #@$! so they settle back, and just try to enjoy the ride.  A little lack of self-awareness can be a good thing.... 

So as we kick off the 2013 summer travel season, I wish you a bon voyage and a reminder to not sweat the small stuff if you possibly can.  As for my family, we're driving on our vacation this year -- less aggravation and expense!

I'll be back on Tuesday.  Happy summer solstice!

"Like" Me?

Do you find yourself “liking” things and people you really don’t know or even “like” for that matter?

I do.

I click on “like” sometimes (but not always, never always) just to help people feel better about their personal choices, photos or opinions.  And hey, I know people are doing it to me, too, especially when one of my Mrs. Sedd@60 blog posts is particularly uninteresting -- which by the way, I know they are from time to time (at least, I hope it’s just from time to time).  Frankly, I appreciate your honesty by declining to “like” my post even though it took 30-60 minutes out of my day to memorialize some cockamamie idea or insight in the hope that someone, anyone out there might find it has some small relevance to their life….but I digress.

This is tricky stuff because it’s so….psychological, isn’t it? Facebook, for example, where all of this liking takes place, is such a public forum that you don’t really want to contradict someone’s opinion in a “loud” way, because opinions are just one of the mirrors we put out there so others can see us and, we hope, themselves.  But then again, you may not really know the people whose opinions, etc., you’ve liked in the past well enough to send an alternative opinion or critique of their current comments in a personal email because it’s…too personal, I think.

Mark Zuckerberg and company really were genius when they came up with “like” because it is everyone’s zeitgeist. That’s what we all really want (except for sociopaths, who don’t care).  Isn’t it?  To be liked?  We all want to believe that “You’ve Got a Friend (in Me),” whether it’s Carole King or Randy Newman singing reassuringly to us.

To quote the one and only Randy Newman:

“Some other folks might be
A little bit smarter than I am
Bigger and stronger, too
Maybe.
But none of them will every love you, the way I do…
It’s me and you…
You’ve got a friend in me."

I know you "like" me and I "like" you, even/except when we don’t.   I’m ok with that and I hope you are too...because you have a "friend" in me.  Gooey, but true. Sort of.
 

Happy Thursday.

The Talented Mr. Rumsby

I’m blogging today about a dear friend who is doing a brave and delightful thing:  listening to his muse and making wonderful art!

Not too long ago, he was a  corporate PR executive working for a global brand. 

For years, he also was a weekend painter in between being a devoted parent…but one day, he saw an opportunity to take that leap of faith that these days it seems few really trust themselves well enough to do.


Painting  by Michael F. Rumsby

It helps to know you’re quite good at something and with focus will only get better.  But it's also essential to have the self-confidence to just take the plunge once you've thought things through.  My friend saw an opening to do this and he did it;  today, only 8 months later, he has an art agent, excellent commissions that he's working on, and nice income too!

[P.S.  He doesn’t know I’m writing about him so I hope he won't mind my gushing a bit about him and his work because on top of everything else he’s quite a modest guy.]

The moral to this story is that it's ok to take risks, particularly when you've been thoughtful, realistic and absolutely convinced that you must do it.  Because those are risks worth taking.  While you can't guarantee success, you can guarantee that you'll be miserable if you don't try. 

So here’s a link to the talented Mr. Rumsby's website,  www.facebook.com/pages/Michael-F-Rumsby/142795279240674

See for yourself what following your passion looks like.

Cheers and Happy Wednesday.

 

 

Tween to Teen

I don’t need a birthday to tell me that my tween has become a teen.

The school year is over, and summer school is a week away.  We’ve haven’t scheduled a camp for the week, and I've taken most of the week off, so it’s just my girl and me at home with nothing but time on our hands.  And where is she?

In bed.

She spent all yesterday in bed – in fact, enjoyed all 3 meals in bed – while she watched endless episodes of Zoey 101, Witches of Waverly Place, House of Anubis, and The Parent Trap with Lindsay Lohan  (when she was innocent and adorable) for the 1,259 time.  Between episodes, any down time was filled in with Face Time.  Of course.

Today, I have a nice day planned for us – a movie excursion, girls’ lunch out, and maybe even a side trip to her favorite clothing store – and where is she?

In bed.

My daughter has never been a late-to-rise girl, but I know how important snooze time is for brain development, so I’m tip-toeing around the house in order not to disturb her.  However, if this is what the entire week has in store, I may just go back to bed too.

“Honey, can you make us some dinner?  My girl and I are pretty catching up on our beauty sleep.”

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Hey, I’m getting the hang of this.  Good times.

Father's Day 2013: The Report Card

 In the interest of equal time, turn-around-is-fair play, etc., etc., herewith I offer a self-graded assessment of the celebration of, and recognition for, the fathers in my life on Father’s Day.

1.     Psychology:  My husband is always a bit unknowable to me, which is why I guess I continue to find him so fascinating.  As usual, I was clueless as to what to get him for Father’s Day because   a) I’m feeling a little broke these days; b) he seems to have just about every toy or trinket a man could want or need; and c) like I said, I never ever know what’s going on in that big brain of his.  So, when he announced on Saturday morning that he needed my car to go pick up his new mountain bike – one being discarded by a colleague of his – I scratched my head:  Another bike? (In addition to the folding bike and the motor scooter!) Then I thought – yes, I know what to get him!  Bike riding shorts with those cushions for your butt.  Perfect.  And he loved them.

My grade:  A- for paying attention

2.    Writing:  A Father’s Day card for my 89-year-old father who is on the crabby side these days because he’s pretty old and doesn’t always feel so great.  When we are together we argue a lot about stuff like health care, independent v. assisted living, etc.   Predictably, when we visited with him and my mother yesterday, my father was in a typically combative mood for the first hour or so, until I told him he made me crazy and laughed, and he settled down.  Then I presented him with some presents he actually needed and a card that featured a female bull dog and an adult male bull dog staring each other down.  The message on the card read:  Even though we don’t always see eye to eye, I love you always, Dad.  My sentiments, exactly. 

Grade for Hallmark:  A 

My grade:  B+ (a C- for letting him make me crazy at the beginning of our visit, but I redeemed mysefl with the card, the laugh and the presents)

3.      Art:  I consider my beautiful 12 year-old daughter a work of art – funny, challenging,  charming.  Her smile yesterday melted my husband’s heart (as it always does) and delighted her elderly grandparents beyond measure.  And when she said goodbye to them – “love you, you guys” – I was pretty much a puddle too.

She also gave her father 2 nifty gifts she picked out on her own on field trips she made during camp last week:  A very pretty blue stone from Port Discovery, a kid’s science museum in Baltimore, and a Navy cannon (as in the kind of gun that shoots cannonballs) pencil sharpener from the U.S. Navy Museum in D.C.  Cool presents, cooler kid. 

My daughter’s grade:  A++ 

My husband’s grade:  A (because he’s pretty close to being a perfect father in my daughter’s estimation and I couldn’t agree more)

My grade:  B+ (because I’ll never be a perfect mother, but I’ll always want to aspire to that in my daughter's eyes)

 

4.     Science:  My sister’s vegetable and cheese quiches were dee-li-cious!  So was the spinach salad, although I’ve never been a fan of feta cheese.

My sister’s grade:  B+ (graded down a bit due to the Feta cheese)

5.       Math:  The blessing of another Father’s Day with my parents, my husband and my child – sweetened by the presence of my older sister and her husband, who live too far away most of the year but more than make up for it when they’re around.

Group grade:  A++

Happy Monday.

 

           

 

 

Big Screen under the Big Sky

At the opening of the new USC School of Cinematic Arts building on Wednesday, famed director Steven Spielberg predicted an “implosion” in the film industry leading to massive changes in pricing and film exhibition as well as the release of fewer films from the major studios.

Spielberg’s remarks led to my ah-ha moment:  Maybe it’s time to bring back that totem of 1950s young love, illicit bliss and even family togetherness.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 21^st Century Drive-In.

Drive-Ins could make the movie industry #1 again in the hearts and minds of moviegoers around the world.  They could facilitate the development of a new exhibition business model with different pricing and entertainment options.  The 21^st Century Drive In could get Netflix addicted coach potatoes off the sofa and mixing it up socially at the movies.

There’s a real choice and opportunity here to please everyone:  Sit in the comfort of your own car to shout back at the screen, shout at your noisy kids, or make out with the person you most care about…or….park your clunker and head to the lavishly appointed outdoor lawn furniture viewing area, with Beats headphones and communal viewing in a leisurely and social setting. Go alone if you want or bring your friend, but always mix, mingle, meet your next date…or land on a chaise lounge to call your very own.  Sort of a quasi-club scene without a DJ, loud music or writhing dancers.  And for parents, a pricing per car option would actually make it affordable for families to go to the movies together again.

It gets better.  Instead of crappy cardboard popcorn and hotdogs bathed in grease, there would be decent, restaurant quality gourmet food, wine and beer as well as soft drinks, malteds and water for the kids and other big children.

When I was a kid, going to the Drive-In was thrilling and fun! Memories of seeing Old Yeller, Pollyanna and The Parent Trap with Haley Mills and Around the World in 80 Days are vivid to this day.  Now it is true that Hollywood has to make movies that people want to see; the economics of making blockbuster films aren’t sustainable given the current exhibition formula, which is Spielberg’s point.  But maybe, just maybe, the viewing experience – the how and the what of it – can help us all become enthusiastic moviegoers again while giving Hollywood a more scalable approach to making money for certain kinds of films.  Imagine Iron Man or Batman or Man of Steel on a big screen under the big sky with seriously decent food and a little bit of wine or beer and the opportunity for flirting afterward.  I’m telling you, this is a BIG idea whose time has come back.

Honk if you agree.

 

 

 

Secrets

I’m a little bit perplexed by Senator Rand Paul, the NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden and the general right wing point of view on the privacy brouhaha surrounding monitoring and data mining of phone calls, emails, and personal data.  If Barrack Obama wanted to steal a few of my credit card numbers to pay for Obamacare, it would be one thing…but really folks?  We’re worried about the government knowing who we email, or call on the phone, or tweet about in this post-911 world we live in? Really?

If you do any of the following things, you would probably care a lot as you are probably at risk of getting (justifiably) arrested – in which case, our government listening in to your phone calls, or keeping tabs on your posts, tweets, or favorite chat rooms is a very good thing for the rest of us.  In no particular order...

1.       Laundering money through the Cayman Islands

2.       Supporting the development of explosive devices by Neo-Nazis in Montana

3.       Supporting the development of explosive devices by Al Qaeda or a branch of same

4.       Plotting to poison the D.C. water system (or that of any city)

5.       Planning to knock off your spouse, boss, girlfriend, buddy, neighbor, etc., etc.

6.      Trolling on the web for children – in which case, the NSA and other agencies are not doing nearly enough snooping to find you and should seriously do more

7.       Planning an elaborate jewelry heist at Cannes

8.       Rigging Libor interest rates…and….

9.       Any other bad stuff to intentionally do harm to, steal from or generally disrupt the well-being of fellow citizens and the social order.

This is a short but nasty list that someone would likely want to keep secret so that they could, you know, do them.  But for the rest of us, monitoring our calls really shouldn’t be an issue as it helps to keep us safe and our society at peace by stopping bad guys from doing bad stuff (and bad women too, because there are a few and I don’t want to be sexist about this).  And that’s the whole point of homeland security, isn’t it?

If the government wants to read my Twitter autobiography, I’m really ok with it.  I would also encourage them to read my blog from time to time, as they might enjoy a little laugh at my expense on a bad day.

Regarding this unbelievably narcissistic man-child former Booz Allen Consultant who thinks he’s saving us from Big Brother and the holding company… err, I mean the NSA/CIA/DOJ, and other government agencies I’ve forgotten to mention …he’s going to win the prison lottery:   25-30 years minimum. 

Hope he likes to make pottery and do laundry.

 

 

 

 

The Hit or Miss List: Pop Culture Edition

Hello, friends, here’s the latest installment of the things that bug me or delight me (at the moment) for your reading pleasure. Opinions expressed are truly my own.
My "hit" list today:

·        British singer Laura Marling's Once I Was an Eagle.  Wow.  She’s got a little – no, a lot – of early Joni Mitchell in her voice, and yet, she doesn’t either.  She’s unique, powerful,  fearless.  At first, you may say, “wha?” but hang in there for Master Hunter, Once and Where Can I Go? while the other songs slowly seep into your brain and take root there. 

·         Man of Steel.  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s on my to-do list.  I totally get Amy Adams as Lois Lane.

·         Big Bang Theory.  When I’m feeling blue or having nothing to do, I can count on this to distract me with laughter for an hour or 2. (They run 4 episodes a night on TBS during the week for those who need a righteous dose of happiness).  Geeks are fun.

·         The White Queen.  Novelist Philippa Gregory’s novels about the War of the Roses are coming to cable.   Yay!  I love Brits and I especially love their history!!  Look for it to start in August on STARZ.

·         The Age of Miracles.  A thrilling summer read about a 12 year old girl and the end of the world as we know it. You won’t put it down until it’s done.  And then you’ll go out and buy a lot of sun screen.  A clue.

"Miss" it -- and you don't need my permission, either:

·         Any TV series featuring a serial killer.  Which essentially means you won’t be watching any TV this summer.

·         Arrested Development on Netflix.  We never watched it on Fox, so my hubby and I marathon-streamed the first 4 episodes.  Bad idea because we realized how completely unfunny it is, despite the big talented cast. Or we just have no sense of humor, which is possible too;  although, I personally think we have very ticklish funny bones.

·        Some would argue this is news and not pop culture, but they really do seem more alike to me these days than not:  so, I nominate as a “miss” the early media coverage of Edward Snowden, the 29 year-old Booz Allen consultant whose release of top secret NSA info to The Guardian has apparently blown a hole in the US intelligence apparatus.  Who needs Al Qaeda when you have guys like this? 

·       The Guardian reporter, Glenn Greenwald.  I'm all for investigative journalism, but this guy loves his 15 minutes of fame more than a country's safety.  Forsooth and for shame!...but  there you go – that’s the world we live in.

Until tomorrow. 

 

Three Sisters

There is probably no bond more difficult, emotional or enduring as the bond between sisters. 

 

My older sister was a bookworm, a pretty quiet kid with freckles on the bridge of her nose who wore coke-bottle glasses and curly short hair.  I was the chubby middle kid who looked a lot like my dad and had his mercurial disposition.  Our younger sister had big blue eyes and white blond hair -- she was the sickly one, it seemed, and if that wasn’t entirely true, her fragility was. 

Sisters tease each other when they’re young and when they fight, they do it mean and dirty.  My older sister and I would hit, scratch and snitch on each other.  When we wanted to get at our little sister we acted as if she wasn’t in the room -- “There’s a breeze in here,” we would say menacingly -- proclaiming her nothingness to us in that cruel way kids do so well.  And my little sister would stomp, shout at us to stop it, than run off wailing to Mom.

But here’s the thing: We’re well into middle age now – in fact, my older sister is almost half-way through her sixties – yet still some of those childhood behaviors and quirks occasionally reappear.

My older sister arrived with her husband this weekend from her home in Austria for a nearly 4-week visit in the States.  She’s spending two weekends at my home, where my younger sister will decamp for dinners while she’s in residence, and then go off to spend the bulk of her time with my elderly parents. 

When we 3 sisters come together, we whirl through emotions and events quickly and with the occasional violence of a tornado.  I tell my older sister things she should know and believe; my younger sister weighs in with her opinion; and then the eldest of us asserts her seniority by rendering her definitive point of view in a large voice, if you know what I mean.  In fact, that’s the trigger for the 3 of us to talk really, really loud in an effort to assert our moral and sibling authority. And that's when the husbands leave the room in search of shelter. 

You can count on what comes next:  We disagree about something.   All of us say something mean (not always unintentionally).  But even as our personal thunderclouds hover like thought bubbles over our heads, our fierce affection for each other gets us on the other side of the storm.

And when our visit is over, we kind of need that break from each other – a short one.  Until we see each other again and again begin our curious little dance.

Yup, sisterhood is a strange and wonderful thing.

 

 

 

The Bark Ball

 
In a town littered with big dogs – a.k.a. our elected officials, Pulitzer Prize winning reporters, captains of industry, legions of lobbyists and other self-appointed individuals of influence – there was only one place to see and be seen this Saturday night.

For the 26^th year in a row, the Humane Society of Washington held it’s “black tie gala for the Four-on-the-Floor crowd” at the Washington Hilton.  The evening had everything and more that you would expect from a black tie event – there was dinner, a silent auction, and dancing for the humanoids who occasionally like to kick up their heels and howl on a Saturday night. 

 

There was even a special place for the evening’s very special guests in attendance to…you know.  Take care of business.

Suffice to say, all attendees were dressed to the nines and, in some cases, even added a little
va-va-voom to their fur in order to stand out from the crowd.   

Oh, and the people in attendance looked pretty spiffy too. 

While I was unable to participate in the Bark Ball with my beautiful Shasha, several good friends who were there are making it possible to share a few special moments from a very special evening with you today.  In these privacy-sensitive times, I’ll refrain from identifying the humans and their divine doggy dates by name, but thank them for their generosity in providing a photographic record of the good times had by all.

Supported by many, many members of Congress and some wonderful corporate sponsors, the Bark Ball is truly a one-of-a-kind evening in our nation's capital.

And when it was all over, everyone was…pooped.  As they should have been!

Happy Monday to all.

 

 

Clothes Porn

I think I’ve finally come to the end of my love affair with fashion magazines.

For years, I subscribed at one time or another to most of the major rags – Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, W,  Town & Country (briefly, I just couldn’t relate), In Style, even Elle (which definitely skews 20-something -- and I was in my 40s at the time!).  I would stare at beautiful pictures of amazing but often also weird clothes on otherworldly mannequins who looked like they subsisted on a diet of bugs -- and I’d find a weird sort of pleasure in knowing what “style makers” thought was the latest look.   

In my 20s and 30s – even a little bit into my 40s – I would try to replicate the latest fashion trends through careful shopping at Loehmann’s or sales at Nordstrom.  But then, as most women I know do at some point, I succumbed to comfort and conservatism – Talbots and Eileen Fisher and J. Jill became “go to” fashion outlets for me, and 3-inch heels went the way of the dinosaur in favor of flats for my flat feet.

Still, I continued to subscribe to the look books, even though I rarely -- if ever -- saw myself in any of them.  Certainly not in the pictures and not even in most of the articles, which most frequently surveyed the newest techniques for turning back the clock – or offered voyeuristic peeks into the lives of glamorous women vacationing en famille at their fabulous Caribbean or Mediterranean 3^rd homes, where they would be photographed in flowy caftans or gauzy tops and skirts, tangled in the arms of their equally beautiful children and men.

My husband has never understood my affection for these magazines, calling them “clothes porn” for women and girls.   There's probably something to that; still, letting my subscriptions lapse has felt almost like giving up one more connection to youth. Mine.

Last night, I found myself flipping through a May edition weeks after its arrival.  I  zoomed through the inch-and-a-half thick publication with little interest.  It was crystal clear that these magazines no longer held any real allure anymore because they lacked any possible relevance to my life – not even my fantasy life.

It's true:  Vogue is out of vogue with me now and Bazaar is just too….bizarre.  Sorry, Anna.  Sorry, Glenda. 

Good-bye girls.