It’s Okay to Cry

 

 

Tears. Crying. Sobbing.

Some people can’t stand the sight of tears. They feel uncomfortable when someone in their midst starts to cry.

They’ll hand you tissues and tell you that you don’t need to cry. Even demand that you stop.  Then they’ll offer platitudes to “comfort” you.

“He’s in a better place.”

“She doesn’t want you to be sad.”

“Crying won’t change things.”

Sometimes, guilt is used.

“Everyone’s looking at you.”

“Stop acting like a baby.”

“Real men don’t cry.”

“C’mon, it’s been months.”

To me, tears are cathartic. I’ve had a lot to cry about the past two years: the death of my husband and brother and several friends.

I’ve hidden my tears, and shown a seemingly competent, albeit subdued front.

Time does, indeed, mute the pain. Notice I said mute, not erase. Nothing erases the pain. It’s there and it will be there for the rest of my life, I am sure. As I start to move on, and to participate more fully in my life, behind the smiles and the laughter is a deep well of loss and grief.

So, if tears should flow, I will let them cleanse me and help me to cope. And then, once again, I will be ready to face a new day—alone.

Because, the truth is, it’s okay to cry.

 

 

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Lan Su Chinese Garden

In the heart of downtown Portland, Oregon is the Lan Su Chinese Garden which is built on the site of a former parking lot.  It’s modeled after gardens found in Portland’s sister city of Suzhou, China. The name Lan Su means Garden of Awakening Orchids.

Tea House

Tea House

The gardens are enclosed by buildings that were typical of a wealthy person’s home and feature rooms including a study and meditation room. The gardens are filled with lovely flowers, a bridge and beautifully serene walkways.

The walkways are interesting because they are fashioned from a variety of stones arranged in patterns that massage your feet as you walk. At the end of our tour of the Gardens, my feet didn’t hurt at all—which surprised me. I think the massage built into the walkway worked!

The walkway

The walkway

One of the highlights of our visit was having tea in the Tea House in the Gardens. The menu has several pages of teas, and it is served in unique pots. The food was delicious—and the tea was even better. The teas have a distinct aroma and flavor. Tasting these teas is much like tasting wine.

Garden window

Garden window

The windows in the Gardens are unique. They are called Lan Su Yuan Leak windows and are designed to reflect either a geometric pattern or an element from nature.

Visiting the Garden transports you to a different place and time. You feel immersed in Chinese culture and marvel at how nature and a man-made structure harmonize like a beautiful melody.


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Portland, Oregon

 

 

I visited my daughter a few weeks ago in Portland, Oregon where she lives.

Portland is a city I thought I knew something about. A few years ago, I did a PowerPoint presentation for the Travel Club in my community called “Gem cities –Places you Want to Visit, but Don’t Know It” .  Portland was one of those gem cities—as was Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York.

I knew that Portland was a city of parks and that people who like to enjoy the outdoors are attracted to it. It also claimed to have a great public transportation system. And it was the epicenter of the microbrewery movement.  Food trucks were supposed to be a big thing in Portland, too. And of course, it rains a lot there.

So, did my research into Portland and the real place mesh?

The short answer is yes.

The long answer is that there were a few surprises. For instance, some of the neighborhoods looked like a Northern rust-belt city to me.

The food trucks are parked wherever there is a space for them—sometimes in what appear to be abandoned lots. Dozens of food trucks can be clustered together rather like a food-truck trailer park.  (We never ate at any food trucks, however.)

The downtown is beautiful with many interesting buildings and green spaces and upscale retailers like Nieman Marcus.

The one thing that struck me was how young the population appeared to be. I live in Florida, which skews older. Portland is the opposite—whenever I saw someone about my age, I actually got excited. “Look there’s an older person,” I’d exclaim, as if I was a zoo looking at an exotic animal. Okay—maybe not that dramatic, but it was a comfort to see a 50 or 60 something.

The parks were as abundant as I expected—and hiking and biking are the things to do. Most of the clientele in the hotel I stayed at were younger people who were pursuing these activities. I saw lots of waterproof jackets, backpacks and other evidence of an outdoorsy lifestyle.

Some of the parks are accessible only to hikers—and the fabled public transportation system can be ridden to these destinations. The street cars and buses run frequently and seem to be well used. Brenda and I rode the street car to some downtown destinations—and my fare was dubbed HC for “honored citizen” fare. I guess that’s a lot better than old fogey!

And yes, it does rain—when I was there is was mostly a drizzly kind of rain which necessitated a rain jacket. Even though there was rain every day, the sun peeked out frequently, making for a rainy/sunny mix which was pleasant.

Needless to say, my visit to Portland was great—partly because of spending time with Brenda and her significant other, but also because of the experiences I had while I was there. My next few blog posts will highlight a few special places in Portland.

Stay tuned!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This is Buffalo? Really?

Frank Lloyd Wright Darwin Martin House

Frank Lloyd Wright Darwin Martin House

 

 

 

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m very sensitive to the way my hometown of Buffalo, New York is portrayed in plays, movies and TV shows.

I lived in Buffalo for more than fifty years. I found it to be a friendly place populated by people who were always willing to lend a hand.

It’s also a beautiful city—with great parks designed by Fredrick Law Olmstead ( the same landscaper who planned Central Park in New York and other famous green spaces) remarkable buildings designed by some of the greats of American architecture like Frank Lloyd Wright, Louis Sullivan H.H. Richardson, Eliel  and Eero Saarinen and Louise Blanchard Bethune, among others. The New York Times recently described Buffalo as “home to some of the greatest American architecture” and a “course in modern American buildings.”

Does Buffalo have run down neighborhoods? Of course—do Paris and London and New York City? Again—affirmative.

If you see Paris portrayed in a movie, at some point you will probably see a view of the Eiffel Tower or some other stunning sight.

If you see a play or movie set in Buffalo, chances are the setting will be a run-down area that is grim, dirty and ugly.

A case in point: I went to a local theater this past weekend to see “The Full Monty” (the play, not the real thing). The playwright who rewrote the movie score set it in Buffalo.

The set designer (for reasons known only to him or herself) portrayed Buffalo as an extremely unattractive place. The main set was fashioned from corrugated tin set on edge surrounded by red brick walls. I was annoyed to say the least. There are no performance venues in Buffalo that I am familiar with that look like an industrial warehouse in a rundown harbor. In fact, the theater district is housed in several historic buildings downtown or on college campuses. The club district is also (for the most part) housed in another historic district.

The only place where I’ve ever seen the widespread use of corrugated metal for buildings is Florida.

This makes me wonder why the set designer didn’t just search for images of Buffalo on his/her computer.

I see this pattern repeated again and again in movies and TV shows: in “Hide in Plain Sight” a move from several years ago, the action was set mostly in a derelict waterfront location which I think the movie producers designed.

So, why am I upset by this trend? Because it perpetrates an untruth about a beautiful, historically significant city. The image of Buffalo that is portrayed is negative—and just not true. I can’t imagine that Parisians would be complacent if their city was subjected to the same treatment—or New York City residents, either.

I think it’s time for Buffalo to receive better treatment and have a more correct image presented in movies, TV and plays.

 

 

 

 

 

View of the Buffalo Marina

View of the Buffalo Marina

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I Was Thinking

 

 

“I was thinking about my mother the other day,” Lori said. Rick looked up, rattled his newspaper and stared at her.

“Yes,” he intoned.

“Well, you know that it’s getting harder and harder for her to get up and down the stairs.” Lori hesitated for a moment and then added, “And she’s lonely, too.”

Rick set the newspaper down on the table with a slight thump. “And?”

Lori hated the way that he made her feel sometimes. Like now, for instance. She felt like a child, incapable of an intelligent thought.

She stood up straight and looked him square in the eye. “I want to ask Mom to move in with us. We have the room now that the kids are on their own.” She twisted the dish towel in her hands nervously, waiting for her husband’s reply.

Rick stirred his coffee deliberately and thought for a moment. Lori’s mother was okay. She hadn’t interfered much over the years. But he knew that Mary was much more astute than her daughter, who tended to take things at face value.

Rick bit his upper lip. He and Mariel would have to more discreet.

But then again, he thought, Lori would be busy with her mother. They’d go out shopping and to lunch and movies. Things Lori didn’t usually do. It seemed that she had almost no friends and rarely went out. The only social life she had was as his wife, when she entertained important clients or went with him to those boring dinners he was obligated to attend. She seemed to enjoy those evenings though, and would dress up and gossip excitedly all the way home. And she was a superb hostess—a great cook with a flair for decorating and using clever themes.

When he thought about Lori, it seemed strange to Rick that she had so few friends.

When he met her in college, she was bubbly and loved to be around people. In fact, she had drawn him out of his shell, taking him to all sorts of parties and concerts. People were naturally drawn to Lori, like a moth to a flame. She had what they called charisma.

After they married, Lori buried herself in raising their family and eventually she had little to say that was of any consequence—at least to Rick. Maybe that’s why I strayed, he thought.  She was just boring. And he still had a slim waist and a full head of hair. He found that the Mariels of the world were plentiful and willing.

Lori rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher with a clank.

Rick smiled slyly and said, “Well, let’s do it! Your Mom’s a great old gal and it would be fun to have another person here.”

Lori was giddy with excitement as she hurried into the den to call Mom. She thought about how surprised Rick would be that her Mom’s belongings were already packed in boxes and cartons. All that remained was for the movers to come.

Lori bit her lip to stop from smiling.

What did Rick take her for, she wondered, a babe in the woods?

Wouldn’t he be surprised if he knew about the plan she and her mother had devised to deal with his flagrant series of affairs? She was amazed at how good her Mom was at using the internet. Wasn’t it shocking that you could find a poison that was virtually untraceable at a web site?

Lori and her Mom couldn’t wait to start cooking and baking all of Rick’s favorites. It would take about a month to do the job.

Lori smiled, thinking about how delighted she would be to have Mom live with her.

 

 

 

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The Cake

 

Brandi’s specialty was baking the nut filled Bundt cakes her grandmother had taught to make.

“Everyone loves them,” Tracy said when she called and asked her to bring one to the shower for their friend Marie.

The day of the shower, Brandi’s kitchen was fragrant with the tantalizing scent of almonds and vanilla. The Bundt cake was magnificent: golden and moist with a perfectly fluted top.

“I think this is one of the best cakes I ever baked,” she said aloud.

Brandi hurried to her bedroom to finish dressing. When she emerged ready for the party, Paul, her husband, twirled her around and let out a low whistle. “Maybe you better stay here,” he said. “I’m not sure that I want to share you with anyone else this evening.”  Brandi reached up and kissed Paul, “I’ll be back later.”

She loved how he always made her feel so beautiful.

When she got to Tracy’s house, Brandi found a chair on the deck that overlooked the maple shaded creek. After a flurry of gift giving, ohhing and ahhing and gossip, Tracy served the cake.

“It’s better than sex!’ someone said as laughter exploded all around.

Then Marie’s fiancé Greg arrived after a long shift at the hospital where he was doing his internship. Brandi was anxious to meet the man who had made her friend Marie so happy.

Marie linked her arm in Brandi’s and led her to where Greg was standing.

“C’mon, Brandi, meet my wonderful fiancé,” she urged.

As Greg bent to kiss Brandi hello, she felt his hand as it grazed her breast. She moved back and shot Greg a warning glance, hoping no one, especially Marie, noticed. Marie told Greg about her friendship with Brandi that went all the way back to Kindergarten. “Remember Mrs. Garvey with her rolled up stockings, Brandi? She was quite a sight.” Greg raised his glass in a toast , “To friendship. You girls certainly have shared a lot of good times.”

Brandi cringed at the word girls. Marie laughed. “Brandi is a modern woman—she hates being called a girl.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” Greg said. He pulled Brandi into a bear hug. She felt smothered and wriggled out of his embrace.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Marie said, “he’s so affectionate.” Brandi nodded.

“I want to go and slice up the last of the cake,” she said pointing toward the kitchen.

Brandi hurried into the kitchen and stood at the counter, trying to steady her nerves. Just as she placed the last slice on the plate, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she was face to face with Greg.

“Hey,” he said. “Marie forgot to tell me how beautiful you are.”

Brandi shrugged his hand off her shoulder, and turning her back to him, and wiped the counter vigorously. She turned back to face him.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. You do know that Marie is my best friend.”

“That’s nice—I like loyalty—it makes everything that much easier,” Greg said as he leaned over and looped a curl behind her ear.

Brandi pushed his hand away, glared at Greg, and left the kitchen as quickly as she could. He followed her into the dining room.

“Honey,” Marie said, taking Greg’s arm and leading him to the table, “you must have a slice of this delicious cake that Brandi made.”   She handed her tall, dark-haired fiancé a generous slice of the golden cake.

“Well, I’d be a fool to say no, Marie,” Greg answered. He smiled at Brandi and winked. Brandi caught her breath and began to play with the paper napkin in her hand. Marie is marrying this guy in a week, she thought uneasily.

With a sly smile on his handsome face, Greg accepted the plate. Still making eye contact with Brandi, he began munching on the cake.

Suddenly, the plate clattered to the floor as he grabbed his neck.

“Oh my god,” he rasped, “I’m allergic to almonds!”

 

 

 

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Household Helpers

Number Two

Number Two

Number Three

Number Three

Number One

Number One

 

Do you have drawers full of kitchen tools?

If you’re like me, you do—even though the most complicated thing you cook is an omelet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like to browse in kitchen stores. Over the years I’ve bought some goofy whatnots that caught my eye.

Here are a few of them. Let’s see if you can match the gadget with its use.

The first one is red hot. It has a devilish face, because it can stand the heat.

Number two is also red, because it matches the fruit it’s meant to slice into lovely even pieces.

 

And the last one is forked. It helps to expose all the nooks and crannies.

So how did you do?

Did you guess that the first one is a puller to take hot pans out of the oven? It does work—but you still need a pot holder in your other hand to steady the pan.

The second red gadget has serrated teeth to make even slices in tomatoes. It also works and the forked end is great for placing those perfect tomato slices on your plate.

The last object is a muffin fork. You insert the tines into the muffin to separate it before toasting.  Whenever I look at it, it reminds me of a trip we took many years ago to New England where it was purchased—at a store that sold handmade wood products made by convicts!

So what’s in your kitchen  drawer?

 

 

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The Coffee House

The Sol Writers, the women’s writing group I belong to, had its annual Coffee House this past weekend.

This is an event that I look forward to each year—an opportunity to present my writing to members of the community I live in, Solivita.

The Sol Writers

The Sol Writers

As usual, we had an enthusiastic audience of about sixty people. By their applause and laughter, it was obvious that each of us hit the mark with our offerings.

Because the Coffee House is supposed to be entertaining, we usually choose pieces that are witty or humorous, although a few of the women share more serious pieces. I think the variety of voices, subject matter, and styles of delivery help to make the evening entertaining. And I’m happy to say, that some people return year after year to this event. In keeping with the Coffee House idea, there are light appetizers, desserts and beverages. Needless to say, we sell tickets to this event—so I think it says a lot for us that people are willing to part with cash to come and  enjoy our writing.

As a person who is passionate about her writing, my most fervent desire is to share what I’ve written with others. The Coffee House gives me and my sister writers an opportunity to do just that.

I raise my cup to all of those who support us by attending the Coffee House each year! Thank you.

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My Ideal Place

 

My ideal place is without strife and discord. A place where everyone gets along. And everyone loves me and understands me and I never make a mistake and I’m never venal or angry or tired or sick. And I’m beautiful and all the people around me are beautiful and kind and caring and …well kind of bland now that I think about it. Because while we’re all being so damned nice, we’re also being very plastic.

Okay, my ideal place is –wait, wait, I know! It’s the beach.

Oh, I forgot. The beach is sometimes way too hot—and I can’t sit in the sun, so I have to carry enough stuff to put a pack animal to shame. And then I have to sit in the shade. And I have to slather on the sunscreen. And God forbid, if I fall asleep and get a third degree burn because I’m really fair skinned (the Irish heritage, you know.)

And then of course, there are the days when the beach is windy or cold…It can be less than ideal.

Ideal place…ideal place. I know—you think I’m going to conclude that there is no ideal place.

That’s the easy way out, because there must be an ideal place. A Shangri-La where the water is clear and turquoise without hidden pollutants and the sand is like talcum powder with a sprinkling of the most translucent, fragile sea shells—none of which are sharp enough to cut the sole of your foot so you bleed all over your new towel and then your husband yells about how much money you spent on them. (Oops! Sorry!) And the jelly fish live somewhere else and there are no sharks and there are no scary surfer dudes or weird looking guys wearing two –sizes-too -small Speedos with those incredibly hairy backs they all seem to have.

No, really there is an ideal place. Wasn’t that a song from West Side Story? No?

Oh yeah, it was called “There’s a Place for Us”—didn’t that song just make you cry when Tony and Maria sang it to each other?

What? You want me to focus? H-m-m…Could I ask why? Just do it? Isn’t that some kind of a slogan? Yeah, yeah, I know– the topic.

What’s that? Mountains. You’re right, they are awe inspiring. Except when I can’t breathe because you know, of course, that I have asthma and when I drove through the Rocky Mountains with my daughter I was in danger of developing…never mind.

Then there’s Disney World, you know, the happiest place on earth? I enjoy it—especially the part where a hamburger and coke and park admission cost enough to send your first born to college.

How about a cruise ship? That’s ideal in a way, a microcosm of the macrocosm where people who are diverse (and total strangers) dress up and sit together at dinner and carry on civilized conversations.

Except for the time the three other people at the table were good friends who talked only to each other in voices that were just above a whisper. And I don’t know if it meant anything, but every time I smiled that one woman just looked at me and said something to her friend behind her hand. And then they both would snicker or just, you know, smile one of those snotty- middle –school- girl smiles.

And did I mention that the seas were rough and my husband got sick, so we were confined to the 125 square foot cabin with guards posted outside for 4 out of the 5 days? And being in that room with someone who was in the bathroom all the time …oh, sorry. Too much information. Got it.

I will not admit there is no ideal place! I will not, I will not! I will not!

(Whatever makes you think I’m throwing a temper tantrum? I was just stomping my foot to wake it up—it seems to have gone numb.)

My ideal place?

Okay, seriously now,I have it!

I just realized that, for me, my ideal place would be to live in one of my novels.

I am like a god when I write a novel. I decide who gets in, what they look like, how they act, if and when they fall in love…if they live or die.

So, see here’s my plan. I write a novel with me in it.  I am married to the most handsome man who is a tireless lover and looks like a young Robert Redford and we live by the beach (the one without all the sharks and sharp sea shells) in a house that overlooks the ocean with a full staff of servants and I am famous and glamorous and (did I say) ridiculously beautiful (think Angeline Jolie without all those bothersome kids). And we just have one wonderful adventure after another. And then they invent a pill that allows you to live to be 100 but look 30 and whenever any other woman even looks at David (my husband) her eyes fall out and I get to decide if she lives or dies or she suddenly becomes as ugly as a troll…

And that’s my ideal place.

Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, But don’t call or stop by, okay?  And cancel the lunch date next week.

I have a novel to write.

 

 

 

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Beep-Beep


ladies in a golf cart

Living in an “active adult” community has many perks. For example, you can wear a granny bathing suit and no one will giggle and point, you can play Mah Johng everyday if you like, you can ride an adult three -wheeled trike and your neighbor will ask you where you got your slick wheels. And, best of all,  you can drive around in a golf cart.

Ah, the golf cart. Personally, I love mine. It’s so convenient and versatile, to say nothing of how ecofriendly it is.

Golf carts provide convenient transportation all around our community. Because they don’t use gas as fuel, they run clean without any fumes.

In some active adult communities, golf carts are almost a fetish. They can be tricked out to look like Hummers, Cadillacs, trucks, and just about anything you can imagine. We don’t see that much here—but there are a few distinctive golf carts tooling around.

I’ve even seen golf carts used as mini trucks by handy men, with ladders where other guys carry golf clubs. One man even tows a small trailer behind his golf cart.

Driving golf carts makes a lot of sense for short-hop errands—you can get to where you’re going economically and easily, and as an added bonus, they cut down on air pollution. I think it would be nice if we could drive our golf carts to the supermarket and to local restaurants. Unfortunately, that isn’t possible here.

I was thinking that if we used golf carts to get around even in cities, we could cut down on smog and emissions, and maybe even eliminate a lot of accidents.

Perhaps cities of the future should be built with neighborhoods that provide essential services like grocery stores, farmers’ markets, banks, retail outlets, schools, parks, and restaurants that are easily accessed by golf cart. Cars could be used only for longer trips or in inclement weather.

Would you live in a neighborhood like that?

 

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